Page 30 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show
I want to tell him no, but it would actually be helpful.
His eyes soften. “I’ll come.”
Luke and I walk down the lobby to the elevators, then head to the eleventh floor. The numbers tick up slowly, each floor bringing me closer to being alone with him. My heart squeezes, and I find myself stealing glances at his profile, at the way the fluorescent lights catch his golden hair, at how his presence fills the small space.
I’m supposed to be helping him find true love, not...whatever this is. The thought of how he would smirk and scoff if he knew my true thoughts makes every nerve ending race, as if trying to escape the potential embarrassment.
I’m in more danger from what I’m feeling than I ever was from a bus full of hockey players.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Luke
The hotel suite feels smaller with every piece of equipment Sebastian sets up. Lights, cameras, tripods. I help Sebastian unpack the equipment. Mostly I observe him, while he takes me through the questions he’s going to ask.
Sebastian is here to make this as efficient as possible. Our time together won’t be wasted.
Finally, he gestures to the armchair. “Have a seat.”
“Awesome.” I plop down.
He nods, his face calm, like the ice that closes off the ponds each winter, hiding everything from view.
His eyes narrow, then he looks through his lens.
The door to the living room portion of the suite is closed, but I’m still conscious of the large king bed with its comfortable bedding on the other side of the wall. The suite is narrow, more crowded because of the black tripods scattered around, thrusting light in my direction as the lenses record me.
“Please move forward,” he says.
“Okay.”
“And keep your arms on the armrests.”
I grip them, and he frowns.
“I’ll, um, just help you...”
He’s at my side at once, a testament to the tininess of the room and the tallness of his wiry figure. He moves his fingers over me, and I’m aware of their length and general lightness as they brush against my forearm.
I jump, and his fingers abandon me.
“S-sorry.” His face is red by the time I slide my gaze to him, and I don’t like it. I don’t like that I’ve rearranged his blood in such a fashion. And I don’t like that Bryce used to scare him all those years ago.
“You’re fine,” I assure him.
Sebastian seems uncertain.
“Completely good,” I say, trying to smile, but for some reason my skin is warm where his fingers touched my jacket, even though the fact is ridiculous.
This is a hotel, not a tent. I shouldn’t notice every change of temperature, like I’m a freezing man, and Sebastian has bestowed me with fingerless gloves.
He stares at my forearm again, and for a wild moment, I think he’s noticing burn marks on my coat, seared by an overly eager ironer.
“Flip your hand around.”
I do so, and he nods.
“Then move your arm toward me.”
