Chapter Sixteen
Celebrate Life with Sprinkles—The Blog
Time to Get Cozy
I get home from a girls’ night out with Sierra and JoJo in Denver and slip into my apartment. As soon as I flip on the light, Natasha comes out from underneath the sofa and takes a moment to stretch. A tiny meow comes out, and my heart melts with joy.
“Hello, sweet girl,” I say as she comes toward me, rubbing around my boots. “Mommy is back in for the night. Just enough time to take off my makeup and put on my thermal PJs before having a date with Maxime.”
I grin as I think of it. He’s getting reality Skye, not blurred, for this evening. Best of all? I’m confident enough in my sexiness, in myself, to show him my fresh, bare face and thermals on one of our first dates.
I shimmy out of my winter gear. The drive back from Denver was slow, and the snow made me tense, but it was worth it. Sierra and JoJo took me to an old-school Italian place, and I’ll be dreaming of my next trip for the incredible wood-fired pizza.
It was obvious that neither one of them knew anything about the Veronica scandal. Gavin must have only confided in Maxime. I’m sure I’ll learn more tonight, but my heart absolutely aches for him. I was broken over Tom, and it was nothing like the deception that Gavin has to face.
“Meow.”
I can’t get over how one sound can make my heart so happy. I’m about to scoop her up when Boris tentatively comes out from under the sofa.
Oh! This is huge. Boris has never come out in my presence. I’ve been sliding him treats under the sofa every day, and Maxime suggested I put them in my hand to feed him, to show him nothing will happen if he gets close to me.
I pick up Natasha, who purrs the second I cradle her to my chest, and I place a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
“Let’s get treats,” I say.
I retrieve some new freeze-dried tuna treats and take a seat on the floor, making sure to keep a safe distance from Boris. I place Natasha in my lap and rip open the treats. She goes crazy the second she smells the tuna, and I put some pieces in my palm and lower it to the floor for her to eat.
Boris watches with interest, his nose twitching as he picks up the scent of the tuna.
“Come on, Boris,” I encourage him.
I hold my breath as I wait for him to approach. Come on, sweet boy, I will him. You don’t have to be afraid. You can trust me.
To my surprise, he makes his way over to me. I pull a Hansel and Gretel and make a trail of treats leading up to one I’ve parked on my jeans. Boris eats them one by one and ever-so-bravely takes the treat off my thigh.
“Good boy,” I say gently, daring to touch the top of his head.
Boris winces but doesn’t move because he’s eating.
As soon as he’s done, he backs away from me, but I feel as if I just made tremendous progress with him.
I head down the hall and flip on the light to my restroom. I turn on the hot water and let it warm up while I retrieve my braided headband to slip over my blonde locks to keep my hair out of my face. I go about my cleansing routine, which I’m constantly changing because I’m obsessed with finding the perfect skin care line. That, and I get bored using the same things and the lure of new products is my Achilles heel. If I’m flipping channels and find a shopping channel with a skin care program on? Game over. I’m sucked in for the next hour, itchy fingers on my phone, wondering if I should order it now before they are out of stock and feeling fidgety as I watch the stock number go down. Will I regret it if I don’t get in on this deal for the hottest new Korean skin care routine?
I pause for a moment. I probably don’t want to know how much I’ve spent on skin care products since college.
It might be enough to buy a new car.
Which I need way more than glowing, radiant skin.
I adjust the temperature on the water and splash it on my face. Okay, so that’s an embellishment, but I’ve probably spent enough to buy a moped, at the least.
I also don’t want to know how many hours of my life have been spent reading skin care product reviews online, or pinning products to my skin care board on Pinterest.
Hmm. My dirty secret of overspending on products might come in useful, now that I think about it. I know from Instagram that skin products are a hot topic, and I can start a regular review of them on my blog under a beauty topic header. I wouldn’t do paid advertising, but I’d write about brands I choose to try myself. Of course, I can’t count anything I used over the summer. Extreme stress due to a reality show, constantly changing climates, ridiculous hours spent filming, and last but not least, falling for a total wanker caused my skin to go all kinds of crazy.
I put a gentle cleanser on my fingertips and apply it to my face in a circular motion. My current trial is an organic line infused with the magic of coconut milk and coconut water and whatever else they can get out of a coconut.
I grab a thick washcloth and dampen it before applying it to my face to remove the grime of the day.
I’m in a harsh winter climate now, so my skin should be dry, skewing my current results, too. I should need something ultra-hydrating, yet my skin somehow looks superb. I turn off the water, thinking that while the organic coconut line might be excellent, I also know my frame of mind is contributing to my good complexion.
Joy.
