Page 28 of Season's Schemings
I frown, thinking it all over. I’m not a complete newb, I’ve seen this type of thing play out before. And sure, it was entirely in romcoms and Hallmark movies, but I have to ask. “Won’t the media have a field day if they find out you got married in Vegas?”
Seb shakes his head. “Nah. It’s unlikely to make it beyond the sports blogs, at most. The mainstream media don’t really care too much who pro athletes date… unless you’re dating Taylor Swift.”
Well, I’m certainly no Taylor Swift. Despite my appearance last night across the entire freaking Internet.
“I’m in.”
The words are out of my mouth before I have to think about them. Because even in the stark light of day, this remains my best option to make it through the holidays alive. And after having my breakup be broadcast on TV and becoming a meme, being temporarily married to a gorgeous hockey player doesn't sound like the worst thing to ever happen to me.
Seb shakes his head, looking from me, to the trainwreck of a wedding picture in front of him, and back again. “So… we’re doing this?”
I take a deep breath. “We are.”
“In that case, I’d better call my agent.” His eyes focus on my cheek.
“And I’d better get cleaned up.” As I say this, I swipe at the spot he’s staring at, and come up with a rogue mushroom. Just the way I always imagined waking up the day after my wedding… not. “May I use your shower?”
Seb looks at the mushroom now on his comforter. His expression turns almost wary. “Uh, sure,” he says. Though he very obviously means,don’t you have your own room with its own shower you can use, you crazy, topping-covered woman?
“Didn’t want anyone to see me sneaking out of your room looking like this,” I explain. “Not very wife-like to do what appears to be a walk of shame.”
A smile replaces his slight frown. “Oh, yeah. Good thinking.” He gives a little laugh. “Sorry, I’m not really used to being in relationships, so this whole marriage thing is gonna take some getting used to. You have full permission to point me in the right direction when I go astray.”
My mind immediately tumbles back to our conversation last night, when he admitted that he originally thought I was a prior conquest of his, and I smile wryly. “Right, I forgot. You normally go through so many women, you can’t even recognize or keep track of them when you come upon them in unexpected places.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that—” Seb starts, but I’m already striding to the bathroom as confidently as one can possibly stride when they look like they should be sprinkled with parmesan and served at an Italian restaurant.
I didn’t get much of a chance to explore my own room in the hotel, but I know for afactthat my bathroom isn’t nearly as nice as the one in this suite.
Or neat.
I take my time in the bathroom, helping myself to the toothpaste and mouthwash on the counter before cranking up the shower as hot as it will go. Then, I lather my body with every single bottle of free hotel toiletry.
The scalding water feels like atonement, and I imagine it washing away all of my crazy decisions from last night… but when I step out of the shower, I find that nothing has washed away at all.
In fact, I’m hit with the full weight of said crazy decisions.
ImarriedSebastian Slater. Number 19. Center. My ex’s favorite player. And the man who has clearly never let a girl stay at his place long enough to even shower.
Which is not ideal. Because in order for our scheme to work—and for the story we’re spinning to actually benefit either of us—we’ll need this marriage to look real. We’ll need to sell it, so that people will actually buy it.
In other words, we need a solid plan, or we’re entirely screwed.
I throw on a plush white robe and rush out of the bathroom to find Seb pacing around the room, phone in one hand and his other hand pinching the bridge of his nose. His expression is dark and frowny, but when he sees me, he face becomes apologetic as he mouths “sorry, one sec.” He then proceeds to pace faster, saying “uh-huh” and “mm-hmm” multiple times, with the odd “mm-kay” thrown in for good measure.
When he finally hangs up, he turns to face me.
“We need to make this believable!” I blurt at the exact same time as he says, “I don’t think Mike believes me!”
We look at each other, wide-eyed and frozen for a few seconds, before we both laugh.
“Guess we’re on the same wavelength,” he says, his eyes quickly skipping over my robe-clad form as he sinks to a seat on the edge of the bed.
I push a wet strand of hair behind my ear shakily. Even his fleeting gaze on my body—which suddenly feels very naked under this hefty robe—brings all the blood in my face to the surface. I’m sure that I’m glowing like a neon-red beacon right around now.
“Yup,” I say crisply, trying to sound as business-like as humanly possible. I hug my robe around me and take a seat by the desk—AKA as far from the bed as I can get, as space is definitely of the essence right now—and nod at my new husband. “If this is going to work, we need to be convincing.”
Seb nods in agreement. “Mike said that he could ask the Cyclones’ lawyer to file a change of status for me right away, but I need to see that lawyer the second I get back to Atlanta. And he said that the lawyer will need to be pretty… convinced about the marriage to continue with the paperwork.” He starts scrolling through his phone. “According to Reddit, we’ll need photos of us together as a couple, mail to the same address, and family and friends to vouch for us.”