CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

S ebastian

Luke is still kissing me. He was kissing me last night, but now it is morning, and he is still kissing me.

Nothing has changed.

I should squirm from his grip. I should talk about professionalism and duty.

But I cannot do that, like I cannot tell oxygen I no longer desire it.

Luke stretches beside me, his bare skin tangling with my own. My nerve endings leap, and I know it’s for joy, and I want to tell them not to celebrate. Because Luke and I might have this moment right now, when it’s morning and we don’t yet have to prepare for the flight back to Boston, but we might not have it again.

This is to be treasured. I want to remember this moment forever because good moments are precious. I value each one I’ve made, but nothing has surprised me more than this.

Luke pulls back, and my heart breaks, but then he whispers, “I want to feel you,” and everything makes sense again.

“Good idea.”

“Hockey players have some smarts,” Luke says.

“Like I don’t know how difficult it is to play hockey. All the analyzing you have to do.”

His eyes gleam. “So about that Blizzards jersey with my name on it...”

“You should be undressing.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Also fine.” His eyes dance. “But you didn’t answer the question. How many of my games have you seen?”

“Well considering I hate hockey...” I scrunch my lips together.

“Right. Maybe it’s fun to wear.”

“Pretty often,” I admit, and he gives a startled laugh.

“I don’t hate hockey, not really,” I explain. “One of my mom’s boyfriends was into it. He taught me about it.”

“That’s nice.”

“He wasn’t nice. He’s in prison now. But you take the good moments when they come and appreciate it.”

“I appreciate you,” Luke says.

“I appreciate you too.” I remove Luke’s shirt, marveling at his perfect pecs and awesome abs. “You look so good.”

He smiles. “That makes two of us.”

Then even though I was supposed to undress him, he ends up removing my pajamas. He hasn’t seen me undressed before, not really, and I tense.

Luke has only been with women.

Will he say, sorry, never mind, now? Will he realize what parts of my body are missing, what parts I have that he’s not experienced with?

My nerves pulse.

He runs a finger along my torso. “So beautiful. Beautiful Sebastian.”

He draws me toward him, and this time my bare torso touches his, my bare legs touch his. Our boxer briefs are still firmly on, and I wonder if that means the prospect of being with a man might still be unsettling for him. There are some questions I don’t want to ask, and luckily, when his lips capture my own, I don’t have to.

We kiss some more, and Luke tangles his hands in my hair.

“I want to see you,” Luke says.

“You can see me. I’m here. I’m yours.”

My lungs ache when I say this, and I hope he didn’t notice. This is probably a fling after all. Something he can tell his friends to show how openminded he is, as if they didn’t already know. Something he can confess to the woman he’ll eventually be with. Something maybe he can confess to the women he dates, the ones who will appear beside him in public, gazing adoringly at him, not needing to hide their affection for him, not needing to pretend they are completely indifferent to his charms.

“What happens next?” I ask.

“Whatever you want to happen.”

I sigh. “Well, we’ll have to stop seeing each other. Stop doing...this.”

He smiles, even though my heart is breaking, and I blink, confused. “What?”

He continues to smile, his eyes softening.

“You could pretend to be sad,” I say.

“You’re cute,” he says instead. “Adorable. Besides, I said what you wanted to happen would happen. Not what you think is proper. Not what you think our duty is.”

“Oh,” I breathe.

“I’m going to keep seeing you,” he says. “Because that’s what I want and that’s what you want.”

“If we get caught...”

“I know. I won’t let anyone hurt your career, baby.”

I frown. “It’s not my career at risk. It’s yours. And your...family.”

I don’t say the word Bryce. But he wouldn’t approve. He couldn’t ever approve.

I give a soft smile. “Have you read any romance novels?”

“I’m, um, more of a viewer.”

“That’s okay. But in romance novels they say sometimes you shouldn’t date your brother’s best friend. Because of, um, conflict. But I wasn’t your brother’s best friend. I was his...”

Bullee.

I was bullied by Bryce.

There’s no future where Luke and I can be anything besides a secret. There’s no future in which Bryce is not astonished and dismayed and horrified if he finds out about us.

Luke squeezes my hand, acknowledging all the things we won’t say because they are so powerful. The things we don’t need to say because even our thoughts about them are so strong.

“You interview me in private,” Luke says. “We can see each other then.”

I nod.

We’re halfway finished with this show. The implication is that once the interviews are done, I won’t see Luke anymore.

But it’s fine.

Totally fine.

I’ll have seen more of Luke than I possibly could have hoped for. And in three weeks I’ll be seeing him on the flat screen of my apartment, watching him play hockey, watching the Entertainment News channels talk about his future life with whichever woman he picks.

There will probably be a breakup reported in a few months because God, that’s what always happens on these shows, but for years, every new girlfriend will be eagerly reported by the media.

He will always be in my life as long as I have a TV and follow sports and entertainment accounts on social media. Soon, this physical version of Luke won’t be there. He’s already not naked beside me. Soon, he will transform into a glossy 2-D version, and my heart will ache every time it sees him.

It already does.

I’m pretty sure it always will.

Rain whooshes around us when we exit the hotel, and the hotel manager personally apologizes for the leaked photo.

The sky is gray upon gray, and the wind is not intimidated by the rain, and continues to blow with full force.

It’s a miserable day, but I stare at all the pastel stone buildings of Vieux-Montreal with wonder when we pass it as we head toward the airport. The fog turns everything fairytale-like, and I wonder if I’ve imagined everything that happened between us. I slide my gaze to Luke.

He squeezes his hands together, as if to remind himself not to reach out and touch me, not to grip my fingers in his own.

We arrive at the airport and after a stint in the lounge, we take our first-class seats back to Boston. The wide seats are normally pleasant, but I wish we’d been squeezed together in economy, where are legs might touch, our shoulders might graze, and no one would think anything of it.