He blew out a breath, his lips flattening. “A lot of people assume I used my family’s money to buy it.”
“Why would they think that?” I frowned, genuinely confused. It made no sense to me that anyone would ever assume Sebastian was the kind of man to take handouts.
He set his phone down on the table with care, aligning it with the edge before looking back at me. “Because they’re assholes? I don’t know. I worked my ass off for everything I have.”
“You always did want to earn your own way,” I acknowledged.
“Yeah.” His fingers tapped twice against the table, his brow furrowed. After a beat, he drew his hand back, resting it on the arm of his chair. “Okay. Your turn. What’s the weirdest part about being a professional athlete?”
“You mean besides the fact that I occasionally get mistaken for Channing Tatum?”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. “That didnothappen.”
“Twice,” I said. holding my fingers up to make a Boy Scout sign, though I’d never been one. “And I have photo evidence to prove it.”
“Show me.” He gestured for me to pass him my phone.
With an amused huff, I pulled up the Instagram post. Sebastian squinted at the screen, then burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you don’t look anything like Magic Mike.”
I snorted. “Thanks for the ego boost.”
“No, I mean, he kind of looks like Mr. Potato Head. You’re much hotter.”
I knew Sebastian found me attractive. We wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. Still, the compliment made me blush.
Lately, between my flagging ice time and the ridiculous persona my agent had crafted for me, I didn’tfeelall that hot. More like a washed-up joke. A has-been who never really was.
“Anything else?” he asked, passing my phone back to me as I shook off the thought.
“The endorsement stuff’s pretty fucking weird. Take last night, for example. I’m notfamousfamous, but because I have the right number of social media followers, someone decided it’d be a good idea to pay me to smile and pretend I love tequila that tastes like rubbing alcohol while wearing clothes that made me look like a dip shit.”
“You didn’t look like a dip shit,” Sebastian argued.
I snorted and rolled my eyes. I knew exactly what I looked like.
“Okay, fine. It wasn’t your best look,” he hedged. “The jeans were … very Eastern European.”
“You think?” I rubbed the back of my neck, staring down at my plate.
“You hate it,” Sebastian observed, his words more a statement than a question.
“I hate thefakepart of it. Playing up the dumb jock thing when that’s not who I am.” I paused. “At least, I don’t think it is.”
“It’s not,” Sebastian said, his tone firm. “You’re way more than that, Tay. Always have been.”
I studied the lift of his brow, the way his expression held steady, searching for any sign that he was just trying to be nice. But the Sebastian I knew had never been one to offer empty flattery. If he said it, he meant it.
“Thanks,” I said quietly. “I really needed to hear you say that, I think.”
We fell into comfortable silence, finishing up our breakfast while stealing glances at each other. Sebastian licked a drop of syrup from his bottom lip with a quick, innocent swipe of his tongue that transported me back to our dorm suite. Same scenario—eating breakfast together after staying up way too late the night before coming our brains out. Suddenly, I’d had this insane urge to crawl into his lap and never leave. The need hadbeen visceral in a way nothing ever had been before. I’d freaked out a bit, making some excuse about needing to get to practice as I practically ran out the door.
Of course, now I recognized what that feeling had actually been: a type of yearning for him that went well beyond the physical. It’d been love, pure and simple, even if I’d been too young and stupid to recognize it at the time.
And sitting here, watching the morning light on Sebastian’s face, I could feel myself falling all over again.
Which made me old and stupid.
This is a one-time thing, I reminded myself. Closure. A fuck for old time’s sake—even if I wanted more. More mornings like this, more of his laugh, more of the way he looked at me.