I turn off the water and reach for my white towel, carefully blotting my skin. As soon as the word dances through my head, I notice my cheeks pick up a natural pink blush, one that makes me look healthy and happy. I’m embarking on a new adventure. I’m starting a new job on Monday. I’m in a new city. I have friends here, and life seems rich with opportunity.
With one opportunity being a chance to date Maxime Laurent.
I turn and look down at Natasha, who is studying me with her bright, inquisitive kitten eyes.
“Come on, let’s get cozy in bed so we can talk to Maxime,” I say.
“Meow.”
I grin. “I knew you’d agree. He’s irresistible with that accent, isn’t he?”
I head into my bedroom and open my top drawer, retrieving a pair of fresh pajamas. I have another confession: In addition to luxurious skin care, I’m also obsessed with pajamas. I have two drawers packed so full of them, it’s hard to slide them open. Tonight, I select my ski lodge-themed sleepwear set, red with tiny prints of skiers, skis, evergreen trees, and deer in white.
I work my hair into a long side braid and put on my glasses. I pick up my tablet and sit on the edge of the bed, grateful for my duvet cover and the extra throw blankets I’ve piled on top, then slip inside, sitting against the fluffy pillows I’ve stacked across my headboard. Maxime said he’d send me a Connectivity Video Connect tonight once he was back from dinner with Cade and Jude in Vancouver, which is one hour behind. I figure he should be calling me soon. In the meantime, I’ll just do my social media catch-up.
As I power up my tablet, a slight feeling of nervousness washes over me.
Will there be more pictures of us online yet?
I found a few yesterday, but so far, no tabloids have run with anything. I know I’ll be the focus of a “New Couple Alert!” sooner rather than later, but the anticipation is brutal.
Natasha jumps on the bed and curls up next to me. I stroke her fur instead of playing with my hair as anxiousness fills me.
I know it’s only a matter of time now. If not today, it will come tomorrow or the next day. Maxime says he can handle it, but I can’t help but have this nagging fear that he doesn’t understand how invasive this is going to be.
I hear a chirp, and Boris lands on the bed.
My mouth drops open. I watch in awe as he carefully approaches Natasha and drops beside her. His bravery surprises me.
Maybe Boris is trying to tell me something, I think. That I should trust Maxime will be equally surprising when it comes to handling the baggage that will drop into his life because he’s seeing me.
Steeling myself, I go on Twitter and plug in my name, which is always a crapshoot. There is always gossip and the fan-favorite meme of me saying, “I’ll always love Tom. ALWAYS,” after we broke up. I’m tearful and lip-quivering in the clip and oh, God, I want to puke now whenever it pops up in my feed.
What people don’t know is that the confessional was filmed after a lot of prodding by one of the producers. I was barely holding back sobs in front of the camera when I realized they were going to hammer until they got something from me, something emotional and sad. I gave them the least I could.
And my heartbreak is now a meme used around the world.
Yay, me.
Ugh.
Shit. I hope Maxime has never seen it.
Ding!
I reach for my phone and pick it up from the nightstand. It’s a text from Charlotte, and I cringe. I know she needs an answer about the book. I tap it open to read it:
Skye, I need an answer no later than tomorrow about the book. Again, this is a huge opportunity, and you shouldn’t keep them waiting.
I exhale. I have mixed feelings. I know I should do it. I’d be an idiot to turn it down, but I want to do it on my terms. I want to write a lifestyle book with advice about everything from learning to cook to trusting your heart.
Wait a minute. That’s exactly what the answer is. I want to tell my story after the show, my journey from that impossibly low place to now. I can describe how I’m learning to redefine myself with the help of all my experiences and the people who have been by my side.
Which might very well include Maxime.
They’ll want some Tom, but I’ll give them post-Tom. If Maxime is a huge part of my life, I’ll want to talk about all the gifts he’s given me, too.
Inspiration fills me. This is exactly what I want, to write about my ups and downs and self-discovery. I want it to be inspirational and positive and help others on a path toward finding self-love.
I know Maxime might not want to be mentioned, but that’s a bridge we can work though if we get there. I can always leave his name out, and I wouldn’t share super intimate stuff. This is not going to be a kiss and tell, after all, and respecting his privacy is a priority.
Oh my gosh. I want to write this story. I’m still worried about having enough time to juggle everything, but I will find a way.
I need to do this.
I quickly type Charlotte a text back, telling her I want to do the book, outlining my content ideas, and insisting on no Tom-bashing. As I hit send, excitement runs through me. I want the publisher to go for this idea. I want to show people you can be kicked down and get up and be the best you ever because of it.
Beep!
