Page 40 of Season's Schemings
“I… don’t keep in touch with them as much as I’d like to.” It’s a massive understatement—my days are consumed with hockey, the sport trickling into all areas of my life to the point where I eat, sleep and breathe it, even in the off season. “I want to make them proud. Prove to them that all their sacrifices have been worth it.”
Maddie smiles at me softly. “Well, I’ve never met them, but I’m sure they’re proud of you, Seb.”
“Thanks.” I’m pulling into my parking spot, and it’s a natural subject change. “Shall we go watch this terrible, sappy movie you promised me, then?”
“Oh, get ready to be proven wrong on so many counts.” Maddie wiggles her eyebrows at me. “This one’s a masterpiece.”
When we get upstairs into the apartment, I sit almost awkwardly on my sectional couch. This is the first time I’ve watched a movie with someone at my place. And I find I’m glad when Maddie forgoes the armchair and plops down right next to me. So close that I can smell that cinnamon-vanilla scent of hers. Map the freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose.
“Get ready to have your mind blown!” she announces, reaching for the remote.
“Kill me now,” I moan dramatically, miming being stabbed in the heart.
But I don’t mean it. Not one bit.
This is… quite nice.
Quite a bit nicer than quite nice.
14
MADDIE
I take a deep breath. Then another. Then another.
Hit the “call” button on my phone, then panic and immediately hang up.
I sneak a peek at Seb, who’s in the driver’s seat of his SUV, one big hand draped casually over the wheel like he’s taking a little drive down an abandoned country backroad, rather than doing 120 on a slam-packed I-85.
It’s the day of the toy drive, and we are currently en route to the big event—and I say we, because we’ve been carpooling everywhere since our trip home from the arena the other night, mostly because Seb was right and my Jetta does sound wheezy as all hell.
Usually, I enjoy our little car rides together, but today, not so much, because of this pesky phone call Seb is insisting I make.
My husband—who’s looking particularly hot right now in gray sweatpants, a form-fitting black T-shirt, and a backwards Cyclones baseball cap—looks at me. “Just do it, Mads. Woman up and call her.”
“Thank you for not saying ‘man up’… and please watch the road!”
He laughs and turns his eyes back to the freeway, but then immediately starts fiddling with the radio, skipping from one station playing Christmas music to the next. “Unlike most men, I am a master at multitasking.”
I don’t know why, but his words make me blush. Seb can make the most innocent sentence sound innuendo-laden—not unlike Joey “Grandma’s chicken salad” Tribbiani fromFriends. It’s a freaking talent, I’ll give him that… but it makes for a constantly giggly and squirmy existence as his wife who has never experienced more than a drunken, fleeting kiss at our wedding ceremony.
I shiver at the memory of brushing my lips against his for that split second. The rest of the night might be a complete blur, but that moment is crystal clear in my mind.
Our wedding kiss was warm, tentative, and surprisingly soft. Sebastian Slater has nice lips. Lips that look like they’d be really good atactualkissing.
Guess I better engrave it onto my frontal lobe—it’s the most physical we will surely ever get as man and wife. Because ofmystupid rules… but maybe some rules are made to be broken?
Hopefully?
Gahhh, shh, brain. Behave yourself. We are on our way to a freaking toy drive for children right now!
“Call her, Lady M. Rip the bandaid off,” Seb urges, fiddling with the vents so they blow warm air in my direction. Thoughtful.
“Watch the road,” I chastise again. “And seriously, Seb, why do you call me Lady M?”
He smirks, shoots me a side glance. “Stop changing the subject, Lady Macbeth.”
My eyes widen. “Wait. You nicknamed me after a murderous villainess?!”