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It was said in a mild, cool voice that was familiar…but not.
Familiar to the extent that when I turned and saw Sebastian there—I wasn’t surprised. But I didn’t know why.
“Sebastian Wright,” the douchebag said in amazement, like he’d forgotten this event was specifically for donors to mingle with the hockey gods. “Can I get you a drink?” he continued, like he’d also forgotten that drinks were free at the moment.
“I’m good. What I’d like is for you to leave,” Sebastian drawled, his voice still placid, like he was discussing the weather. His eyes were at odds with his tone though, filled with a possessive protectiveness that made no sense—or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
The guy’s head jerked back, his gaze darting from Sebastian to me, until he finally raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling nervously. "Easy there, buddy. I was just having a bit of fun. She's all yours, Bas. Just keep playing like that."
With a self-assured wink, he backed away from the bar and made a hasty exit, his laughter trailing behind him. I watched him go, relief swirling within me.
I managed a shaky smile. “Thank you," I murmured, feeling shy and unsure as I spoke to him for the first time.
Sebastian nodded, his gaze caressing my skin…like he couldn’t help himself. "Anytime. You're part of the team now, after all." He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. And then he sighed and shook his head, walking away without another word.
What the fuck was that?
I watched as Jack and Carter descended on him, eyes darting towards me in a totally obvious way that said they were talking about me.
Why exactly were they talking about me? Why had Carter been watching me? I couldn’t think of a reason. Because if they did know me before, why wouldn’t they tell me? It didn’t make sense.
Unless I was an asshole in my former life. Or maybe a groupie that had stalked them? That could explain their behavior.
Except I really didn’t get the feeling I’d been an asshole or a groupie in my previous life. It didn’t feel right.
But then again, nothing did, so maybe I was wrong.
The next hour was torture, with the three of them sending me surreptitious glances, and me pretending like I didn’t see them as my station got busier with people ordering drinks. Girls descended on the three of them, and I pretended like the sight of it wasn’t like knives embedding themselves under my fingernails.
As the night wore on, the girls got more aggressive, and then finally, how I assumed the night would end all along since they’d come in, Carter and Sebastian both left with hot blondes who had glued themselves to their sides. Jack didn’t walk out with a girl, but he did give me a look as they left, like he wanted me to see them with the women, to know I wasn’t part of their world.
Just another thing that didn’t make sense, and made me feel like I was going crazy.
It also made me hurt, my mind filled with unbidden images of them all in bed with women much prettier than me.
I left the arena that night, flush with cash, but feeling the most out of sorts that I’d experienced since I’d left the hospital…a girl without an identity.
One thing was for sure though. I needed to stay away from the three of them.
Nothing good could come from it.
* * *
“Alright sweetheart, time to go home,” I told Matilda—or was it Mallory…as soon as we got out of view from Kennedy.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” she purred as she clawed at my arm in a way that I’m sure she thought was cute…but actually felt demented.
I sighed, hating this part. Hating myself. Girls were nothing but props, especially now that Kennedy had come back. But it didn’t make it any easier, or make me any less of an asshole that I used them to create an image before sending them packing.
The look in Kennedy’s gaze, like we’d betrayed her…I felt fucking sick. For a second, it was almost like she remembered us—remembered everything, but then she’d blinked and the recognition was gone, and I’d been staring into the eyes of a girl that used to be my everything. Who I was nothing to now.
“Back to your house, unfortunately,” I said when she tried to swipe at my dick…my dick that had been hard the entire stupid reception just knowing Kennedy was nearby.
“Whattt?’” she whined, eliminating the guilt I’d just been feeling that I’d used her to make sure Kennedy stayed away. I stared down at her, wondering if she’d been going for Puck Bunny Barbie tonight, and if her sights had been set specifically on me—or if anyone on the team would have been fine for her.
“I’m tired,” I said, feigning a yawn. “We’ll have to play another night.” It was best to give them hope. Girls who had hope didn’t talk. They didn’t want to mess up a chance of getting with me another night. It was the girls who didn’t have hope that were the headaches. I’d learned that lesson early on.
“I could give you a massage,” she cooed, pressing her freakishly hard tits against my arm.
