Page 18 of Season's Schemings
“No idea,” I reply, reaching for my sixth drink. Or is it seventh? Whatever number it is, my brain’s starting to feel a little fuzzy. Static-y, like an old radio. I check my phone screen, then flip it back over and sigh. “I’m waiting on my agent to text me. He’s trying to throw some kinda Hail Mary, see if there’s a legal loophole that allows me to play while they’re sorting this visa stuff out. But it ain’t looking good.”
Maddie slurps through her straw. “Bummer, dude.”
I smirk at her word choice. “Something like that.”
After I got the news, I couldn’t bear to go out with my teammates. How on earth was I supposed to sit there and look them all in the eye over pecan freaking pie, knowing that I was about to get benched for who knows how long? And all due to my own lack of foresight.
That’s the thing with team sports—you have to think about other people, not only yourself.
I take another slug of whiskey, then shake my head. My brain feels softer than usual, slower. I rarely drink, and I can feel the effects of the whiskey I’ve consumed already. Which was the plan, I guess. Drown it all out.
“On the bright side, at least your mom isn’t making you spend Christmas with your ex and his new fiancée,” Maddie offers from around another slurp of the pink liquid she’s guzzling.
“Oof.” I turn to her. “Same ex who likes hockey?”
“Loveswatchingit.” She rolls her eyes. “He’d probably get flattened like a pancake if he ever tried to play it.”
“But at least you have a new boyfriend?” I ask gently. She screws up her nose at me, apparently not comprehending. “You know, the guy you’re on that baking show with.”
At this, her face falls. “Nope. That’s the same hockey-watching ex. He breaks up with me in the next episode.”
“What?! Like on the show?”
She nods. “The ultimate public dumping. Turns out, there was someone else. Episode airs tonight actually.” Her voice sounds perky, nonchalant, but the wobble of her lower lip doesn’t escape me, even in my drunken haze.
“I’m sorry.”
She snorts. “Don’t be. I dunked his head in a vat of frosting after I found out.”
A startled laugh bubbles out of me. I may not know much about Maddie—and I know even less about her awful-sounding ex—but I can’twaitto watch that go down.
“Nice.” I hold up my hand to her, gesturing for a high-five.
She smacks it with gusto, her little palm dwarfed by my big, callused one. “It definitely felt good at the time. I signed us up for the show originally to help promote his career, even though it compromised mine.” She swirls her straw in her drink and stares down at the little whirlpool she’s created in the glass. “I mean, what kind of person wants to hire a nutritionist who’s participated in an all-sugar, all-butter, all-everythingbaking challenge? But at the time, I was happy to do it for him. Happy to see him happy. And now… well, now I’m scared to face his smug happy face again.”
She goes on to explain that she’d been with her ex since high school—her family is friends with his family. And her mother is now, apparently, putting her friendships before her daughter’s feelings by insisting that they keep their tradition of spending Christmas together this year, even after everything that’s transpired.
At a loss of what to say to that—short ofwhat the hell kind of mother does that?!— I turn to the bartender. “The lady needs another drink.”
“And so does Sebastian Slater,” Maddie adds.
“Seb,” I correct.
“S-e-b.” She over-enunciates, her lips smacking together. Then, she gives me a kind smile. “I hope your hockey stuff gets sorted out.”
“Me too. But in the meantime, I’ve got a lot of free time on my hands. So, if you want me to rough up your ex a little…”
Maddie throws her head back and cackles loudly. “That’s awaybetter plan than mine. I was gonna say that we should take a selfie together and send it to him. Hashtag leveled-up.”
“Done.” I reach across the bar and pick up her phone, then click the camera icon. I hold the phone in front of us and put an arm around her, pulling her into my shoulder. She leans into me, and I find myself reciprocating the movement—to the point where I’m not sure who’s propping who up.
Boy, I am really feeling that whiskey. As a pro athlete where conditioning my body is part of both my job and my lifestyle, and has been for years, I don’t drink at all during the season. I barely touch the stuff on the off-season either.
She inhales through her nose and smiles dopily. “You smell good, Seb Slater.”
“Right back atcha,” I say, because the girl snuggled into me smells like vanilla and cinnamon… with strong undertones of tequila.
I snap a few photos of us and hand her the phone again.