Page 64 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show
God, they know.
“You two are a trending hashtag,” Flora says.
“You’re not supposed to be looking on social media,” I grumble.
“Oops.” Flora gives a sheepish grin. “Guess I had two phones or something.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” I say.
“It’s just a...crush.” I hate the way the word feels in my mouth. I hate the way it feels on my tongue. I hate the way it sears my mouth, as if I’m swallowing fire or something.
I feel like a ten-year old boy when I say it. Because my soul knows it’s more. Whatever I feel for Luke, and none of it, face it is good, is strong. I feel swept into a whirlpool, pulled into a strange world of fish, where I’m used to mammals, and coral, where I’m used to plants.
Alicia, one of the WAGs, glances up from her phone at me. “You need to go down there. He’s calling for you.”
Ella and Mateo frown, but I’m already on my feet.
“He probably is worried about the show,” Flora says, even though that’s totally not her job. She’s a contestant.
I nod all the same. “Yeah. I’ll reassure him.”
And then I hurry away, before Mateo can suggest I record the whole thing or something. I hurry through the concrete service tunnels beneath the arena, lit by harsh fluorescent lights. My press pass gets me through security, but my heart pounds as I approach the final checkpoint, knowing Luke is waiting somewhere beyond those steel doors, injured and alone while the game continues without him above.
LUKE
Pain inundates my body, settling in each cell, and turning them to acid. I’m on an examination table. I try to leave.
“Wait!” Dr. Novak rushes toward me. “Lie back down. You’re in no position to return to the ice.”
I blink at her. “I know.”
Her eyebrows do some sort of upward movement thing, and I wish she would keep still, because my head already hurts, and the world is already spilling.
“Stay still,” I murmur.
She sighs. “Lie back down, Luke. You can’t play.”
“Not trying to play,” I grumble. “Trying to—”
“What do you need?”
“Sebastian.”
“I—” She moves through her papers. “Is Sebastian your emergency contact? I have your brother Bryce down—”
“No. Not Bryce! He can’t come. He’s in Massachusetts.”
“Sebastian Archer?” Even though my head is pounding, even though information moves through my veins and neuron pathways slowly, like I’m forcing sludge through my body, I remember his name. “He does the TV show.”
“Oh, god, yes.” Dr. Novak gives me a bright smile. “He’s the skinny blond.”
I frown, because I’m pretty sure that’s not a good description of him. I shake my head. “No.”
“Oh.”
“Slender,” I explain. “Face like a...doll. Big blue eyes. Not too close together. Perfect.”
Dr. Novak’s face turns alarmed. I hope she doesn’t think I’m worse than she said.
