I nod and he walks me over to Trey with an arm around my shoulders. I smile at Trey. “We’ve met. I actually go to his fitness center, and Jordan Garrison’s fiancée works there.”
He looks shocked at that. “A hockey player’s wife works? That’s a first.”
He laughs at his own joke, oblivious to the fact that no one else is laughing. Trey smiles at me, almost like an apology. “Hey, Seb. Good seeing you. This is my wife, Sasha.”
The pretty blonde shakes my hand, and I notice her protruding belly. “Congrats.”
“Thanks.” She rubs her belly and Trey smiles.
Glenn grins and points toward his daughter-in-law’s belly. “This sucker is our last hope of continuing my hockey dynasty.”
Hockey dynasty? He won a Cup and had a decent slap shot. I’d hardly call that a dynasty. But I nod and smile and impatiently wait for him to introduce me to Shayne. Glenn turns me around and, his eyes a darker gray than Shayne’s but similar, searches for her. I search too, but she’s not in the corner where she’d been a minute ago. There’s nothing but an abandoned wineglass.
“Where is Shayne?”
“She went out for some air. You know how she is.” Mrs. Beckford steps forward. “I’m Elizabeth Beckford. Glenn’s wife.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say and smile to hide my dismay. Something tells me Shay’s not coming back, and I’m not okay with that. I cuff Glenn on the shoulder. “I should get back to the other box, but again, congratulations. I can only hope they raise my jersey one day too.”
“They just might, kid,” he says and shakes my hand again. “If you can stay healthy. You know I was only injured once in my whole career. You’ve been out a couple times this year, haven’t you? Guess they don’t make ’em like they used to.”
I force a chuckle at that, but it’s not funny. The fact is, he probably had a few concussions in his time, judging by the number of hits to the head he took, but no one knew what to look for back then. I excuse myself again and head out into the circular hallway that loops the arena. Up here in the box section, it’s carpeted black and the walls are a dark green with framed photos of Winterhawks in action every few feet. I glance down the hall in both directions. She’s walking toward one of the staircases. I pause for a moment to admire the wiggle of her perfect butt and then stride after her.
I reach her just as her hand pushes the door to the stairwell open. I press my body into her back, place a hand over hers and follow her through the door, like we’re one person. Once in the empty stairwell, she turns, stepping away from my touch, but I step into her and curl a hand around her hip.
“What are you doing?” She’s so cute when she’s trying to be indignant. It would work better, though, if her eyes didn’t linger on my mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me your father was Glenn Beckford?”
“What difference does it make?”
I think about that a second and shrug before tilting my head and giving her a smirk. “Guess it doesn’t. I’m still attracted to you, no matter who your parents are.”
“Frenchie, I don’t do hockey players,” she says, crossing her arms as if to keep more space between us, which just makes me take another step closer. She steps back, her butt hitting the wall.
“Because of him?” I guess, and when she doesn’t say anything, I continue. “Because he’s a little arrogant and insensitive. An old-school hockey jock with ethics and morals that don’t work nowadays.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“You know what I do know? I know youdiddo a hockey player,” I remind her, leaning my head so close I can smell the shampoo in her glossy hair. The rich vanilla smell reminds me of the last time I was that close to her, when we were naked in the shower at Elevate, and I start to get hard. “And you were good at it.”
My lips skim her jaw, just below her ear, and she whispers, almost pants, “Oh my God.”
And before she can say anything else, I kiss her. The press of my lips on hers is purposeful and determined. I am going to show her what she knows she wants but refuses to give herself. It takes exactly one pass of my tongue against her closed lips for her to give up her silly little fight, and she opens her mouth and kisses me back. The kiss isn’t so focused and calculated now. Now it’s deep, and urgent, and I really want to fuck her right here, right now.
The door clangs loudly as someone pushes it open behind us. I hear a gasp and a giggle. Shayne is about to push me away but I’m already moving. Frozen in shock, with the door slowly closing behind them, are Jessie and Callie Caplan. Jessie is clearly the one who gasped, her mouth is still open, and her eyes are as wide as hockey pucks. Callie, not surprisingly, is still giggling deviously. She’s the first to speak, which is also not a shocker.
“Hey, Seb.” She steps forward and gently punches my shoulder. “Good to see you’re still getting a workout even though you’re not on the ice.”
“Callie!” Jessie chastises her younger sister. Her eyes move to Shayne and she smiles. “Please excuse my sister. We’re pretty sure she’s got some kind of disorder, like she was born without the tact gene.”
Shayne doesn’t respond to that; she just says swiftly, “I have to get back.”
She moves past all of us and disappears back into the hallway. At least she didn’t leave. I can always go back in there and finish what we started…or at least, I can try. Callie watches her go and turns back to me. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s fine. It wasn’t going anywhere anyway,” I reply and smile. “Came to watch your boyfriend try to kick my ass?”
“Yep, but I hear you’re injured,” she replies, her brown eyes twinkling. “Hope it’s not serious. I’d like to see him kick your ass in the playoffs later this month.”
