CHAPTER ELEVEN

S ebastian

The team bus gleams in the distance, the bright colors as cheerful and unassuming as poisonous jellyfish, and I step from my rental car.

I’m not nervous.

It’s just a bus.

Filled with jocks.

I swallow hard.

“You are the TV love expert.” An accented voice makes me jump, and I turn.

The last thing I need is a hockey player glaring at me, but a tall, muscular man with high cheekbones and dark hair blocks my path to the trunk of my car.

Well, it’s more like a smirk.

It’s definitely unpleasant, and my organs shake, as if he’s flung me into the air like a puck, but I’m not going to cower.

I am Sebastian Archer, TV Host Extraordinaire.

I paste on my LA smile, bright and sunny like the city. “I am.” My eyes narrow. “You’re Dmitri.”

“I am famous too.”

My eyebrows dart up. I didn’t think Dmitri would consider me famous.

“You watch Seeking Mr. Right ?”

Dmitri snorts, and I half expect to see him stomp away, but he hesitates. “I will watch this season. Has Luke in it. Will be my favorite reality show ever.”

“You’re friends with Luke?”

“Everyone is friends with Luke. He is...great guy. Very popular.”

I nod, but something feels hollow in my chest.

“We’re happy to work with him,” I say. “On behalf of the whole Seeking Mr. Right show, I can confirm...”

Dmitri clears his throat. “You are proud. I get it. But do you have bags?”

I blink.

“I am here to carry bags for you.”

“Oh.”

His lips curl. He has all the charm of a shark. “You think hockey players can’t be helpful?”

“N-no.” I shake my head. Disagreeing with him seems like a bad idea. Besides, it’s sort of nice he’s here to help me. The equipment for tonight’s interview segments are in the trunk. I mean, I can totally do it myself, but...

Dmitri picks up all the bags, tossing them over his shoulders.

“I was going to get them myself.”

“Now you don’t have to.”

“Right. Thank you.”

Dmitri pulls up the handle of my suitcase and starts walking toward the bus.

I make sure the car is locked, then scurry after him.

“Now I’m not carrying anything!” I call after him.

“Poor you. Careful about the ice!”

I slow my steps.

“Luke will be upset if his favorite TV host gets injured,” Dmitri continues.

I smile, because of course I’m not Luke’s favorite TV show host. He probably likes something else. Like sports commentary or people diving into truck-size tubs of bugs.

Finally, we’re at the bus.

Oskar rushes down the steps and greets me with a grin. “Welcome to your first trip with the Blizzards.”

“Is expensive bus,” Dmitri assures me, because maybe I’m not totally hiding my discomfort. “Not bad. Better than Russia.”

I try to nod knowledgeably. “I haven’t been to Russia.”

“Is pretty. Not for you though. Not LGBTQ friendly. You are gay, right?”

I draw back automatically.

Dmitri’s dark eyes scour me, and even though I know it’s probably fine if he knows I’m gay, my heartrate still hurries.

“Yes, you are. I can tell,” he pronounces.

The cold wind brushes around me, leaves flying in its icy embrace.

“You might get attacked if you wander from the right circles.”

“Oh.” I draw back. “That would be unideal.”

“You are in best country in world. Enjoy it.” Dmitri jerks his thumb at Oskar. “Oskar is gay.”

“Um...”

“Maybe you will become couple.”

Oskar’s face reddens, then pales, as if he’s personally demonstrating all the shades of red.

“I’m not looking for anyone,” Oskar says hastily.

Dmitri’s eyes narrow. “You should be with someone. Otherwise, you will be lonely.”

Oskar glances at me apologetically, then turns back to Dmitri. “I’m not lonely. I’m happy. Besides, you’re not with someone, Dmitri.”

Dmitri smirks. “I have new girlfriend all the time. I take bus, find new girlfriend for the night. Not lonely. Not like you.”

Oskar’s shoulders momentarily droop.

Dmitri’s eyes soften. “You need someone, Oskar.” He glances at me. “Maybe him.”

“He normally lives in California,” Oskar says.

“I see.” Dmitri nods. “Good call. In that case, not good for you.” He glances at Oskar. “Stay away.”

“It’s not like I’m going to leap into his arms or anything,” Oskar says. “Just because we’re both gay.”

“I thought two men together would be lots of sex,” Dmitri says, and a line forms on his brow where I did not expect it.

“I-I didn’t know that was something you thought about,” Oskar says.

Pink colors Dmitri’s cheeks, the shade so pale, I’m not sure if I’m imagining it. He gives a curt nod. “I sit on bus now.” He looks at me. “If you move to Boston, Oskar is good. If not, stay away. I can beat you up.”

I swallow hard. “Okay.”

He flashes his shark-like smile again, then saunters onto the bus, his shoulders moving in full swagger.

“We have lots of international players,” Oskar explains. “Dmitri can be...Dmitri. I think he’s worried about moving back to Russia. I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay,” I say.

More hockey players board the bus, chattering loudly. They’re broader than I am, even without their pads, and I flinch.

Oskar gives me a curious glance.

“Sebastian!” Luke’s voice booms, pulling me from my ever-more intrusive thoughts. “Is everything on the bus?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did Dmitri help you?”

“Yeah.”

Luke beams. “I was stuck in the interview room.”

