Chapter 9
TAYLOR
Hot water ran over Sebastian’s shoulders and chest, down his abs, and then lower. He tipped his head back to rinse the shampoo from his hair, eucalyptus-scented steam filling the narrow stall and fogging up the glass enclosure. When he lowered his head, droplets clung to his dark lashes.
“We should probably get dressed,” he said with a soft smile, his hands curving around my waist to pull me closer until I had no choice but to lean into him, his thumbs tracing over the dimples in my lower back.
My cock swelled, lust pooling low in my belly. “Yeah, probably,” I agreed, my own thumb drawing lazy circles over his hip bone. I shifted forward, closing what little distance remained between us until our dicks pressed together. “But I have a better idea …”
Sebastian lifted his eyebrow and opened his mouth to reply, but my stomach chose that moment to let out a loud, embarrassing growl.
Warm laughter filled the room, the sound achingly familiar. I’d missed that laugh, maybe more than anything else about him.
“Jesus, Taylor. When’s the last time you ate?”
“Yesterday afternoon, maybe?” I slid my hands from his body and scratched at the stubble on my jaw. Between last night’s event and then running into Sebastian, eating had been the last thing on my mind. “I remember a bowl of olives appearing at some point.”
Sebastian shook his head, reaching back to turn off the water. “That’s it then. No more orgasms until you’ve had a proper meal.”
He slid the door open, and we parted just long enough to towel off, trading sidelong glances as we donned matching white robes bearing the hotel’s logo on the chest.
Sebastian brushed past me, but not before dropping a quick kiss on my lips on his way to the phone where he ordered what sounded like more than half the room service menu.
“Pancakes, scrambled eggs, a plate of fresh fruit—no strawberries, please—and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Whole milk, no half and half.” He glanced back at me over his shoulder with raised brows. “Bacon too?” he mouthed.
I nodded, unable to find my voice. How had he remembered my strawberry allergy? I wouldn’t die from eating them, but the roof of my mouth would blister, and I’d be uncomfortable for days.
I drew in a shaky breath. “Um, yeah. Definitely bacon. And orange juice.”
He repeated my requests before hanging up and dropping onto the bed, his arms folded behind his head, his robe pulling apart to reveal his chest.
“You remembered.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat as I sat on the opposite side of the bed, the mattress sinking with my weight.
One of his eyebrows ticked up. “Remembered what?”
“Me and strawberries.”
His eyes softened. “Of course, I remembered.”
He rolled to face me, propping his head on his hand. “I remember a lot of things about you, Tay.”
I rolled onto my side, mirroring him. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
His lips curled into a sly smirk. “Like how even though you claimed our couch was too small, you still ended up pressed against me on it every time you wanted to watch a movie.”
“It was winter in New England. You were a good source of heat.”
“Says the human furnace.” His smirk softened into something softer, more genuine. “And you used to make me coffee before you left for practice. Always with too much sugar.”
“It was the perfect amount of sugar,” I defended myself.
“Maybe for you. But I drank it anyway.”
“And you made sure I ate well on game days. Always had my favorite turkey and bacon sandwich waiting.”
“You never ate enough before games.” His voice went quiet. “Someone had to look out for you.”
I blinked, forcing a smile on my face that I hoped didn’t look as brittle as it felt.
These memories—all the times we’d taken care of each other without saying that’s what we were doing—hit me harder than I expected. I coughed to cover my reaction and forced myself to switch topics to something safer.
“You used to hum while you did your homework at that shitty little dining table.”
“You must have imagined that.”
“I assure you, I did not. Taylor Swift, specifically. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Sebastian’s cheeks turned pink.
“Which album was your favorite?”
“Red,” he answered with a small, sad-looking smile.
“The breakup album,” I acknowledged.
He looked away. “I listened to it a lot after …” He trailed off, not finishing his sentence. Then again, he didn’t have to. I knew exactly what he wasn’t saying.
“All Too Well?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “That one hit a little too close to home.”
“It did,” I agreed.
Sebastian could never know how that song had wrecked me when I heard it live during the Eras Tour. How I’d gotten shitfaced later and texted my teammate Stryker Bell, telling him I wanted to get “And I forget about you long enough to forget why I needed to” tattooed down my rib cage.
Sebastian stood and crossed to the window. “Do you ever wonder what our lives would have been like if I hadn’t walked away?”
