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Sebastian never takes his stunned eyes off me. Even as his sister rips him a new one through my phone on the desk, even as Eddie throws his arm over his shoulder while taking a picture, and even when Jane flicks her blonde hair and says that she’s leaving. He looks mesmerized by me.
Oh no. How big is that piece of spinach?
I turn away for a second and run my tongue over my teeth but I don’t feel anything.
“Sebastian!” Marie shouts. “I know you can hear me. I can hear myself echoing through the office! Answer me!”
He finally seems to snap out of it. “Hi, Marie.”
“What are you trying to pull? This is my best friend you’re messing with. I can’t believe?—”
“It’s alright, Marie,” I say, trying to interrupt her but she just keeps on going. “I can handle this.”
“No, you can’t. You’re too nice. Sebastian, you tell me what’s happening right now or I’m going to drive over there and?—”
“How about we go to a more private spot?” I whisper as I close the door of my office, trapping Eddie inside with my screeching phone.
“I’d like that,” Sebastian says, smiling gratefully.
He keeps looking at me as I bring him down the hall to the empty conference room. It’s made of glass windows, so we won’t get much privacy, but at least it’s soundproof.
Everyone we pass does a double take when they see who I’m walking with. Sebastian is hockey royalty after all. And even the people who don’t like hockey still know Sebastian from his good looks or off-ice antics.
My body is so tight and tense as we walk in and I close the door. I feel like my heart is going to pound out of my chest.
“Well, your sister says hi,” I say with a strained smile.
He laughs and it eases some of the tightness I’m feeling.
I still can’t get over this. This is Sebastian Kemp. The Sebastian Kemp.
I’m not starstruck or feeling overwhelmed because he’s a celebrity. He’s more to me than that. He’s the first and only boy I’ve ever loved.
“I guess you’re wondering what’s going on,” he says with a nervous laugh as he half-sits, half-stands against the giant conference room table.
“I was kind of curious as to why my face is all over the news.”
“And why it’s saying we’re engaged?”
“Yeah, that too.”
He takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his wavy brown hair. I nearly moan when I see the silky locks tumble back down on the sides of his face.
He’s way hotter in person than he is on TV. It’s not even comparable.
And I’ve seen it all. The award events when he’s dressed in a crisp tuxedo, the charity functions when he’s handing out frozen turkeys or school supplies in a hoodie and jeans, and the late-night press conferences after games, both wins and loses—those are my favorite. Sometimes he comes out in his sweaty shirt before he’s showered and his messy hair looks so damn good. I love the smile on his face after a win, but I love it even more after a loss. He always looks a bit sad and his voice gets all deep and growly. His eyes get all flinty and hard like diamonds. I watch him and fantasize about him coming home to me. I make him a drink, curl up on the couch with him, and make him feel better in all sorts of ways…
“I fucked up, Alina,” he says, dropping his head.
Even now, I want to go to him. I want to make him feel better.
Instead, I cross my arms and keep my feet planted in place.
He tells me about being offered a contract in San Antonio with the Hyenas, and how the owner was worried about his reputation. Too much drinking, and fighting, and girls. I never look at those articles. I’m happy wearing my rose-colored glasses thank you very much.
“My agent blurted out that I was engaged and somebody probably leaked it to the press,” he says with a shake of his head. “I guess she thought it would help my image.”
“Are you engaged?”
