Chapter 22

Stephanie

I should have known it would be a mistake to go with him to the press conference. He keeps a tight hold on my hand as we make our way through the crowd. He stays at the back and turns to me. “I’ve got to go up front. Will you be okay back here?” He scans the room, looking for a seat, but there are none. He walks over to a guy in the back row, on the end. “Hey, Stan, my girl needs a seat. Would you mind letting her take your chair?”

Sebastian doesn’t even get the words out of his mouth before the guy stands up. “Of course, Man.” Sebastian waves me over. I don’t want to, but at this point, I think it will cause more of a scene.

“Thank you; sorry,” I tell the guy as he walks past me to the back.

“Of course. Anything for Sebastian Hart,” he says with a grin.

Sebastian grins at me, and I just shake my head. “Anything for the great Sebastian Hart,” I mutter so only he can hear me. Of course, that makes him smile even more. I do notice that it’s not as bright as it usually is, though. Right before he turns to go, I catch his arm. “Hey, is your headache returning?”

He meets my eyes. “Yeah, but I’m fine.”

“Wait.” I open my purse and find my bottle of ibuprofen. I quickly pull out two and hand them to him as well as the water bottle we had from the game.

He swallows them down. “Thank you.” He hands me the water bottle and squeezes my hand a moment. He gives me a look I can’t quite interpret yet and heads up to the front. I slip into the empty seat, nodding at the guy next to me. The person moderating is already talking, so I settle in and hope this isn’t going to take long. It only takes a few minutes before they put Sebastian in the hot seat. It’s so weird, sitting here and watching it live. The questions start, and he answers them one at a time with an easy smile on his face. Nobody would probably be able to tell, but I can see the tightness around his eyes—his tell that he has a headache.

I pretty much ignore most of the questions and spend time scrolling on my phone. That is until they bring up our relationship. “And how is your relationship with the history teacher going?”

I tense and listen to Sebastian’s response. He is so silent as he levels a look around the room. Even I feel the chill in the air from his look; it throws me off. When his eyes meet mine, they linger for just a minute. “Most of you know me by now. You know I’m a pretty chill guy. I like to have fun, as my teammates can testify. But hear me when I say this: don’t mess with my people. Don’t mess with my family, and don’t mess with my girl. That beautiful woman in the back row, right there,” he pauses, and I swear every single person in the room turns to face me. “That’s Stephanie. And yes, she’s a history teacher.” He smiles. “She’s the one who’s taken care of me these past few days. She’s such a good person, and she doesn’t deserve the nastiness that’s been directed her way. So, I’m telling you right now. Don’t mess with her; leave her alone. She”s with me now. And I know I have my full team behind me when I say, you mess with her, you mess with our team.”

“Yep!”

“That’s the truth!”

I turn to look around the room and see Aiden in the corner in the back, standing next to Gunner. He gives me a nod, and Gunner does the same. Rico’s on the other side of the room, and he and Zac, I think, were the ones that called out something. There’s a few more players standing off to the side. I look back up at Sebastian. He stands. “That’s it; thank you.” He makes his way down the center of the room.

“We need you back, Hart!” one of the guys calls out, and Sebastian just smiles. He stops right beside me and puts out a hand. I don’t let myself think about it; I take his hand. He pulls me up and doesn’t let go as he walks to the back of the room to where Aiden and Gunner are.

“How are you feeling?” Aiden asks in a low voice.

“I’ve been cleared to return,” Sebastian tells him.

“And you feel a hundred percent?” Gunner asks.

“He’s not.” I shock even myself.

Sebastian scowls. “I’m fine.”

Gunner and Aiden both turn and look at me. “He still has a headache that won’t go away,” I tell them. Even Sebastian turns to look at me, and I feel self-conscious. “What?”

He squeezes my hand. “Nothing. Is it okay if we head out?”

Gunner nods. “Yeah, you’re good. We’ll see you at practice on Monday. Get some rest over the weekend.” They both give Sebastian a hand clasp and one of those guy versions of a hug. It takes a little while to make it out to the parking lot and finally to his car. I feel exhausted; I can’t imagine how he’s feeling. The guy’s just recovering from a concussion.

“You’ve got to be exhausted. Do you want me to drive?” I ask when we finally get to the car. I see the slightest hesitation, even though he tries to hide it.

“I’m fine, Doll.”

“Sebastian, just let me drive. I know you have a headache, and I know you’re exhausted.” When he doesn’t give me the keys, I put my hands on my hips. “Don’t be too macho to accept help. I know you’re a professional athlete; I know you’re in incredible shape. But tonight, you need some help. Just let me help you.” I put my hands out. “Keys.”

He finally drops them in my hand. “Thanks.”

I can tell he’s not happy about surrendering control, but it is what it is. I settle behind the steering wheel, and he settles in the passenger seat. “Are you surprised the guys won without you?” I ask, trying to lessen some of the tension.

