Chapter 19

Sebastian

I watch Stephanie put space between us. I didn’t mean to stare at her, but she makes it so hard not to. I remember telling Brielle once that I had a type; I’m not sure if she believed me. But it’s true. I’ve always loved the “sexy librarian” look; call me an idiot but it’s always had an appeal to me. Stephanie is the embodiment of that fantasy. She always wears the most professional work outfits. She probably doesn’t mean them to be, but they are sexy as all get-out on her gorgeous body. She’s tall, not nearly as tall as me, but tall for a woman with legs that are a mile long. And I personally love it. Add her long black waves and her dark glasses and the way she stands up to me and spars with me...I nearly groan out loud. The woman was made to be my perfect form of kryptonite. I shake my head, frowning when it hurts my head. I need to focus my attention somewhere else. She bends over to look in the fridge, and I look away. Yeah, I need to get a grip.

“Are meatballs okay?” she asks, oblivious to the internal war that’s waging in my mind.

“Yeah.” My voice is huskier than usual; thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice. I feel so off, and it bothers me. I’m not used to being down. A shower helped me feel human, but I still feel out of sorts. It doesn’t help that I’m staying in the home of the one woman I want but who can’t stand me. It makes me feel all sorts of crazy. “Let me help.”

“I’ve got it,” she says, waving me away.

“I know, but I’d like to help. Put me to work. Please,” I add after a moment. I think she’s going to refuse me, but she surprises me.

“Can you make a salad?”

I take the knife and cutting board from her. “Don’t insult me; I can make a salad. My mom made sure I knew how to cook.” She shrugs and turns back to the stove. I move close to her and set up my work station. Could I work on another counter, further away from her? Yes. Am I going to? Nope. She’s stiff as she stands at the stove, and I want to help her relax. “How was school?”

“It was fine.”

Her response is short enough to try to discourage conversation, but I don’t let it. “Did you give your principal a piece of your mind for making you take off this week?”

She smirks. “No, but Brielle did apparently.”

I snort. “She’s been hanging out with Aiden for too long.”

She turns to me, eyes wide. “That’s what I said.”

I smile. “Great minds think alike.” She smiles softly but doesn’t say anything. “When do you find time to fit in writing?” I can see my question surprises her.

“You remembered,” she says softly.

“That you write?” I question.

She shrugs again. “Very few people know that about me, and most people forget about it.”

Holding her gaze, I say, “I don’t forget anything about you, Doll.”

She breaks our connection and turns back to the meatballs. “Sometimes I find it hard to fit in the time, but I fit in writing on the weekends and whenever I can in the evenings I don’t have a ton of schoolwork to grade.”

“What are you working on right now?” She gives me a look. “What?”

“Do you actually want to know?”

I frown. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to.” She shrugs again, and I find myself wanting to dig deeper to figure her out. I don’t think she’s going tell me, but once again she surprises me.

“It’s a romance; well, all of my books are romance.”

I grin to myself but keep my mouth shut. If she’s finally talking to me, I don’t want to do anything to make her stop. For some reason, it thrills me that she writes romance. She’s so uptight and proper: I would have never pegged her for a romance writer.

“Okay, I see that look. I don’t write romance like that,” she says.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like whatever you’re imagining,” she responds. “I don’t write the kind of romance novels you see on the shelves at the store.”

“What kind is that?” I prompt.

“The kind everybody thinks of when I say I write romance.”

“And what is that?” I push, even though I know exactly what kind she’s talking about.

“You know,” she says in exasperation. “The kind that have half naked men and women on the front who are all over each other. I don’t write like that.”

This does not surprise me. At all. “But you write romance.”

“Yes, but it”s not like those books; it’s not explicit or anything.”

“So, you don’t write any romance scenes in your books,” I prompt. I’m not trying to goad her; I just honestly want to know.

“I mean there’s romance, just not like...you know.”

I grin to myself; I can’t help it. “There’s just no hot sex. I gotta tell you, you just ruined a fantasy for me. I kind of thought of you as this sexy librarian who writes sexy romances with hot scenes.” The look she gives me. “How did you get into writing?” I ask, moving the conversation to safer ground.

“You really want to know?” she asks again as she stirs the sauce for the meatballs.

I frown. “Yes.”

“I loved reading as a child. Books were my constant companion. I started writing my own stories when I was eight. They were dumb and childish, but…” she shrugs. “They were my stories. Those books cultivated a love for writing. It sort of fizzled out when I went into high school and college. And then I decided to try it again during my summer break three years ago. I love history, and I love writing. So I decided to combine the two and write historical romance. It’s become a pretty popular genre over the last few years, especially regency romance.”

“And you’ve written six book since then. That’s amazing. Why didn’t you go into writing in college? Why teaching?” I ask.

“My parents would have never supported me getting something as impractical as a writing degree. Honestly, they hate the fact that I teach at a low-income school for a living; but at least teaching is more respectable than being a writer. I knew I couldn’t get a writing degree but I didn’t know what else I wanted to do. Then I met Brielle. She was my roommate my freshman year. We became fast friends. She was studying to be a teacher, and I decided to do the same.”

