Page 36 of Season's Schemings
“Overconfident, much?”
He leans forward so his face is close to mine, and he speaks in a low, gravelly voice for only me to hear. “Haven’t you heard? Confidence is sexy.”
I put my hands on my hips. “And arrogance is—”
“Equally sexy,” he finishes for me. “So, you gonna be out there rooting for me, Wifey?”
“I don’t know,” I say with an easygoing shrug as I stack a couple plates to the side of the sink. “It depends what time I get off.”
“I requested you get off early so you can be there. There’s a spot in the family box with your name on it.”
I blink. Turn off the sink and turn to my husband. “Wait, really?”
Seb smiles, but it’s a different smile than usual—somehow sweeter. “Yeah, I want you there. And besides…” He lowers his voice. “It’s a good look, right?”
I roll my eyes with a little laugh. Honestly, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised given that the players’ wives and girlfriends are often present at home games, but this is unprecedented for us—an official, public appearance as Seb’s wife.
And hewantsme there.
What I want to do is give him a big, wide grin, and tell him that I’d really like that. But what I actually do is give him a cheeky smirk. “I guess I could make time for it. Have to cheer on my dear husband, don’t I?”
He gives me a wink. “I left you one of my jerseys to wear.”
“I dunno… I was thinking of repping number 35 tonight. Joining the Dallas Cooper fan club.”
All of a sudden, Seb’s hands are on my waist and he’s jerking me towards him. “I’m a jealous man, Madelyn,” he whispers in my ear. “So you’ll be wearing my name tonight, or nobody’s.”
The hot shiver that rushes through me is positively electric. He takes a step away from me, cool, calm, and collected as ever, while I’m a veritable puddle of fluster. Why does my husband have to be so damn sexy? And why does he have to know it?
I can tell that he knows how flustered I am, but he seems to take pity on me, because he simply nods. “See you tonight, Mrs. Slater.”
13
SEB
When the puck drops, I feel nothing but pure gratitude to be out here, playing for a sea of maroon and white jerseys cheering the Cyclones on. I’m totally amped up, fueled by the desire to perform for this crowd who have embraced me as one of their own.
I love playing on home ice. And I’m very much aware that the one and only reason I’m still able to call this arena my home is sitting in the family box, cheering me on.
Near the end of the first period, I skate off the ice after a shift and climb over the boards, slapping Jimmy on the arm as he jumps out in my place. As I sink onto the bench, squirting a stream of Gatorade into my mouth, I crane my neck to see if I can spot the woman who made this all possible.
Mywife.
It still sounds hilarious to me. I never wanted a wife. And if you told me precisely fifteen days ago that I was about to be in possession of one, I would have laughed in your face.
Which is almost what Roger—the Cyclones-approved sports lawyer who has taken on my paperwork—did. Minus the actual laughing part. He’s more your stern, professor-y type with elbow patches and bushy gray eyebrows that furrow like twin fuzzy caterpillars as he asks alotof questions about your sudden marriage.
But as Mike reminded him, we’d employed him to fix my immigration status, not question my personal life. And I have to say, I’m happy with how everything has gone down so far.
Right now, I’m on a temporary bridging contract as the team management and lawyers prepare my new one. According to Roger, he’ll file the elementary immigration forms for a change of status for me, and once those process, we’ll be able to proceed with the interview for my green card. In the meantime, I get to keep playing the sport that my life revolves around and take my team to the playoffs.
It also means getting to watch Maddie blush like a tomato every time I tease her.
I keep reminding myself that I shouldn’t flirt with her like that, but my gosh, it’s fun to see her react to me calling her “Mrs. Slater.”
Plus, I gotta make this thing look realistic, right?
I crane my neck forward and finally spot her. She’s seated next to Chantal Holmes and a pretty woman with white-blond hair—Lena, Lars Anderssen’s fiancée. Maddie’s hair is tied in a high ponytail, and she’s talking a mile a minute, clearly not paying much attention to the game. At least she’s not talking on the phone this time.