Chapter 10
TAYLOR
Standing at the back of the elevator, I felt every inch of Sebastian’s body next to me—the heat of his shoulder against mine and the shift of his weight when his arm lifted.
For a second, I thought he might pull me into his side the way he had upstairs, but then his hand dropped back down to his side, where he hooked our pinkies together.
I squeezed gently before letting go.
His jaw flexed, his eyes staying glued to the numbers counting down to the lobby until the doors slid open to reveal standard hotel check-out chaos. Sebastian’s shoulders squared the moment we stepped into the crowd, his expression settling into a guarded mask.
I understood—I did, really—but the shift stung.
His phone rang, and when he pulled it out of his pocket to see who was calling, my eyes flicked nosily to the screen. Thankfully, it wasn’t that asshole Wyatt. This goodbye was going to be hard enough as it was; I didn’t need him butting in and making everything worse.
Sebastian lifted the phone to his ear, murmuring a quiet greeting. “Hey, Jace. I’m just getting out of an elevator. Can I call you back in a few minutes?” He paused. “Great. Talk to you then.”
He ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket, taking a few steps off to the side and tilting his head in invitation for me to follow him toward an unoccupied spot near the empty concierge desk.
“I hate to do this, but I really have to take this call.”
“No worries,” I told him, glancing down at my watch to check the time, feeling the weight of our departure looming.
Our flights didn’t leave for another few hours, so we’d decided to grab one last drink at the bar before sharing a taxi to the airport. Depending on how long the call went, we might not have time for it now.
You should leave, I told myself. Avoid what’s going to be an awkward goodbye at security.
As if he could read my mind—or maybe just my body language—his hand lifted toward my face, and for a split second I held my breath. Then his hand shifted course, landing on my bicep, gripping it tightly.
“Don’t leave yet. I … uh …” he murmured, his attention falling to where his fingers dug into my skin. His eyes stayed locked there for a beat, and then he dropped my arm like he’d been burned, his gaze darting around the lobby.
His eyes, when they met mine again, were wide and pleading. “Just … wait for me? Please?”
The tightness in my chest loosened. Who was I to deny Sebastian anything when he looked at me that way? Every extra minute I spent with him was one minute more than I’d ever expected to have.
“I’ll be right over there.” I hitched my thumb over my shoulder to gesture toward the coffee shop on the far side of the lobby. I was exhausted from staying up all night, and I could definitely use a shot—or three—of espresso. “Come find me when you’re done.”
“Thanks. I—” Sebastian blew out a breath and placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. “I mean it. Thanks for waiting.”
I nodded, and his eyes flicked over my face again. I held Sebastian’s gaze until he shook his head slightly, the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips as he turned away.
Like a love-sick fool, I watched until he disappeared around a corner.
Twenty minutes later, my coffee cup was empty, and my knee bounced restlessly beneath the table as I scrolled through my social media profiles, dropping hearts on all the posts from my teammates, including one from Bell, wishing his husband, retired NHL forward Ethan Harrison, a happy birthday and calling him an old man.
I smiled at the pictures of them together over the years while also feeling a pinch of something unpleasant behind my sternum. In college, my feed had been full of pictures of Sebastian and me, but once it became clear he’d ghosted me, I’d deleted every single one.
I’d tried to take a selfie of us curled up in bed together this morning, the sheets rumpled around our waists, but he’d wrestled my phone out of my hand and tossed it on the floor, just out of reach.
Before I could promise to keep the picture private, he short-circuited my brain by sliding down between my legs and taking my cock to the back of his throat.
I might not have that selfie, but I’d be able to live on the memory of that orgasm for a good long while.
A kid, maybe sixteen, approached my table with the nervous energy of someone working up his courage. “Excuse me, are you Taylor Morrison? From the Maine Marauders?”
My eyebrows shot up. Someone recognized me? Here? In Las Vegas?
“Holy fuck, really?” I couldn’t stop grinning. “Sorry for the f-bomb. Umm … yeah, that’s me. You actually know who I am?”
He laughed, and his face lit up. “Dude, that goal you scored against the Storm last season was insane.”
“Right? I still can’t believe that went in—and top shelf, too.” I shook my head, still in disbelief a year later. “Pure luck, but I’ll take it.”
Guys in my position didn’t get many moments like that. That goal might be the highlight of my entire fucking career. This kid recalling it months later? That meant the world to me.
He pulled out his phone. “Could I get a selfie?”
“Are you kidding? Absolutely!” I grinned like an idiot, jumping up to stand beside him, my arm wrapped around his shoulder.
He thanked me, and I gave him a fist bump, dropping back into my chair and buzzing with the unexpected high of being recognized. Maybe I wasn’t as much of a nobody as I thought.
I hoped Sebastian had seen.
I looked around, trying to spot him, when my phone buzzed, skittering across the table top.
Carl
Client’s asking when you’re going to post photos from last night.
Right. The reason I was in Vegas in the first place.
Pulling up a photo of me throwing back a shot of tequila and another of Kwame and me seated in the VIP section of the club, our table littered with branded bottles, I posted something uninspired about how excited I was to be invited and how good it was to hang with my boy, the caption playing up the jock persona Carl expected me to maintain.
