CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

L uke

“We made it!” I tumble from the taxi and blink into the Montreal sky.

“Wait! Be careful!” Sebastian hollers behind me.

I nod. It’s probably actually good to take a break. Good for relaxing.

Because even with all the painkillers, I hurt. I don’t want to focus on my pain. I want to focus on Sebastian. My heart warms when I think about him, even though I think there’s a reason why it’s not supposed to.

But he’s adorable in a way that makes me smile. I like seeing pink chase up his cheeks, until I feel bad and want to smooth it away and assure him that everything is wonderful. I like having him beside me and making sure he’s okay.

I liked watching him each week.

And now I can do it in person.

What’s not to like about that?

One of the hotel bellboys rushes to me. “Luggage?”

“Yep.” I nod multiple times, but Sebastian is already getting out of the car and explaining where everything is.

Light explodes around us, and my forehead furrows.

“Shit.”

“When did you pick up swearing?” I ask Sebastian.

Sebastian’s face pales, and I remember there’s a reason I don’t ask him about the past. It makes him sad, and I don’t want him to be sad.

Happy Sebastian is best.

Because he can be sad, but I want to ease away his pains. I’m here to help.

But what he says next is something I don’t expect.

“It’s a photographer.”

I swing around. “Cool! Where?”

“Don’t look,” Sebastian instructs, and I frown.

I’m not used to this bossy version of Sebastian, but then I snort. It’s kind of cool, actually. I’m sort of digging it. Definitely not the Sebastian I knew at Ashcove High, but then, I’m not the same guy I was back then either. We shouldn’t remain the teenagers we once were, after all. Not completely.

I giggle.

Sebastian says something hurriedly to the bellboy. “Let’s go, Luke.”

“Okay.” I walk toward the hotel, then pause. “Coming.”

“Just keeping a professional distance,” Sebastian calls behind. “Because I’m professional.”

“Okay, Mr. Professional.” I open the door for him, and he frowns, like I’m not supposed to do that, but the bellhop was occupied.

The camera flashes again, light exploding over the murky gray darkness, city lights keeping it from being truly dark, and Sebastian’s face becomes bland and passive, and he hurries inside.

A hotel receptionist comes toward us with some keys, clearly having been told to hasten the check-in process, and we’re soon on our way to our room, zooming in the marble elevator, then walking over the thick padded carpet.

“This is different from home,” I say, and Sebastian stiffens, and I remember he doesn’t like talking about home.

That’s fine.

I can be quiet.

All my teammates say I’m quiet, following Troy and Finn and Dmitri around like a shadow. I’m there to laugh at their jokes. I’m there for them to on occasion shoot me incredulous looks when I’m not sufficiently enthusiastic about the prospect of turning some fully clothed woman that I’m making awkward conversation with into a naked woman on my bed that I can then make awkward sex with.

I’m quiet when we stand in front of the hotel room, I’m quiet when Sebastian braces himself, as if he’s nervous about what he’ll find on the other side, and I’m quiet when Sebastian emits a sigh that sounds too much like relief when his gaze falls on the two queen beds in the room.

I follow him into the room. The door clicks behind us.

A knock sounds on the door, and Sebastian jumps.

“I bet it’s the luggage,” I murmur, then head for it.

“I’ll get it,” Sebastian says.

He looks through the peephole, and I hide my smile.

“You see suitcases?”

“Yeah.” Sebastian unlocks the door carefully, and the bellboy strides inside, our luggage in hand.

“Thank you.” Sebastian tips him.

The bellboy looks at me shyly.

I know that gaze.

I’ve seen it before.

“I can’t believe I’m in the room with an NHL player. Too bad you play for Boston.”

“We can’t all be from Montreal.”

“Can I have a selfie?”

“Of course.” I fling my arm around him and beam into the camera.

He looks at Sebastian. “You too?”

“Um...”

I drag Sebastian, then sling my other arm around him. I groan a bit, because everything hurts, and he shoots me an alarmed look and moves forward.

I grip him more tightly.

Sebastian does not cause me pain.

He makes everything better.

“This is so cool,” the bellboy says, and we smile into the camera. Despite Sebastian’s earlier squirm, he relaxes into me, his breath shuddering, and I nudge him to remind him to keep his eyes open. He pastes his perfect, Hollywood smile on his sun-kissed face, and the warmth from his body fills me.

Then the moment is done. The bellboy moves from my arm.

“Thanks,” he says, then his eyes round, directed at the space between Sebastian and me. Which frankly is on the narrow side. As in, there’s no space between us. None at all.

I realize a moment too late this might be construed as strange, and I drop my arm from Sebastian. My reflexes are slow, sludgy from the hit that makes my mind whirl and my body ache. I want to grip hold of Sebastian to keep everything from spinning and spiraling in my muddy conscious.

