“Mojito,” I tell her and tuck my damp hair behind my ear. I wish I’d had time to dry it properly—and style it. Luckily I had a pair of jeans, flats and a semi-cute, although sort of sporty shirt, in my work locker. Luckily Jessie isn’t too dressed up either, in a pair of jeans, ankle boots and a sweater, so I don’t feel too out of place.
“I’ll take one of those too,” Jessie tells Audrey, who immediately starts to make our drinks.
“Did you order a Seb-tini?” someone says behind us, and then I feel a hand on my lower back. It’s large, firm and warm, and it makes my stomach flutter like a baby dove. I turn and come face-to-face with Sebastian Deveau. He’s in a crisp white dress shirt with a loosened silver tie around his neck. His dark hair is tousled and his jaw is dotted with stubble. He’s wearing glasses. Simple, dark-framed ones that give him that sexy-as-fuck CEO look. He shouldn’t be allowed to own those.
Jessie glances behind me and her whole face bursts into a warm smile. She laughs, delighted. “No Seb-tinis here, unfortunately, so I settled for a mojito.”
He steps a little closer so now he’s beside me, hand still on my back. With his free hand he wraps Jessie in a hug. I bristle. Oh God, please don’t say he’s the fiancé. For a brief, irrational but all-consuming second, I believe he is. But then she breaks the hug and says, “Please say the love of my life is with you.”
Sebastian knows Jessie’s fiancé? He nods, as if answering my question, but he’s really answering her. Her grin grows again. “Great! Oh! I forgot introductions. Seb, this is Shayne. She works at the new fitness place I’m going to start at this week.”
“Shay,ma belle,” he purrs. Literally fucking purrs at me. And that hand is still warm, strong and possessive against my spine. “It’s an unexpected pleasure to see you again so soon.”
Jessie’s eyebrows jump toward the ceiling. I start to feel my cheeks heat, but before I can manage to say anything Frenchie leans toward me. “Everything about you seems to be an unexpected pleasure.C’est fantastique.”
Oh my God, he’s speaking French. And it’s the hottest thing I have ever heard. I can feel my cheeks evolving from pink to red. He sees it happen, and it makes his smile grow victorious and his tongue slips out and wets his bottom lip. Oh God. I’m dying.
“You two have met?” Jessie is completely confused.
“Shay and I are intimately acquainted,” Sebastian tells her, and I want to crawl into a hole and die.
I step away from his touch, and if it wasn’t so loud in here I swear you’d be able to hear my ovaries scream in protest. Everything about this man makes my girl parts want to fornicate. It’s infuriating and invigorating in equal, overwhelming parts. “Frenchie is a member at the gym. And he was at the open house.”
“I know. I was too!” Jessie smiles at me, but the confusion is still visible in her green eyes. And then, suddenly, it’s not. Her eyes grow wide and her perfect heart-shaped mouth falls open. “Oh! You wore that green dress to the Elevate opening! You and Seb…oh!”
She starts to giggle. Sebastian looks uncomfortable, and I realize she knows what happened between us that night. Oh my God, I want to die. The only thing easing my embarrassment is that Sebastian looks like he wants to die too, and I’m happy it’s thrown his game off. He pulls off his glasses and gives Jessie a pleading look, trying to get her to shut up. Her giggles stop instantly, and she reaches out and touches his face.
“Ouch. Seb!” He winces and I turn to get a full look at his face. The right side, away from me, has a short but deep gash through his eyebrow and forehead. It’s red and swollen. The frame of his glasses was obscuring it but now it’s on display—and it looks painful.
“Holy crap!” I gasp before I can stop myself.
He likes that. It makes him smile again. “You’re worried about me, Shay.”
“No,” I retort quickly—too quickly. “I just…It looks disgusting.”
He frowns a little. Jessie ignores our awkward one-upmanship dance and, as Audrey puts our drinks on the bar and tells us they’re on the house, Jessie asks her for some ice and a clean bar cloth. Audrey glances at Seb and her smile turns to a wince. “I hope the other guy looks worse.”
“He doesn’t,” Seb admits, and I try to pretend I’m not concerned. Because I shouldn’t be. This is the kind of stuff that I hate—the hockey fights that these idiots, like my dad and my brother, get into because of some stupid team code, even though they know they’ll lose. What profession expects its employees to fuck themselves up on purpose? I hate hockey.
He turns away from me, slips his glasses back on and says to my best friend, “Audrey, can I also get some bourbon and two more beers, please, love?”
Love?He just flirts with everyone, doesn’t he?
“Where are you sitting?” Jessie asks him. He points to the far corner of the room, by the back wall. I take my mojito off the bar and hand Jessie hers.
“Let’s sit by the window,” I suggest brightly. It’s the opposite side of the room.
Jessie shakes her head, auburn hair sailing over her shoulders. “Let’s sit with the boys. You can meet Jordy!”
She’s so excited I don’t even have time to dissuade her. She takes my hand in hers and starts toward the back of the bar. She seems to be heading for two guys sitting at a long high-top table by the brick wall near the emergency exit. They’re both in suits. There’s a freckled brunette who looks like his cat just ran into traffic and a tall blonde with broad shoulders, a chiseled chin and a dimple when he smiles—which he’s doing right now as he focuses his blue eyes on Jessie. Her fiancé is smoking hot, I’ll give her that. And I know before she even says it that he must play for the Winterhawks too.
When we reach the table he stands up, wraps one arm around her waist and lifts her to his lips. The kiss is subtle, but ridiculously romantic. Man, I want to be kissed hello like that. “This is a very happy surprise,” he tells her in a deep voice filled with affection.
“Jordan, this is Shayne. She’s Trey’s sister and she works at Elevate as a yoga instructor,” Jessie says to him, and as we shake hands and he tells me it’s nice to meet me, she turns her attention to the sad sack of a hockey player next to him. “Shayne, my fiancé, Jordan Garrison, and his teammate and friend, Mike Choochinsky.”
I feel like a child on the verge of a tantrum. I want to drop to the ground screaming and kicking my feet in protest. Why, oh why, does Jessie have to be marrying a hockey player? I liked her! Damn it.
“Hi, guys,” I say, and the Mike Choochinsky guy barely raises his head, which is slumped forward with his shoulders, examining the tabletop. Jordan, on the other hand, is the Welcome Wagon.
