If Only You (Bergman Brothers, #6)(71)

Ren knocks shoulders gently with me as I step beside him and pull out the dishwasher rack to start loading it with plates. “You don’t need to do that, Zigs. You had practice early today, you have to be exhausted.”

“So did you,” I remind him.

Ren shrugs. “I’m waiting up for Frankie anyway. I don’t mind.”

“Where is she?” Sebastian asks. “And when will she be back? I’m going to be scarce by then.”

Ren frowns over at Sebastian. “Water aerobics. And in about half an hour. But why are you going to be scarce by then?”

“Because she’s still pissed at me,” Sebastian says.

“She isn’t,” Ren tells him, leaning a hip on the counter. “She’s just got a lot on her plate right now, stressing her out, but you killed it this week. She was on a cloud about that ESPN article covering your comeback.”

“Well, that’s good.” Sebastian rinses a pot, then places it on the drying rack. “I’m still not pushing my luck with her, though.”

I finish loading the plates, then reach for the tray of dirty silverware, but Ren tugs it out of reach. “That’s enough from you,” he says, smiling. “I’ll finish this. Go home. Get some sleep.”

“I’m a big girl, Ren.” I poke my brother’s side, making him squeak. “I’ll go to bed when I want.”

“No tickles,” Ren says sternly.

Sebastian glances up, watching us. “She’s ruthless with that tickling shit.”

“She is,” Ren says, taking a step away from me. “Once she tickled Viggo so hard he peed himself, then started hysterically crying.”

I grin deviously. “That was a beautiful day.”

“If it were anyone but Viggo,” Sebastian mutters, “I’d say I feel really bad for him.”

Ren laughs. “Yeah, as is often the case, Viggo really did deserve it. That man lives for pushing buttons.”

Sebastian shuts off the water and dries his hands, then folds the towel neatly, setting it on the counter. “Can I drive you home, Ziggy?”

My heart jumps in my chest. After our busy week, barely talking, I’m as startled by his offer as I am thrilled by it. Which is pathetic, but it doesn’t seem to matter that I know cognitively how ridiculous it is, to be this excited by an offer of a ride home—my body just won’t get the memo.

“Sure,” I tell him, shrugging. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” Sebastian claps a hand on Ren’s back. “Thanks for inviting me to this. It was nerdy as shit—” Ren shoves him gently and Sebastian laughs. “And a hell of a good time.”

Ren follows Sebastian as he sweeps up his copy of Much Ado, a worn paperback whose spine is cracked, which I find delightfully compelling. No fresh bookstore purchase for Sebastian. His Much Ado looks well-loved.

Smiling to myself about that, I turn toward the door and lift my sweater from the coat hook. Standing there reminds me of when Viggo walked in with all the baked goods, jarring my memory. I drop my sweater, then turn back to the kitchen. “Shoot. I totally forgot!”

Sebastian and Ren frown as I rush past them, then yank open the fridge door. I pull out the chokladbiskvier, then hustle back over to Sebastian, all but shoving it into his chest. “Here. For you.”

Sebastian glances down at the container. His brow furrows as he peers through the lid. “What is it?”

“Only the best chocolate cookies ever,” Ren explains.

“Made gluten-free. I forgot to tell you about them. I kept them in the fridge so they’d be safe from Tyler. Well, and Millie.”

Sebastian blinks at me slowly, that frown still tightening his face. “Thanks, Ziggy. I…” He clears his throat. “I appreciate it.”

I smile. “Come on. Sooner you drop me off, sooner you get to enjoy them.”

Ren throws Sebastian a hug, then me, watching us from the doorway as we walk to Sebastian’s car. This one is sleek and sporty. Not the Bugatti, but still one that looks low and dangerously fun to drive—if one enjoyed driving, that is, which I don’t. It’s so darn nerve-racking.

As if he’s just read my mind and lives to torment me, Sebastian holds his keys my way. “How about you drive us, Sigrid?”

I take a step back. “Oh. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He arches an eyebrow and leans against the hood of his car, swinging his keys around his finger like he swung my panties around them that night at the wedding.

That reminds me—where are my panties? Does he still have them?

“And why not?” Sebastian asks, dragging me back to the present moment. He jingles the keys in my direction.

“That’s…” I swallow nervously, putting another foot between me and the car. “That’s a killing machine.”

“It’s not. It’s actually a really relaxing car to drive. It’s low to the ground, very responsive. I just thought you might want to give it a try.”

“But I don’t like driving,” I tell him.

He stares at me, eyes flickering in the starlight. As he pushes off the car and walks up to me, his gaze searches mine. “Maybe it’s not that you don’t like driving. Maybe you simply haven’t found a car that makes you fall in love with it. I’m just throwing it out there. There’s no pressure to drive if you don’t want to, Ziggy.”