Maddie makes a noise that’s kind of like a snort. “Please. I mean, yeah, the media will be excited he’s with someone, because even they know his monklike reputation, but you’re going to be like the Princess Diana of hockey WAGs. Everyone will love you.”
“Look at you with the lingo.”
“I also know there are puck bunny websites, like this one called the Warren where they rate the players’ abilities off the ice. Ty has twelve listed encounters and an average rating of eight point five out of ten.” Maddie wrinkles her freckled nose with distaste.
“Oh, my God, you’ve been on there?” I’m shocked and even a little concerned. I know most wives and girlfriends avoid that stuff like the plague. First of all, not all of it is true, and second, these girls are sometimes vulgar and downright mean.
“I got curious one night.” Maddie shrugs. “It’s fine. I know he was…liberal with his sex life before he met me. But I also know that he isn’t now. And that he must care about me a lot because he performs way better than an eight with me.”
She grins and it’s making me grin. “He loves you, Maddie.”
“Yeah. I think he does. And the feeling is mutual.” She pauses, braking abruptly as the guy in front of us swerves. “Like you and Avery.”
“Shut it,” I murmur, but I’m smiling.
We finally make it to work only half an hour later than normal. Maddie is right; everyone else is having commute issues because of the weather, and the place is a bit of a ghost town. My phone rings just as I’m slipping into my desk chair. It’s the ringtone I have set just for Seb—a One Direction song that he has on his iPod but would never admit to. It makes me laugh every time it goes off.
“Petit frère.” He hates it when I call himlittle brother.
“Soeur geante.”
I burst out laughing, because he hasn’t called me that since we were really young. He thought it was the same as big sister, but really it meansgiant sisterand I always thought it was ridiculous, which is why he kept doing it well into our teens.
“It’s good to hear you laugh.”
“I laugh all the time, Seb.”
“Maybe, but every time I call you lately you seem uptight and rushed,” he explains.
I feel guilt bubble up in my gut. He’s right. I’ve been answering because he called me out when I tried avoiding him, but I’ve been short and distant because I don’t want him to find out about Avery just yet. Someday…maybe soon…ish. But not now. I know exactly what Sebastian is going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.
“Sorry. But it’s a good thing,” I assure him, and then lie about the details, which I hate. I promised myself when Seb helped me get out of the life I was drowning in and start a new one that I would never lie to him. “I’ve been busy with interior design classes and having a good time exploring San Diego with Maddie.”
“And work is going well?” he wants to know. “You’re not overwhelmed or too stressed out? I know you said there’d be more work with your lawyer making partner.”
“It’s honestly not that bad.” And that isn’t a lie. I work well with my lawyer and the additional work is manageable. Seb’s worried because he knows I don’t do well when I’m stressed or feeling inadequate. This position is kind of the opposite. I am overqualified so it doesn’t challenge me and I get bored sometimes.
“Alex give you his pass for the game? You’re all set for tonight?”
“Yeah, I have a pass. Avery’s.”
There’s an expected silence. It makes me want to smile and panic at the same time. I enjoy throwing curveballs at Seb for two reasons: because it’s fun to throw him off and because I actually learn from how well he handles everything. Avery giving me his pass is a curveball for sure.
“That girlfriend of his isn’t going to the game? Laurie or something?”
“Lizzie, and no, they broke up a few months ago.”
“Not according to his Instagram,” Seb replies. “Oh, by the way, I want to go out after the game. With you. Nothing crazy, like not a late night or anything, but maybe we grab takeout and head to your place. I’d love to see it. Last time I was there you barely had furniture.”
“What do you mean, not according to his Instagram?” I say, because that’s the last thing I heard. The rest was justblah, blah, blah.“Avery has an Instagram?”
Sebastian laughs the deep, rumbling laugh he’s had since puberty. “I know. I was as shocked as you. He started it this summer, I guess because everyone was on him to engage with fans and, you know, be human.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is dry, so I grab the water bottle I always keep on my desk, push back my chair and start to make my way over to the watercooler in the small kitchen across the floor. “What’s his username?”
“AWestwoodOfficial,” Sebastian tells me. “I gotta go, Steph. See you tonight.”
“Yeah. Have a good game. See you after,” I mutter, and end the call. In the kitchen I fill my bottle and then lean against the sink and pull up Instagram on my phone. I’m not a huge fan of social media, but I have Facebook and Instagram. I mostly post pictures of nature and the ocean on Instagram and use it to keep track of my friends’ posts and lives. Seb’s not on there, but his girlfriend, Shayne, is and so are Jessie Garrison and a few other friends from Seattle. I search the username Seb gave me and find the account.
