Page 34 of Season's Schemings
Stefani hugged me when she found out, noting that she’d seen Seb and me in the kitchen together my first day and thought there was something going on. Tony, the head coach, knows my name now. And the Cyclones players themselves have been sweet as can be—they seem to think that Seb being married to someone from Atlanta will make him want to stay more permanently.
If only they knew the lengths he was going to in order to do just that…
But yeah, everyone’s been really nice. Aside from Adrienne, who, for HR personnel, really lays on the snide comments.
I figure she’s jealous. Which I get.
I mean, have youseenmy husband?
With a cheesy grin, I pirouette to the fridge, turning up the knob on the radio so that Taylor Swift’s “Christmas Tree Farm” fills the room nice and loud. I retrieve milk, eggs, cottage cheese, and chives. The team will be done with their morning skate soon, and a high-protein breakfast is surely in order before Reagan drops her Twelve Lays of Christmas bomb on them all.
A knock on the kitchen door has me looking up from my gigantic pan of scrambled eggs, and a woman I don’t recognize steps into the kitchen. She’s gorgeous in that off-duty supermodel kinda way: tall and slender, with flawless, makeup-less ebony skin, and black hair pulled back in a middle-parted bun that would make me look like a Founding Father but makes her look chic AF. She’s wearing yoga pants and a cropped hoodie, along with a dazzling smile.
And I meandazzling. Because I am well and truly dazzled.
“Chantal!” Stef squeals, rushing to the door. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”
The woman nods in agreement. “Ugh, I know. The littles are keeping me on my toes these days, but I have the morning off—thank you, grandma—so I decided to drop by and surprise Mal for lunch.”
Whoa. This goddess is married to Malachi Holmes?
Chantal hugs Stef and Reagan, and then turns to me with a friendly expression. “You must be Maddie! Mal has told me all about you.” She steps forward and touches my arm. Looks down at me, because unfortunately for me, I only come up to her shoulder region. “I wasdyingto meet the woman who stole Seb Slater’s heart. Everyone in hockey was convinced that the guy would only ever be married to this sport, and yet, here you are!”
I laugh nervously, sounding vaguely like a car that’s having trouble starting. “Yup!” I chirp, gesturing to myself in all my egg-splattered-aproned glory. “Here I am.”
Chantal, for some reason, doesn’t point at me and laugh, calling BS. Instead, she looks at me kindly. “If you ever want to talk, let me know. Being a hockey wife can be exhausting, and I can’t imagine having to work at the same place as Mal on top of being married to him! Much as I love him.” She erupts into positively flowery laughter, her beautiful face somehow more striking.
“Well, if you have any advice on how to talk Seb into posing for Reagan’s sexy Christmas calendar, I’m all ears!” I say swiftly, changing the subject away from myself.
I’m casual and laughing on the outside, but inside, my imposter syndrome is festering like a stagnant pond.
Chantal giggles. “Tell me more…”
At that moment, the guys burst into the kitchen in a sudden cacophony of yells and shouts and whoops. Seriously, when these men travel as a pack, there’s no describing the decibel level they operate at.
“Smells good, Mad Dawg.” Dallas sidles up to me and ruffles my hair like I’m his pet. Actually, ever since I officially met the team on the plane back from Vegas, we’ve become something that feels close to…friends.
Guess I’m friends with an entire hockey team now.
“Do we really have to call me that?” I shoot back.
“Yup.”
“I’m starving,” Aaron—who is quite possibly the biggest man I’ve ever seen—says from behind his teammate. “Is there any way I could get a protein shake, too?”
I jerk my head in the direction of the fridge. “I whipped up a bunch this morning. Banana, vanilla, and chocolate. They’re all labeled in there.”
“You’re the best.” He points at Seb, who’s walking towards us. “Your wife is a keeper, Slater.”
My husband gives me a silly little smile.
“Don’t I know it,” he says, coming up and giving me a little shoulder squeeze. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say back, my breath catching as I take in the scent of his masculine shower gel and feel the heat radiating from his body. I may be slaving over a hot stove, but I swear that Seb is producing more heat than the burners.
What I have learned about Seb over the course of our very short marriage, is that not only is he an absolutely downright, shameless, incorrigible flirt who can make me feel hot and flustered at the drop of a hat, he’s also a man of his word. He toes the line on rule number one like one of those insane slackliners that dangle over canyons, but he never crosses it. To his credit (and honestly, to my surprise), I’ve only ever seen him flirting like this with me.
Mostly at work, which is where we have to keep up appearances. At home, we don’t see each other a lot, what with his away games and busy schedule. And when we do see each other, Seb keeps things very professional. Respectful.