“It’s okay, Shay. It won’t turn me off. Nothing could turn me off.”
I ignore him. “What else did you want to know?”
“Trey your only sibling?”
I nod.
His blue eyes dim and he looks thoughtful, like he’s contemplating what to say next. “How come Trey doesn’t play hockey?”
“He did.” I pause. I don’t know if I want to tell him everything. “It didn’t work out.”
“How come?”
I pause and then shrug, not wanting to share my brother’s past with him because it’s not mine to share, so I decide to give a nonanswer. “I’m glad he quit because he would always be under my father’s shadow if he made the NHL anyway.”
Sebastian seems to think about it for a minute, and then that smirky, devious grin covers his sexy features again. “Or he could’ve just eclipsed the crap out of Glenn Beckford and his records. Like I’m doing.”
“There’s the Frenchie I know. The one with the giant ego.”
I get up off the couch and walk over to him. He smiles down at me. “What can I say? I’m confident in my abilities.”
I put the mug down, glad the conversation took a turn, and not ready to go back to fifty questions about my life. So I do what I’ve wanted to do since he walked down the stairs looking all sleepy and sexy as fuck. I drop to my knees, taking his underwear with me, and say, “So am I.”
Chapter 36
Sebastian
The flight to San Francisco was painless. I text Shay as soon as we land. Nothing special, just a “thinking of you” type of text. I knew she had yoga and nutrition classes all afternoon so I didn’t expect to hear back from her right away. The charter bus dropped us off at the hotel and after I settled into my room, I got a text from Jordan asking if I wanted to go grab food.
As I leave my room to meet him and Chooch in the lobby, Westwood steps out of his room and into the hall. I’m dressed in jeans and an untucked button-down shirt. Avery is still in his travel suit. He glances up at me and a guilty look passes over his features, and I’m wondering if he still feels like shit for what he told us at Jordan’s last night. I hadn’t thought about it much, thanks to Shay, but now it comes rushing back to me. The fucker is considering leaving the team.
“Hey,” he says tentatively as I pass, and he falls in step next to me. “You going for food?”
I nod. He rubs the back of his neck and then loosens his tie a little, thinks better of it and tightens it again. “I have to do press in conference room C, wherever the fuck that is.”
Avery swearing is a rarity, so I know he’s rattled. It weakens my resolve and I suddenly don’t want to give him the cold shoulder anymore. “Any new developments from last night?”
“Los Angeles, Brooklyn, and Manhattan are interested,” he tells me, and I’m startled by how honest he’s being. Avery never talks about his business affairs with anyone, ever. “Winterhawks are willing to throw everything they have at me to get me to stay.”
I swallow. I know what that means. That means they’ll tie up all the money they can in him and others will be traded to keep the club under the monetary cap enforced by the league. Jordan, Chooch, and I all make almost as much money as Avery currently makes. If they want to give him more, they’ll most likely trade one of us or combine two other players. He’s staring at me waiting for a reaction. I just nod again.
We reach the elevator bank and I punch the down button as he keeps talking. “It’s not about the money. I mean, it’s not about my salary. It’s about a higher profile.”
“You’re the face of the entire league,” I remind him. “The only one of us that I’m betting ninety percent of North Americans could name. How much higher a profile can you get?”
“I mean for business opportunities and endorsements,” he mutters, and it sounds rehearsed and robotic, and I know he’s just regurgitating his father’s words.
I try so hard not to roll my eyes that it makes me grimace. I may think he’s being a fucking asshole right now, but he’s still my friend. And more than anything, he’s still my captain, and I can’t start an argument with him the day before we start our Cup run.
The elevator arrives and we both step in. I punch G and he scans the panel and then hits three, muttering, “I think they said three,” as he runs a hand over his dark hair, smoothing it.
Then he turns his dark eyes back to me. “Look, I know you probably hate me over all this shit. But I want you to know that no matter what’s going to happen in the future, I’m going to give this team one hundred percent right now.”
“I know that,” I reply and meet his eye. “But honestly, Avs, I keep wondering when you’re going to give yourself one hundred percent.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means when are you going to stop doing what your management advises, what the team needs, what looks good? Just do whatever the fuck makes you happy. Do you even know what makes you happy, Avery? Do you know what happy is?”