“No.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and I don’t push him. The radio quietly plays as we make the drive to my house. As we start getting close, though, I wonder if I should have taken him to his house. When I glance over and see his eyes are closed, I stick with my decision. I figure it’s late; tomorrow, we can move him back to his house.

It’s only when I stop the car that he wakes up. He shakes his head, frowning. “Sorry I fell asleep, Doll. Thanks for driving.”

Once inside, I drop my purse on the kitchen counter. He locks the door and turns to face me. Before it can get awkward, I say goodnight. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Then I flee to my room. It only takes me a few minutes to prepare for bed.

The first thing that drifts into my consciousness the next morning is the smell of bacon. I sit up, confused for a moment. I’m pretty sure I smell bacon, coffee, and something that smells a lot like a lazy Saturday morning breakfast. I climb out of bed and throw on a sweatshirt and a pair of slippers and wander out to the kitchen. My sleep-addled brain is not prepared for the sight in the kitchen. I stop a few feet from the kitchen and watch as Sebastian moves around the kitchen like it’s his own personal workstation. Something must clue him in to my presence because he turns around. His smile is bright. “Good morning,” he says in a bright, chipper voice.

Because I’m still trying to figure out what he’s doing in my kitchen, I just stare at him. I decide not to try to figure it out before coffee. I walk into the kitchen and reach up to grab a mug out of the cabinet and place it under my Keurig and start a cup of coffee. When I turn, Sebastian’s eyes are glued to me. He blinks and looks back at the stove, shaking his head slightly. I walk over to the fridge to grab creamer, but he stops me and hands me my vanilla creamer. “Thanks.” I take a few sips as soon as it’s brewed; I need the caffeine. When it hits my system, and I find myself a little more awake, I face Sebastian. “What?” I demand.

He bites back a smile. “Nothing.” But when he smiles again as he goes back to the stove, my eyes narrow on him.

“Sebastian Slater Hart.”

His gaze whips to mine, his eyes dancing. “Not my middle name, Babe.”

“Steven?” He shakes his head, still smiling. “Sergeant?”

His eyebrows furrow. “You think my parents would name me Sebastian Sergeant?”

I throw up my hands, exasperated. “I don’t know. I was just trying to think of S names.”

“You know of anyone who has Sergeant for a name, Doll?” he asks, his voice amused. I scowl at him, and his grin widens. “How about we feed you? I think you’re a little hangry.” My scowl deepens, but it doesn’t affect him in the slightest. “Have a seat.” He gestures to a chair.

“You do realize this is my kitchen, right?”

“Yes, Doll. I am aware of that fact. Now sit, so I can feed you.”

“How did you find anything to cook with? I’m pretty sure I have no groceries.”

“Yeah. I noticed that. I ran out and grabbed some stuff.”

I stare at him. “You already went to the grocery store this morning and made breakfast?” How long did I sleep in? I glance at the clock; it’s just a few minutes before nine.

“I was up early. All the extra sleep the last few days made me unable to sleep in. Now sit, so you can eat.”

“If it’s weird healthy, I don’t want it.”

His eyes widen. “Weird healthy? I think I’m offended.”

I shrug, totally unrepentant. “That’s just how I am; if you can’t handle me, there’s the door,” I say, jerking my thumb towards the door.

Sebastian’s gaze runs over me, and my body turns warm. “Oh, I can handle you, Doll.”

“Don’t call me that.” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. Shoot. I hadn’t meant to say that. I take a sip of my coffee, hoping he’ll let it go.

“You don’t like it when I call you Doll?”

So much for letting it go. “Never mind. Just ignore me this morning.”

He walks over to the table and slides a plate in front of me. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”

I stare down at the plate, mildly impressed. There’s scrambled eggs, toast, sausage, and something that looks like a rolled up cinnamon roll. The scent of all that good food hits my nose, and my stomach growls. “I can’t believe you made all this.”

“You don’t have to look and sound so surprised, you know,” Sebastian says dryly.

My eyes meet his. “I am surprised. Most guys can’t cook.”

He frowns. “Hey now. Way to stereotype a whole people group.”

“How many of your teammates can cook?” I ask him.

“Okay. Fair point.” He puts his plate down and sits across from me. “But my mom made sure we knew how to cook; I already told you that.”

Not wanting to think about my own lack of culinary training, I pivot. “What is this?” I ask, pointing to the rolled up food.

He grins. “Taste it.”

I’m pretty curious, so I take a bite. I resist the urge to groan. “That’s surprisingly fantastically good.”

“Again, with the surprise, Babe. You‘re killing my ego here.”

“What is it?” I ask, ignoring his precious ego.

“I don’t really know what you call them, but they’re French toast roll-ups. My mom made them all the time growing up.” His grin grows sheepish. “They’re stupidly easy.” I notice he doesn’t have any on his plate, but that doesn’t surprise me. I’m pretty sure the guys stay on a strict diet during the season.

I try the eggs next. “These are amazing.” I try to keep the surprise out of my voice this time; the shake of his head tells me I was unsuccessful.