CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

S ebastian

Ella and Mateo are so not going to let this go, and my stomach sinks. Ella and Mateo have the enthusiasm of 1980s home video workout instructors about to launch into the last round of step exercise.

“This is gold!” Ella exclaims.

“Uh-huh.” Mateo taps on his phone. He shoves a picture of a burly man in a blue jersey at me. “This is his teammate who stole his girlfriend.”

“Luke said not to go after him.”

“Luke told that story in front of cameras that are recording.”

“I’m serious,” I say.

“So am I.” Ella’s forehead is furrowed, and yeah, she does totally look serious.

“Too bad I already posted it on social media,” Mateo says slyly, doing a nonchalant shrug thing I immediately despise.

My hands tense.

It’s too late.

“You posted it while we were speaking,” I pout.

“I’m taking you to dinner, Mateo,” Ella announces. “Have you ever eaten caviar before?”

“Guys, this is serious,” I plead.

“It’s done,” Mateo says, glancing at his phone. “It’s already getting lots of comments.”

“I promised the Blizzards I would not interfere in their matches.”

“Honey, if this Axel guy slept with Luke’s girlfriend, don’t you think he deserves a little pushback?” Ella asks.

I open my mouth, then shut it.

Ella gives me a meaningful glance. “I think you’re trying to say ‘you’re welcome’.”

“I can’t imagine anyone cheating on Luke,” I say.

Mateo snorts, and Ella grins. Though Ella’s been in a smiley mood ever since Luke disclosed that information about his ex-girlfriend.

“We know that already,” Mateo explains.

I nod. “Infidelity is bad.”

The two giggle more.

“What is it?”

“You would never cheat on him, would you?” Ella’s eyes dance, and my organs slam together, like I’m on the ice with defensemen rushing at me who know I am every bit as incompetent as I look.

They know.

I’m sure they know.

“I mean, I guess, he’s good looking.” I try to feign casualness.

It’s not working if the giggles are anything to go by, which I’m pretty sure they are.

“He’s a ten out of ten,” Mateo says.

My gaze moves to Luke. He’s helping the girls skate. Aisha is hovering behind the cameras, looking happy. And oh yeah, he totally is a ten out of ten.

His cheekbones are all chiseled, a place for light to sit upon, and shadows to cling to underneath, and his locks are the kind of gold people in fairytales used to steal. His eyes are big and blue, glowing with understanding and compassion, even though I’ve seen those same eyes glint with coldness when they belonged to his older brother. His limbs are long and muscular, and I know how comforting they feel when I’m wrapped within them, just as I know how ripped they are when he’s posing for commercial photographs.

Or stripping.

Like in New Hampshire.

My eyelashes flutter down. If I concentrate, I can almost smell his scent. Lemon and cotton and...

A fit of giggles erupts around me. I open my eyes.

“That was over sixty seconds.” Mateo shows the timer app on his phone.

“You were timing me?”

“Would have checked for longer, but some of us have to work,” Ella says lightly.

“Dude, you’re completely gone for him,” Mateo says. “Do you know how many times you glance at Luke, then won’t stop staring? It’s obvious.”

“I-I don’t do that.”

“Yeah, sometimes you won’t even look at him, and that’s basically your job,” Mateo says. “Also strange.”

“Well said, Mateo.” Ella fist bumps him.

God, I hate my coworkers.

“I do not have a crush on Mr. Right.” I glare at them both, but nothing takes the amusement from their faces.

“It’s okay,” Ella says. “It was bound to happen sometime. I didn’t think it would be with a hockey player, given all your complaints about jocks.”

“Those complaints are still legitimate.”

“We both think he’s cute too,” Mateo says. “We just don’t stare into the middle distance and have our eyes go all glazy.

“I believe the official term is cow-eyed,” Ella declares.

I scowl at her, and she gives an innocent shrug. “What? I was an English major at UCLA. I read a lot of nineteenth century literature.”

Ella heads toward the skaters. “I’m going to check on them.”

“You know, he stares at you too,” Mateo says, frowning. “Are you sure he’s—”

“He isn’t,” I say sharply.

Maybe I do like Luke more than I should. I mean, my behavior in the shower confirmed that. But Mateo is wrong about Luke.

He doesn’t like men.

He’s friends with men in gay relationships. If he wanted a man, he would be with a man. Simple. He wouldn’t be with me.

No, he’s straight.

If he stares at me sometimes, it’s because he’s trying to figure out who I remind him of. A fact that might occur to him at any time. A fact that will get more and more awkward to explain.

I should have told him who I was before I crawled into bed with him, before I let him pull me against his body, before I let him introduce him to his friends.

I squeeze my eyes.

Mateo is wrong. Absolutely wrong.