“Right.” Pink once again adorns Sebastian’s cheeks, and I smile at him.

“I’ll, um, just go...” The bellboy backs away, his eyes darting between us.

“Wait!” Sebastian gets his wallet out, then presses some bills into the bellboy’s hands.

Then the door closes, and Sebastian and I are alone.

Again.

“How do you feel?”

“Like my head is pounding.”

Sebastian grimaces.

“And my body is bruised and sore.”

Sebastian’s gaze bounces to my torso, as if he can see the bruises beneath my clothes.

Maybe I need to make it easier for him. I unbutton my coat.

“Do you need help?” Sebastian asks.

I don’t.

I mean I can handle coat buttons. But for some reason, everything in my body feels loose, and I can scarcely keep from smiling.

I narrow the distance between us. “I need help.”

I stretch out my arms. If they’re waving in the air, I can’t unzip anything.

He steps closer, and even with my head spinning, I notice how his throat works when he swallows. His fingers tremble as they find my zipper, and something in my chest aches. I want to catch those elegant hands in mine, tell him he doesn’t need to be nervous. Not with me. Never with me. I am not Bryce.

Sebastian grabs hold of the zipper and pulls it downward. The sound of metal teeth loosening fills the room.

My coat is open. Sebastian stares at my chest, as if preparing to draw the Blizzards logo and needing to memorize each angle.

Sebastian removes the coat from my body, his eyes wide.

I think he likes me.

“I don’t,” Sebastian says.

I frown. Did I say that out loud?

He smiles. “You did.”

“You like me,” I say, stretching out my arms so he can remove my coat.

Sebastian ducks behind me, moving his hands over the puffy material and sliding it off.

“Now my sweatshirt.” I raise my hands over my head.

He laughs. “I’ll need to stand on the bed to get it off you that way.”

“Okay.”

I turn around and sweep Sebastian into in my arms.

“Luke!”

I laugh, then carry him to the bed and plop him onto it. He bounces on the bed, gazing at me in wonder. Then he quickly scrambles up, totally professional, and stands on the bed.

“Raise your arms, big guy,” he orders.

“You’ve got it,” I say happily.

Sebastian’s fingers brush my sides as he pulls the sweatshirt up. The worn cotton catches my t-shirt, dragging it higher, and his hands freeze.

Cool air hits my abs, but that’s not why my skin pebbles. His fingertips hover near my bare skin. When I glance down, his eyes are fixed on the narrow strip of exposed stomach, tracking the line of muscle disappearing into my waistband.

He swallows hard, the elegant line of his throat working. A flush spreads from his collar up his neck, staining his cheekbones that perfect pink I’m becoming addicted to. His lips part, and his tongue darts out to wet them.

“I, um...” His voice comes out deeper than usual. He’s still staring at my torso like he’s forgotten how to look away. “I didn’t mean to—the t-shirt—”

“Had to happen,” I say.

He stares at me.

I stare at him.

The world is blue eyes and Sebastian. The world is chiseled cheeks and wide-set eyes and rosy lips and blond-tipped hair. The world is wonderful.

I slide off my sweatpants. My erection strains, and maybe I’m being indecent, but I gotta change into pajamas anyway.

I don’t lose eye contact with Sebastian.

“Luke...” His voice is throaty, wrecked.

He still towers over me, and I crane my head up. “You look like an angel.”

His face crumples. “You’re drugged.”

“No.” I shake my head firmly. “You’re high up.”

His lips swerve upward, and I lift him into my arms, sliding him carefully down over my body so his feet touch the ground. His sweatpants, hockey attendee appropriate, but far less formal than anything he would normally wear, slide against my bare torso. His Jersey—with my number, my name, presses against me, and I squeeze him against me, inhaling his cologne.

When his toes reach the ground, I can feel his hardness against me.

I look down, and he looks down. His cheeks turn pink again. “S-sorry.”

He tries to scramble from my arms, but I’m not having it. He’s hard for me.

“It’s okay,” I say.

“It’s not...”

And I know he’s talking about more than the fact he’s the TV host of the dating show that I’m on. He’s talking more than the fact that millions of people are tuning in each week to watch me. He’s talking about the fact we went to school together. That my brother called him vile names. That he likes me, and maybe my brother wasn’t wrong when he labeled Sebastian as gay and announced it to the whole school, every chance he could.

And I’m not having it.

Sebastian is the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.

And so I kiss him. I pull him toward me, and close my eyes, and then our lips are merging, our tongues are joining, our bodies are taking over, when it knows we don’t have words, only feelings.

And God, it’s good.