“Do you ever wonder?” I asked, turning the question back on him. “If we might’ve made it, or if we would’ve fizzled out anyway.”
“Honestly? I used to wonder all the fucking time.”
“Used to?” I asked.
“It was killing me, Taylor,” he said quietly, his voice breaking on my name.
“I had to learn how to let go of you, or I’d have gone crazy.
It wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t … I couldn’t keep living like that.
” His eyes were sad as he spoke, like he hated hurting me with his honestly, but didn’t know what else to say.
“I never expected our paths to cross again. You were supposed to be part of my past.”
“Right. Your past.” I turned away so he wouldn’t see how badly his words stung.
I’d known this thing we were doing was temporary, that the second I left this room, it was over.
I’d known it. But I’d hoped for more anyway.
That hope quietly died as a knock sounded at the door, signaling the delivery of our breakfast.
“I’ll get it,” Sebastian said too quickly, tightening his robe as he moved to the door.
A hotel employee wheeled in a cart laden with covered dishes, the smell of maple syrup and bacon filling the room. My mouth watered, even though my stomach felt unsettled.
Sebastian grabbed his wallet and tipped the man, locking the door behind him, then turned to survey our meal with a shake of his head. “I may have gone overboard.”
“No such thing,” I said with forced cheerfulness, moving to the small table where he was busy laying out each dish.
I smiled up at him as I sat—the kind of look that said I understood his need to press pause on our discussion.
I reached for a piece of bacon. “I could eat a horse.”
We ate in silence for a long minute, the tension from our conversation slowly easing.
“So,” Sebastian said, cutting into his omelet. “Tell me about your place in Portland. Do you like it?”
Ah. So we weren’t just calling a time-out on our conversation; we were moving on from it entirely.
That’s probably for the best, I thought, pouring myself a glass of orange juice. “You mean The Money Pit?”
“Sounds like there’s a story there?” he observed, shaking salt on his eggs.
“Not a good one.”
“Tell me anyway,” he said, passing me a small carafe of syrup.
I drizzled it over my pancakes, telling him, “I bought this old ship captain’s house from the 1700s.
Second worst financial decision of my life.
” I set down the syrup and reached for my coffee, taking a sip.
“Turns out ‘character’ is code for ‘everything is broken and costs a fortune to fix.’ Assuming you can even find someone willing to take the job in the first place. It’s also on two acres, and it turns out I’m allergic to grass and pollen, so every spring and summer is basically Hell. ”
Sebastian laughed. “Why’d you buy it then?”
I shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Piece of New England history and all that.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “Why do I get the impression that’s not the whole story?”
I chewed slowly, trying to figure out how to tell him the true reason without sounding absolutely pathetic. Realizing that there was no way to do that, I launched in.
“Honestly? I think I was trying to prove something. I’d been traded six times when I landed with the Marauders. Never really lived up to my potential, you know?” I set down my fork and made air quotes with my fingers. “I wasn’t a joke—not really—but I wasn’t not a joke either.”
Sebastian’s fork clattered against his plate. “Taylor—”
“It’s fine. It is what it is.” I pulled in a deep breath, readying myself to confess what an actual fuckup I was.
“Anyway, I got into some financial trouble a couple of years back, and I was desperate to prove I finally had my shit together. Since I wasn’t looking to settle down and have kids, I did the next worst thing: sunk all my money into a house instead. ”
“All of it?”
“Most of it anyway,” I answered with a shrug.
“The house itself was reasonably priced, but when you have 300-year-old everything, nothing comes cheap.” I scrubbed my palm over my jaw, thinking about all the repairs I still had to make.
The work on a house like mine was never-ending.
“I’ve got contractors there right now updating the heating system.
Next summer, I’ll need to restore the siding, and at some point in the not-too-distant-future, I’ll have to decide if I want to save the barn or tear it down. ”
Sebastian choked on his coffee, the liquid dribbling down his chin. He couldn’t have looked any more surprised than if I told him I’d been abducted by aliens. “You have a barn?” he asked, wiping his face.
I leaned back in my chair, bringing my own coffee to my lips. “Who woulda thunk?”
“Not me, that’s for sure.”
Not me either, but here I was.
“But you like your team?”
“I love the team. We’re terrible. Well, everyone but Stryker Bell and Cam Bonelli are anyway, but it’s nice being somewhere that finally feels like home, you know? Even if my actual home is falling down around me.”