Page 60 of The Spice Play

Reluctantly pulling my gaze from my phone, I looked straight ahead at the man who had made my life hell for five whole years. The man who had made me feel like a shell of myself, the man who had fucked me over and buriedhimself in my best friend, the man who blamed me for it, the man who made me feel less than.

His blonde hair was shorter and styled back and away from his face, his skin pristine, his dusty brown suit well-pressed. He looked stronger now, a little more built now than he’d been two years ago, and it shouldn’t have worried me, but I didn’t know him anymore — I didn’t know if there was any lingering anger with me, didn’t know if he’d become a worse version of himself. I couldn’t imagine how bad it would have been if he’d been that strong when we were together.

“Hi, Mor,” I swallowed. “Congratulations.”

He blinked at me, and I wasn’t sure if it was shock or surprise or pity, but something lingered in his gaze that made me want to run. “Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d show up.”

I tightened my lips and spread my arms, a half-hearted attempt to silently say,Well, I’m here.

“I’ll have to tell Rubes if she doesn’t spot you during the ceremony.” His eyes raked up and down my body, lingering far too long on my breasts before popping back up to my eyes. “We had a bet going.”

My mouth went dry. “A bet?”

His answering chuckle made my stomach flip, and oh god, I needed to run, I needed to get out of here. “Two, actually,” he clarified. “Fifty dollars on if you’d come.”

My vision tunneled on him as his mouth moved, that wicked little grin spreading across his cheeks the same way it used to when he knew he’d won an argument, when he’d talked me into something I didn’t want to do, when he bent me into positions my body couldn’t handle.

“And considering you’re on your own, it looks like I won the second?—”

Something warm and soft cupped the side of my face and I nearly jumped, but a mouth met my other cheek, pinning me in place as I stared up at Morris’ unmoving frame in front of me, frozen in my heels.

He didn’t.

“I’msosorry I’m late, baby. Practice ran over.”

I was going to fucking die. Right here, at my ex's wedding, I was going to have a heart attack and be wheeled out on a covered stretcher to the sound of some harpist playing a song Morris probably wrote himself.

I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t move, could only stare as Morris’ wide eyes took in the man on my left as his hand slowly left my cheek.

“I’m Sebastian,” he said, a single arm with a black suit jacket and white shirt covering it extending toward Morris.

Morris’ Adam’s apple moved as he forced himself to actually speak, to reach out and take his offer of a handshake. “Morris. Nice to meet you.”

Shakily, I finally turned my head, forcing myself to look at him and pass it off as at least somewhat natural. He stood tall, clean-shaven, and far,farmore attractive than any single man should be allowed to be. I’d seen him in jeans, seen him in workout gear, seen him in his jersey, his boxers, his joggers — but fuck, I’d never seen him in a suit before.

I never wanted to see himoutof it.

With his brown hair swept back, his jaw strong and his blue eyes wild yet level as he stared at Morris, I wanted to capture that image of him in my head and burn it to memory. But it was the black suit, the white shirt, the lack of a tie, and the top few buttons undone, that nearly mademe feral after not seeing him for four weeks. It was almost enough to make me forget why I’d left in the first place.

“You’re the groom, right?” Seb asked. Morris pulled at his collar but nodded. “Any chance you know where I can get literally anything other than beer or wine? Seems to be all they’re offering.”

Oh, my God. I missed him.

Morris blinked at him before sputtering out, “There’s water at the bar.”

“Was hoping for a whiskey, but I guess water will do.” Seb shrugged as he slotted an arm around my shoulders, his gaze moving down to me. “You look fucking beautiful, by the way. Did I forget to say that?”

Heat spread across my cheeks. I knew exactly what he was doing, and so did he, and from the look on Morris’ face, it was absolutely working. “Thank you,” I gulped.

“I… can we just back up a second?” Morris sputtered, his brows knitting and his nostrils flaring as the facade he’d clung to broke just a crack. “You play for the Atlanta Fire, right? Sebastian Blue?”

“Yeah!” Seb chirped, that grin coming back out in full force. “You a fan?”

“I mean, yeah, you could say that,” Mor said. Someone I didn’t recognize, another man about his height and age, tugged gently on his arm but he pulled away. “I’m sorry, I just don’t quite understand. Aren’t you, like, filthy fucking rich? Why are you here with her?”

“If you’ve got something around, I’m happy to sign it,” Seb interjected, dodging the question completely, and for a moment my mind hung on those words —filthy fucking rich.I knew he was absurdly well-off from hockey, but was there more there that I didn’t know about?

I knew I should have googled him again.

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