Sometimes I wondered who was working for whom.
Carl was supposed to help me build the career—and my life afterward—that I wanted, not forcing me into a box that made me constantly question my own self-worth while he cashed my checks.
Maybe it was time to find representation that understood the direction I wanted to go—assuming I could even figure out what that was.
With a sigh, I set my phone face down on the table while I waited for Sebastian to wrap up his call. There wasn’t anything I could do about my agent right at this moment, so for now, I pushed it out of my mind.
“You’re scowling,” Sebastian’s deep voice whispered against my ear a few moments later.
The fluttering of his breath right where the bastard knew I was incredibly sensitive sent a very inconvenient message to my groin.
Down boy.
His hand coasted across my shoulder as he moved around me, sinking into the chair to my immediate left, his eyes twinkling in amusement over what he damn well knew he’d just done to me. “I’d say sorry, but we both know I’m not.”
My cheeks heated, embarrassed over how easily this man could play me.
“Who was the kid?” Sebastian asked, settling back in his chair. “Looked pretty excited to meet you.”
My heart did a little skip of excitement, my brain screaming, “See, Wyatt’s not that great!”
Though what was one starstruck hockey fan compared to the circles Sebastian typically moved in?
“Just some kid. No big deal.”
Sebastian’s eyebrow arched. “Taylor, he practically bounced out of here. That wasn’t ‘no big deal.’” His expression grew thoughtful.
“For what it’s worth, I’ve watched a lot of politicians work crowds, trying to connect with their constituents, and almost all of them look like they’re performing.
The kid knew that, and responded accordingly. ”
I felt my cheeks flush. “I don’t know about that.”
“Well, I do. It’s literally my job to recognize these things. Authenticity can’t be taught, Tay. People respond best when they feel someone is genuine.”
I ducked my head, fighting back a grin that was way too wide. Having someone like Sebastian—a man who worked side by side with the people literally running our country—tell me that I was good at connecting with people?
That hit differently than it would have coming from someone else.
I might also have a praise kink when it came to this man.
But yeah, both things could be true.
“Yeah, well …”
“Yeah, well, nothing. Own it.”
I wasn’t good at accepting compliments. Never had been.
I dipped my chin to indicate his phone, which was lying face down on the table next to mine. “Everything go okay with your call?”
“Remember that meeting I told you about last night?”
Sebastian was supposed to have lunch tomorrow with some important civil rights attorney and a woman from the ACLU to discuss strategies to combat book bans Republicans were hell-bent on enacting in schools across the country.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Turns out there was a scheduling snafu, and the guy I’m supposed to meet with is in Kennebunkport this week for a family thing instead. His office asked if it’d be possible to meet him there on Thursday.” He let the statement hang between us, his eyes on mine.
It took me a minute to catch up.
Sebastian wasn’t flying back to D.C. Instead, he was heading to Kennebunkport—less than an hour from my house.
“You’re coming to Maine?” I blurted.
He nodded, his fingers drumming against the table.
“I am. But the thing is, I don’t really know the area …
” He trailed off, his eyes meeting mine, his expression soft and unguarded.
“So I was wondering if maybe you’d want to show me around.
If you’re not too busy with pre-season training or whatever. ”
My skin tingled as the realization settled over me—I would get to spend real time with Sebastian, not just a couple of hours locked away in a hotel room. He might even get to see my house, meet my friends … see what my life looked like, not just the stupid endorsement stuff.
Sebastian’s gaze shifted to where my arm lay on the table, goosebumps on full display. A slow smile spread across his face. “I take it that’s a yes?”
“Fuck yes.” I nodded eagerly, wanting nothing more than to grab hold of his hand, but that felt dangerous in this space full of strangers. I curled my fingers instead to keep myself from reaching for him.
His brows furrowed before smoothing back out. “You’re allowed to touch me. Friends show affection with each other.”
I didn’t know why his words affected me the way they did. We’d shared secrets and confidences … and our bodies. We had history. Once, he’d been my best friend. But now? Despite this time together, I didn’t know what I’d call us.
I swallowed. “Is that what we are then? Friends?”
He leaned closer and whispered, “Since I had my tongue in your ass this morning, I think it’s safe to say that, yes, we’re friends.”
I recognized the crude joke for what it was—a classic Sebastian deflection, him trying to lighten a moment that was becoming too heavy. But his expression—sweeter than the words coming out of his mouth—gave him away.
Before I could call him out on it, his eyes softened further, his voice dipping low. “You used to be my best friend, Tay. I don’t want to lose that again.”
I bit my lip to keep myself from blurting out everything I was feeling.
One night together, I was experiencing the same overwhelming emotions I had ten years earlier. The ones I hadn’t been mature enough or smart enough or even self-aware enough to name.
But I knew what they were now.
Sebastian Carruthers was my everything.
“Fuck, I missed you, Seb. So damn much.”
His throat worked, his jaw twitching. “I missed you, too, Taylor.”
Neither of us mentioned the sheen of tears that shone in the other’s eyes.