If Only You (Bergman Brothers, #6)(72)

I bite my lip, torn.

“Well,” he adds, grimacing in this silly way that makes me smile in spite of myself. “Maybe a little pressure. I want to sit in the car and put a hefty dent in these chocolate cookies while you drive me. They smell fu—” He clears his throat. “Freaking incredible.”

I stare at him and tap my foot on the sidewalk, debating with myself. A big part of me wants to tell Sebastian Gauthier exactly where he can shove his fancy car keys and this sports-car propaganda. But another part of me wonders if maybe he’s right. Maybe this car, this drive, will be different from the rest. Maybe something I’ve spent my adulthood so far white-knuckling my way through might actually become something I enjoy. I won’t know till I try, and what better time to try than the season of Project Ziggy Bergman 2.0?

“Fine,” I mutter, plucking the keys from his hand. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”





“Jesus Christ, Ziggy!” Sebastian grabs the oh-shit bar on his side as I whip around the turn, hitting the gas.

I smile, exhilarated. This is amazing. The car feels like an extension of myself. As Sebastian said, it is responsive—lightning fast and effortless to control. Two blocks away from Ren’s, I sensed how much I loved this car, then turned away from my place and took us on a massive detour.

“I warned you,” I tell him into the wind.

He stares ahead, wide-eyed, as I come to a stop at a red light, his hair wild and windblown. He looks like he’s just had a near-death experience.

Slowly, he glances my way. “Holy. Fuck.”

He looks so messed up and upended, a little like the Sebastian I surprised on his balcony last month, with that messy hair and stunned expression. It makes something crack inside me, then spill, bittersweet and bubbly. I want to laugh. And I want to cry. And I want to laugh some more.

Thankfully, at least, for now, the laughter wins, bursting out as the light turns green and I hit the gas again.

Sebastian stares at me like he thinks I might have a couple screws loose. “What are you laughing about?”

“I don’t even know!” I yell into the wind, drinking in the balmy Southern California September night.

Sebastian seems to relax when I decelerate a little, settling into the car’s speed comfortably as I wind us down the road. “Sigrid.”

“Yes, Sebastian.”

He drags his knuckles across his mouth. “Would you…uh—” He drops his hand. “Would you want to go to a bookstore with me?”

I swerve a little, blinking his way, then back to the road. “What, now?”

He glances at his fancy silver watch whose brand I remember him doing a magazine ad for. “It’s not too late, is it? When’s your game tomorrow?”

“No game tomorrow. Not till Tuesday.”

“Even better.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing. “Well, then, chauffeur—” He taps the car’s screen and types in an address, making a GPS route appear. “Take us to Culver City.”





23





ZIGGY





Playlist: “Somewhere Only We Know,” rhianne





“It’s…closed.” I frown at my favorite indie bookstore, which I’ve been going to for years. They have a very impressive romance section, which isn’t often the case in a general collection bookstore. Since I’ve been going there, special ordering a number of fantasy romance titles, they’ve happily broadened their inventory even more.

“Have a little faith in me, Sigrid,” Sebastian throws me one of those devastating long-dimpled smiles over his shoulder as he opens his door. He’s halfway out of the car when he leans back in and grabs the container of chokladbiskvier. “Now that I can eat these without risking throwing them right back up,” he mutters.

“Hey!” I shove open my door and shut it, following him. “You’re the one who dangled those keys in front of me. I warned you.”

He rounds the car to my side and takes my hand, squeezing gently. “You did.” His thumb sweeps across the back of my hand. I shiver as I stare at him and heat dances across my skin from where he’s touching me. The wind picks up, cool and a little damp, thankfully giving me a reason besides the real one for my slip.

Sebastian tugs me gently toward the door. “Come on, you. Let’s get inside and warm you up.”

“But, it’s—”

“Closed,” he says, his back to me as he pulls me along. “So you’ve said.”

I try really hard not to stare at his butt in his dark jeans, but it’s a lost cause. Hockey player butts—with the exception of my brother’s, of course—are truly a thing of beauty.

With his free hand, Sebastian pulls his phone from his pocket and types something. Not ten seconds later, his phone dings. He leans in, reading his screen, then crouches, entering a code on the door’s lock, which glows red. The lock beeps, then flashes green. Sebastian stands and turns the handle, then pushes open the door. “Ladies first.”

“What is happening?”

Sebastian sets a hand on my back and nudges me forward. “The owners are big Kings fans.”

I do a double take as he shuts the door behind me. “Wait, they just gave you the code to their bookstore?”