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“I don’t think I am,” I said, prodding him deliberately, because he obviously couldn’t stand Greyson. “Greyson’s been good to me.”
“Is that so?”
“He took me to Paris.” I tilted my head, studying him, looking for another flash of reaction before he could school his face. “I bet he wouldn’t lie to me.”
He let out a disbelieving scoff. “You should definitely test that theory, then. Greyson is always lying.”
“What happened between you guys?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s in the past. I don’t like to think about it.” He glanced away. “I didn’t like losing a friend. Especially one like Greyson.”
Ruddy color had bloomed across his chiseled cheekbones. From anger and emotion more than the exertion of being on the ice, I was sure.
But I believed he meant that one thing. He hadn’t liked losing his friendship with Greyson.
“I think you know more than you’ll tell me about my past,” I whispered, afraid my voice would shake if I said the words louder. “And I’m going to figure it out, Sebastian. You’re always watching me. Protecting me. Like you knew me before—"
“I didn’t have to know you before to want to protect you now,” he interrupted me hotly. “I want you, Kennedy. From the first time I saw you. It’s as simple as that.”
“No,” I started to say, but then suddenly, his big body was against mine.
His hands wrapped my waist, steadying me.
I looked up at him, my lips parting in surprise, right before he bent his head and kissed me.
His lips brushed against mine, soft and cool to the touch. He tasted like cinnamon gum, and the taste and scent was another tease at the back of my memory. My lips parted against his, welcoming him in, despite myself. An ache opened between my thighs.
One of his big hands cupped my cheek. His palm felt rough, calloused against my skin, but in a good way. “Is this alright?” he asked me.
I wanted to kiss him again so badly.
“Kissing me to shut me up?” I asked back archly. “It’s fine, as long as you realize I’m not going to stay shut up.”
He was already leaning forward to kiss me again. His lips tilted against mine in a smile, and it made me smile too. I loved when Sebastian softened into a smile. It made me feel like I’d won some kind of victory.
He lifted me off the ice easily, and I let out a little cry of shock as my blades left the ice. But he was holding me firmly as he set me on top of the low wall of the penalty box. “You’re just so short,” he chided me, as if I’d done it to him on purpose. “I’m going to sprain something trying to bend down to kiss you.”
“Are you really going to insult me in the middle of kissing me?” I demanded, wrapping my thighs around his lean waist to steady myself.
“It’s not an insult. I’ve always liked short girls.” His lips tilted a little more, on the verge of a full smile.
“You’re better at kissing than talking,” I told him, grabbing the front of his sweatshirt and pulling him in toward me again.
His lips pressed mine in a soft, tender kiss. I felt myself sigh against his mouth at the feel of his body against mine. My hands rested on the hard planes of his chest, feeling them flex and move as he bent forward to kiss me. The scent of his aftershave seemed to engulf me, along with the deeper scent that was just him.
He deepened the kiss. One of his big hands slid into my hair, cupping the back of my head. Then he tugged my hair back, exposing my throat. It felt good to have him pull my hair, and it felt even better when his lips brushed against the curve of my throat. My whole body tightened, my core pulsing with desire, as his mouth teased along my throat and into the intimate spot just below my ear.
In the distance, a door banged open. He suddenly pulled away, his arms still wrapped around my waist. His concerned dark blue eyes met mine.
“Penalty box,” I whispered, already easing one leg over. We could hide in there and no one would see us.
He nodded, and in a second, he had jumped over the wall of the penalty box. His arm wrapped my waist and he helped me over, the two of us sinking to the ground with our backs against the wall.
His big shoulder pressed mine. For a few long heartbeats, the two of us were silent, listening to the voices coming down the stairs toward the rink.
I didn’t recognize the first voice.
“Coach Reed,” he told me quietly. “Goalie coach.”