Her words don’t settle well with me. “So, you became a teacher because Brielle did?”

“Well, not exactly. I mean, I love history.” My phone rings again, and I silence it. “Do you need to get that?” she asks pointedly.

“It’s just my agent, calling for like the tenth time today,” I tell her.

“What’s he want?” she asks curiously.

“She.” At her confused look, I clarify. “My agent’s a woman.” She nods and looks away. “She wants me to go to the game tonight and then be at the press conference afterward.”

I’m almost done chopping the romaine for the salad, and I make myself slow down. I don’t want to finish and then not have an excuse to stand close to her. “Do you need to go?” she asks. “I can drive you, if you need me to,” she offers quietly.

I continue chopping as I think about her words. I have no desire to do a press conference tonight, and I’d rather stay here with her tonight. But I also feel the need to be there for my teammates. And if she’s willing to go with me... “You wouldn’t mind?” Do I need her to drive me? No. Do I want an excuse to spend the evening with her? Yes.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded,” she retorts, making me smile.

“I would appreciate it.”

She glances up at me. “Are you up to it? How’s your head?”

“David cleared me for tomorrow. He said I can’t play tonight, but I can be back on full schedule tomorrow. My head feels fine. I have a lingering headache, and I’m still tired but nothing like before.”

“That’s good.” She pours the sauce over the meatballs, and my stomach growls. “You a little hungry over there?”

I laugh. “I’m starving.”

“That’s good. You didn’t eat a lot the last two days.”

I turn towards her. “You worried about me, Doll?”

“Nope. I just don’t want to be hated for the rest of my life for letting the great Sebastian Hart die on my watch.”

“Well, nothing to worry about because I’m perfectly fine.”

“That’s debatable,” she mutters under her breath, bringing yet another smile to my face. My phone rings again, deflating my good mood. “I think she’s anxious to talk to you,” she says and walks past me.

I answer her call. “Hey, Crystal.”

“So, you’re alive,” she starts out by saying.

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t answered your calls. This is the first time I’ve been completely awake in the last two days.”

Her tone softens. “Are you still in pain?”

“No. David cleared me to start back up with all my responsibilities tomorrow”

“That’s good to hear. What about the game tonight?” she asks.

I glance over at Stephanie, whose back is to me as she sits at the table. “Stephanie said she’d take me to the game.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “And how is that going?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

She chuckles. “Okay. Well, keep me updated. Tonight, you’re free to watch the game. And then you need to be at the press conference right afterwards. And for the love of all things holy, don’t mention your relationship. Just focus on your injury and your return to the team.”

I frown. “But I wanted to help try to smooth things over.” For her. My agent knows what I’m thinking.

“Just remember that you got her into this mess by mentioning her in the press conference in the first place. Don’t mention her; let everything just die down a little.”

I walk into the living room. “I uh, already asked her to go to the game with me,” I say in a low voice, hoping Stephanie won’t hear me.

“Sebastian, you’re supposed to be letting things die down. If you show up together at the game, everything will just get crazy again.”

“I know; that’s the point. I want people to see that she’s with me, not against me. I’m trying to help her image.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not helping her image as much as you’re helping yourself,” she chides.

“That’s not,” I start and then pause. That’s not what I’m doing. Right? I mean I want her at my side all the time, and I’ll use any means to do it. But I truly do want to help her so that people will leave her alone at least with all the negativity. If they can see she’s with me, she’ll still get lots of attention, but it will be positive. Mostly. Fine. I see her point.

“Just be careful,” she warns. “And don’t miss that press conference tonight.”

“Thanks, Crystal. You’re the best.”

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks,” she says fondly. She”s not wrong; she costs a fortune. But she’s worth it. I watched what Aiden went through with his last agent; that was a mess. Now he’s a client of Crystal’s as well because she’s the best.

I put my phone in my pocket and make my way back into the kitchen. “Sorry about that.”

She shrugs. “You’re fine. The food’s ready; help yourself.”

I notice in disappointment that she’s nearly done eating, and I kick myself for taking that call. I should have waited. I quickly fill my plate and sit across from Stephanie. I take a bite and then another. “This is quite good,” I say after I finish chewing.

She shrugs. “It’s no gourmet meal, but it will work.”

I take another bite. “It’s really good; thanks for cooking for me.” I look up and meet her eyes. She looks like a deer in headlights for a moment before she straightens.

“So, Crystal, huh?”

I nod, not sure where she’s going with this. For some reason, I feel the need to explain myself. “She’s been my agent since the beginning. She’s great. Aiden just became her client halfway through the season last season.”

“And Brielle’s okay with this Crystal?”

The way she says her name makes me want to smile, but I don’t. “Yeah. Bri’s good with it.” She looks adorably irritated, and I personally love it. I lean forward. “Crystal’s in her sixties.”

Stephanie’s eyes snap to mine, and I sit back, satisfied. I take another bite of my food. It does taste good. Stephanie picks up her plate and takes it to the sink. “Well, that’s...great.” I smile to myself again. She might say she doesn’t care, but her words tonight prove otherwise. I just gotta keep at it with this girl. I’ve never given up on something I want, and I’m not about to start now.