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Along with his funny posts and goofy profile pictures, he has more pictures of his family on his Facebook than I think I’ve ever taken of my family—in, like, my whole life. That’s doesn’t mean much though in my case, but it’s obvious he loves his family. Like, really loves them. He’s a momma’s boy; there is an album just for pictures of him and his mom, which is downright adorable. There are a lot of pictures of who I am assuming is his sister. She looks just like him, but the pictures are usually of her with a small little girl and then some of her flipping the camera off. She seems like a hoot in my opinion.
And then, there are the pictures of him and his brothers.
Holy. Shit.
Mekena wasn’t playing when she said the Sinclair brothers were hot. Hot isn’t even the right word to describe the three pieces of man meat I’ve been staring at for more time than I’d like to admit. Smoldering. Blazing. Shit, they are all so beautiful. They are like Greek hockey gods or something. So hot. There is an album of a vacation they took to Florida that includes a lot of shirtless pictures of Jace. Easy to say, that’s my favorite album.
Glancing at the clock from my phone, I realize I have an issue.
I’ve spent the last hour and a half dissecting Jace’s Facebook. But it’s just so easy to get lost in him and his life. It’s like a fairy tale. He is obviously loved and he loves life. I’m jealous. Just watching him grow through the years was magical, but the problem that has arisen is I want to know more. I want to know the names of all the women on his page. I want to know how old the child his sister holds is. I want to know why in the last couple of years there are no pictures of his dad in the group photos of his family. I want to know why he didn’t go into the draft last year, because there was an article he had posted a link to saying he was supposed to go. I’m thankful he didn’t, but still, I want to know why.
I don’t even care about hockey, but I want to watch him play.
His album of hockey is full of pictures of him playing in tournaments and videos of him shooting and puck handling. He’s amazing. Like, super good. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that we have been at the same places a lot in the last five years. He was even at Worlds when I was there for Matty. I never saw him, though, and that upsets me. I could have found him earlier. But then, I guess I wouldn’t be the person I am now. Back then I was broken, and I wouldn’t have talked to him. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have even looked at him.
I was a mess.
But I’m looking now, and I can’t wait to see him tonight. I’ve decided I can’t ignore him. I have to know more. I have to have more. I don’t know what will happen, or what this attraction and need will lead to, but I can’t fight what I’m feeling. I just can’t. I have to see where it goes. If it gets to be too much, then I’ll back off. It won’t be that hard, and I sure as hell can’t fall like a dumbass. I have to be smart about this.
When a notification pops up that Jace has posted on my page, a grin curves my lips before I click it, going to my wall. Reading his post, I can’t stop smiling. And when I read the title he suggests for my song, my heart pounds into my ribs and I lose my breath. Not only did he watch the video, but he really listened.
Swoon.
But the title for song suits it; it’s good.
Clicking the comment button, I type back quickly.
Avery Rose: Maybe. It’s okay.
I don’t wait long for him to comment back.
Jace Sinclair: It’s okay? Whatever! It’s amazing, and I demand that it be called that.
Giggling, my grin grows.
Avery Rose: Demand? Who are you to demand anything?
Jace Sinclair: Um…the person you wrote the song about?
My face burns, but I’m grinning as I laugh out loud.
Avery Rose: Goodness, do you have room wherever you go with an ego like that?
Jace Sinclair: Not that much, but I manage. Try to tell me it isn’t about me. I dare you.
Jace Sinclair: Double dare.
Butterflies go crazy in my gut as I shake my head. This guy. He is crazy! There is no way I’m admitting that on Facebook. To his face…probably not, but he can think what he wants. Even if it is the truth. But before I can tell him that, my phone dings with a text.
From Matty.
Two days in a row? What the hell?
Clicking on his text, my brows come together when I read what he has sent.
Matty: Why is Jace Sinclair all over your shit?
Me: Huh? What are you talking about?
