Page 35 of Season's Schemings
Just like he said he would.
And I’m not going to lie, I find that I almost look forward to his teasing flirtations and his shoulder squeezes every day at work.
Simply because he has such nice, big hands. Adam had pale, little, soft hands, which I’ve officially decided are my new ick.
The team gathers at the huge oak table at the side of the kitchen, some of them piling onto the long wood bench while others grab a chair. I dish out the eggs and Stef serves up the sautéed veggies she was keeping warm in the oven.
“I don’t know why you all insist on eating in my kitchen these days,” she grumbles, but she’s smiling. “Y’all used to have no problem staying out of my domain and eating in the players’ lounge.”
“That was before we had an in with the kitchen staff,” Malachi jokes, looking right at me and winking from where he’s standing hand in hand with his wife. I give him a slightly perplexed smile in return. I like Mal, but he always looks at me strangely… like he knows something. He then turns to his wife with the sweetest expression I’ve ever seen before announcing, “Okay guys, we’re out.”
Chantal smiles at him, and then looks at me. “Maddie, you’ll be at the toy drive, right?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, so I turn to Seb for guidance. He gives a decisive nod. “Of course she’s going.”
He then returns to his conversation with Aaron, and I nod, too. Like a puppet. “Guess so.”
“Okay, see you then.” She sounds genuine. “It was really nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I reply. But honestly, nice as Chantal is, all I can think is that if she’s the image of an NHL wife, how on earth is anyone actually believing that I’m one too?
After Mal and Chantal depart, the conversation turns to tonight’s game against North Carolina. I cart my pans to the sink, and find myself watching Sebastian as I scrub. He’s still speaking with Aaron, head bowed, hands moving fast. I’m pretty sure that the two of them are on the same line—wooo, more hockey speak I learned—and I’m one hundred percent sure that they’re talking hockey right now.
Because that’s what this is all about: Hockey.
And revenge.
Notmarriage. And certainly not thinking that my husband is hot and worrying about what he thinks I look like.
I sigh and wipe my hands on a dishcloth, my eyes landing on the ring I place every day on the sill next to the sink.
I don’t wear my ring while I’m working—food prep and jewelry are not hygiene friends. I find I kind of miss it when I don’t have it on. Mostly because I never dreamed I’d own anything so gorgeous. For a time, after Adam dumped me, I believed I’d never evenhavea ring to place on my ring finger.
I still can’t believe that Seb insisted on letting me keep it. After we got back to Atlanta, I broached the subject of how expensive it was, and he didn’t even bat an eye. Said I needed to have a better ring than Elizabeth for the revenge plan to really work, and I could pawn it and donate the money to charity after we’re done with our agreement.
Must be nice to be rolling in so much NHL player dough that a freaking diamond sapphire isn’t on your spending radar.
Stef putters up behind me, managing to balance a stack of plates on her splint. The lady is an absolute marvel, and I’m happy to call her my boss and friend even after only a few weeks of employment.
“Are you going to the toy drive thingy, Stef?” I ask as I pick up a steel wool sponge to scrub a dirty pan.
“Of course, wouldn’t miss it!” She shoots me a quick glance. “Oh, right, this’ll be your first one. Every year, the team does something charitable for the holidays, and this year, they’re partnering with a local charity doing ahugetoy drive. The guys have to dress up as elves and everything.”
This makes me laugh. “How do they decide what cause to support?”
“Well, they all propose ideas and vote at the beginning of the season. Your hubby was actually the one to suggest the toy drive for underprivileged kids.”
Well, if that’s not the sweetest thing I ever heard…
“Hey, Lady M.” Seb—the apparent philanthropist—is suddenly behind me, empty plate in hand. “Thanks for lunch, it was great.”
“Welcome,” I reply, taking the plate from him. He still hasn’t told me where that stupid nickname came from and I’ve basically given up on asking at this point.
“You want help with the dishes?”
I shake my head with a smile. Because the thing is, he means it. Seb really would take the time, roll up his sleeves, and start scrubbing if I so much as hesitated. In the weeks I’ve known him, I’ve learned that Sebastian Slater is much sweeter than people give him credit for. “You have better things to do with your afternoon. Don’t you have a game to prep for?”
“Nah. We have that win in the bag.”