“You had a good game?” I ask, even though I know he did.

“The best. Now get on the bus.”

I nod and glance toward the steps. My stomach twists, and I hate it.

It’s a bus.

I mean a bus filled with hockey players who could all crush me even if they didn’t use their hockey sticks. God, some of these guys fight on the ice. Even football players don’t stop to do that during games.

I head toward the steps, conscious of Luke behind me, then board the bus.

I feel like I’m back in high school. I’m pretty sure that’s the last time I was on a bus. This bus is a step up from the yellow school busses I used to be shuttled around in, but not much of one.

The guys give me curious looks when I enter, and Luke slams a hand on my back.

“Everyone, this is Sebastian. He’s going to be traveling with me sometimes. He’s the host of Seeking Mr. Right.”

The hockey players erupt into laughter, as if he’s said a punchline, and I stiffen.

“Ignore them,” Luke says, his voice soft. “Let’s find seats.”

Most of the hockey players are sprawled onto double seats, manspreading their sizable legs. I keep my gaze focused in front, avoiding eye contact with everyone, because even though I’m in my fucking twenties, right now I’m on a bus filled with jocks, a precarious situation I managed to avoid even in high school.

A warm hand touches my shoulder, and I shiver.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Luke says. “There’s an open seat there.”

I glance at it, my eyes too wide, my voice too wobbly. “O-okay.”

I slide into the seat. I sit straight, my professional face on, my gaze bouncing from muscular athlete to muscular athlete.

This isn’t high school, I remind myself. This so isn’t high school.

But even though some of the people here are over thirty, because I’ve done my research, I don’t think my brain understands, and fear skitters through me all the same.

Luke hesitates then plops down beside me. “This okay?”

“Oh.” I stiffen. His presence shouldn’t feel as grounding as it does.

“Just in case you think about anything for the show,” he says.

“Right.”

I like that he’s on the outside, beside the noise and the commotion so I have nothing to do with it. I place my feet on the floor, and inhale.

The chatter of men doesn’t soothe my nerves. Finally, the bus driver closes the door, and the bus backs from its space, venturing toward something new. I keep my gaze on the gray sky and the equally gray parking lot.

I feel Luke’s gaze on me, but when I turn, he is opening up his AirPod case. I inhale, sucking in the air of twenty different colognes and axe body sprays.

Laughter sounds from different parts of the coach, and maybe I should be smiling too, but instead I think about all the ways they could be laughing at me. Too often I was the joke in high school, and I still stiffen automatically.

But I’m sitting beside Luke, and he is calm and unbothered, and somehow I’m certain nothing has been said that shouldn’t have been. Nothing about me at least.

And indeed, I soon hear hockey terminology thrown around.

It’s fine. Of course, it’s fine.

Can he sense my nervousness? My veins feel like they’ve turned into an expressway, sputtering noisily at eighty miles an hour, grinding over the concrete, and smashing any loose pebbles that might be on it.

Will he look at me at one point and say I remind him of this guy from his school? Will he be upset I didn’t disclose our acquaintanceship? Was that something I should have done? I square my shoulders and focus on my breathing, because maybe that will make everything better.

Luke leans down and pulls something from his bag. It’s an iPad.

“Want to watch a movie?” he asks.

“What?” My gaze still bounces around the bus, wanting to know if there’s danger from somewhere.

His lips swerve up. “I’m sure there’s something we’ll both like.”

“Um...”

Luke removes an AirPod, then slides it into my ear. My heart thrums uncertainly, and when I glance at him, his gaze is stern and assessing, like a surgeon.

I look down, and he fiddles more with the AirPod, then it’s in.

“There.” He scrolls through the videos. “What are you in the mood for?”

I see a folder marked “reality TV,” and I point to it. “What do you have?”

He stiffens, and somehow, I’ve said the wrong thing, after all.

“Maybe something else,” he says.

I point at Ted Lasso, and even though we’re in a sports setting, he gives a relieved smile. “Perfect.”

The TV show soon plays, and I concentrate on the bright colors of London and the green soccer field and the not so-really-scary soccer players.

The guys continue to chatter around us, booming, boisterous voices probably more booming, more boisterous after the day’s victory.

Finally, the coach slows.

We’re at the hotel.

“Awesome,” Luke says, pausing the show.

Everyone files from the bus, and we follow them inside.

“This can take a while,” Luke says, ushering me to the front of the line.

“Shouldn’t we wait?”

“Nah. You’re the fancy host. Besides, you need to set up the cameras.”

Right.

The interview.

Luke explains to the hotel clerk that I need my room first, waving away comments from some of the towering muscular men that we’re cutting the line.

I grab the key.

“Do you need me to help set up the cameras?”

I want to tell him no, but it would actually be helpful.

His eyes soften. “I’ll come.”

Luke and I walk down the lobby to the elevators, then head to the eleventh floor. The numbers tick up slowly, each floor bringing me closer to being alone with him. My heart squeezes, and I find myself stealing glances at his profile, at the way the fluorescent lights catch his golden hair, at how his presence fills the small space.

I’m supposed to be helping him find true love, not...whatever this is. The thought of how he would smirk and scoff if he knew my true thoughts makes every nerve ending race, as if trying to escape the potential embarrassment.

I’m in more danger from what I’m feeling than I ever was from a bus full of hockey players.