CHAPTER THIRTY

S ebastian

I am going to spend the night with Luke Hawthorne, and it is absolutely not strange.

Not strange at all.

No way.

“It’s here!” Oskar exclaims, and we head toward the Ride App he ordered for us. I’m holding Luke’s medicine and his bag.

“Sebastian and I are going to spend the night together!” Luke exclaims, wobbling slightly. I so don’t want him to totter onto the icy, sludgy street.

“I know,” Oskar says lightly.

“Isn’t that cool?” Luke beams.

Oskar’s eyes narrow slightly, but he just nods. “Super cool.”

Luke nods delightedly. “We spent the night together in New Hampshire too.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Oskar says. “That was an extraordinary occasion—”

“And this is an extraordinary occasion too,” Luke says happily.

“You know, Luke is pretty much our most cheerful hockey player,” Oskar says. “Evan and Vinnie are practically married now, but you should have seen how reluctant Evan was to have Vinnie watch him. And they apparently had this whole love affair going on!”

Luke wobbles and I wrap my arm around his waist.

I’m sure this arena is vigorous with their salt applications, but I don’t let go of Luke just in case. The Mr. Right franchise and the Boston Blizzards are depending on me.

Oskar takes Luke’s bag from me, opens the door, and meets the taxi.

Luke and I follow more slowly behind.

The distance from the arena to the taxi is tiny, but Luke takes his time, swaying as he stares into the heavens.

“Pretty!” He points at the sky.

There are no stars tonight, but snowflakes flutter down, lit up by the arena outside lights. They glide down softly, as if aware they’ll soon dissolve against the salty path or be pressed against each other, so all their delicate edges are crushed and forever lost.

But right now, they flutter down.

Right now, they are enjoying their lives.

Luke presses his finger into the sky, and Oskar throws me a concerned look. I half expect him to dash inside and get a wheelchair for Luke for the final four feet to the taxi. But then Luke beams, thrilled, at his finger, then thrusts his finger toward my eyes. “I caught one for you.”

My heart stops.

The snowflake is gorgeous. It’s complex and delicate and stunning.

I don’t know how to say all those things to Luke, so instead, I say, “It’s beautiful.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s why I gave it to you.”

Oskar snorts. “And they call him wooden on the message boards.”

“High standards,” I say weakly, because maybe Oskar has a point. Maybe Luke shouldn’t be acting like this with me. Not really. Every glance Luke ever gave me, every sweet comment, every time he showed me he cared, every time someone else teased me about him, crashes into him.

I remember not to wobble.

Not now. Not when I am grasping hold of a happy, painkillered-up Luke, craning his neck toward the sky and all its fluttering, dancing snowflakes.

But the words still smack against my solar plexus.

He’s not...

Surely not.

No way...

Oskar opens the door wide. “Let’s get you in, Luke. Sebastian, you have my number if the hotel needs anything?”

I nod.

“Have a great night.”

“We will!” Luke exclaims, eyes dancing.

Oskar laughs. “Better get inside before the press finds you.”

I stiffen. The horror must show on my face because Oskar laughs again and pushes Luke inside. I slide in after him, then Oskar gives me our bags, so I move to the middle beside Luke and press against two hundred some pounds of sculpted hockey muscle. “Now, I’ll help you get seat belted,” Luke says, fiddling with the middle seat buckle.

Oskar’s eyes go wide again, but he only waves and shuts the door.

I squeeze my eyes. Luke fumbles with my seatbelt.

“I’ll take care of it,” I tell Luke.

Luke frowns. “I want to help you. You’re helping me.”

I don’t want to explain the tangle of his limbs against my body do strange things to my nerve endings and heart, which zing and pound faster than they should, mistaking his touch for something else. Something that’s not happening. Something that’s limited to my imagination.

I am hoping for something I shouldn’t want. Seeing things I know are impossible. Luke signed up for Mr. Right. He’s on a heterosexual dating show.

And though being bi is totally a thing, there’s never ever been any sign. I’ve read over his dating history myself. In fact, I saw his dating history in real life.

I remember him as a freshman. He was dating a junior, some girl with a large bosom that all the guys spoke about appreciatively when she wasn’t there, and sometimes even spoke appreciatively about when she was there.

No, Luke likes women. I’m sure of it.

He isn’t here for me.

I keep on reminding myself of that as the taxi moves away from the arena.