I glance down at my tablet and see that Maxime is requesting a video chat with me.
I accept his request, and his gorgeous face lights up the second we connect. But when I see him, my throat goes dry.
Maxime’s lying back in bed, holding the phone up to talk to me, and all I can see is his gorgeous, golden brown hair against the stark-white hotel pillow. He’s wearing a red and black plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned a notch or two with a hint of chest hair peeking out the top, teasing me to imagine what he would look like if I were to unbutton the rest of his shirt.
I swallow. There’s something incredibly hot about the fact that I know Maxime has chest hair. It’s so masculine, and I can visualize running my hands over that broad chest and feeling the hair that covers his contoured pecs as I move my hand down the trail leading to his—
“Bonsoir,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.
I blink. I wish I weren’t wearing thermals because I’m uncomfortably hot. The sight of his handsome face, the visual of his chiseled chest, and the sound of him greeting me in French are all super sexy.
“Hi,” I say, feeling the heat creep into my face. “How are you?”
“Better now that I can see you.”
Swoon.
“Me, too. How was dinner?” I ask.
“Good. We went to a steak house,” Maxime says. “How was girls’ night out?”
“Also good. Pizza was involved.”
“I know. I saw your Instagram.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Creeping on me again, Maxime Laurent?”
This time, I notice a flush sweep across his sculpted cheekbones. “I think I would call it having a vested interest.”
I laugh. “If you had an active Instagram, I’d creep on you.”
Maxime grins. “You make creeping sound adorable.”
“It all depends on who is doing the creeping. Confession: I like the fact that you follow me.”
“You give me a reason to look at my social media accounts. How many pictures of Pot Noodle cups can I see on Jude’s anyway? You are much more interesting.”
“Yeah, Jude does love his British Pot Noodle cups,” I say.
“Want me to share a confession with you?” Maxime asks.
“Are we playing a game of confession tonight?”
Maxime shoots me a sexy smile. “We can.”
I’ll play any game he wants as long as he continues to smile at me like that.
“Go ahead. Confess,” I say.
“After we met, for real, in Denver months ago, and you and I followed each other on social media, I always checked your accounts when I woke up in the morning, hoping to get another glimpse into your world. Not the world the tabloids gave me, but your reality. I’d try to think of something to say, but I felt like an idiot who let you slip through his fingers twice and had no way to go back.”
I stare at his open face, the one sharing a confession with me from his heart. Maxime regretted letting me go and not making a move. He is confident, an in-control leader who always seems to make the best decisions on the ice, but he is admitting his vulnerability when it comes to me. He’s not trying to be brave in this moment, or projecting the image of a badass professional athlete, but he’s showing me his real self, the one he keeps locked away to everyone else.
The fact that he’s letting me into his world, his reality, unfiltered and raw, means more to me than he can ever know.
Despite my determination to go slowly, I know I’m willingly handing him over a piece of my heart.
“My turn,” I say, running my fingers through Natasha’s silky fur and taking a breath, “Every time I received a notification that you had liked a post of mine, I always hoped you would leave a comment so I could comment back.”
Recognition flickers in his blue-green eyes. “We both wanted the same thing.”
“We did,” I admit softly.
“Then I’m glad we have it now.”
My heart is racing from his admission. “Me, too.”
His eyes linger on me, and I know if we were side by side, he’d be kissing me with those slow, sweet, searching kisses.
He clears his throat. “New confession: You’re beautiful in your glasses and pajamas.”
“I like being cozy,” I say.
And I’d do anything to be cozy with you right now.
“Blankets, coffee, fireplace? Is that kind of your thing?” Maxime asks.
Oh God, I’m picturing this with Maxime, and I am losing all my focus.
“I’ll go retro on you with my answer. It’s totally my jam.”
He groans. “My jam. I never liked that expression.”
“Sounds like another confession.”
“At least I know that one. Between Gavin and Cade, I’m always using Urban Dictionary to decipher their speak,” he says, grinning.
“Hey, speaking of Gavin,” I say, “how is he doing? He’s been on my mind all day.”
“Nobody knows but his family, me, and you. I hope you don’t mind, but I told Gavin I told you and that you might be someone he can talk to when he’s ready. I know you would understand better than anyone what he is going through. You know what it’s like to be led to believe one thing and find out another by a person you care about. I know I should have asked you first, but he’s gutted by this. I don’t know how he’s going to get his head right to play on this trip.”
I nod in understanding. “Veronica makes what Wanker Tom did look like nothing, which in comparison to what she did to Gavin is just that—nothing.”
“I gave Gavin your number and encouraged him to talk to you. I hope he takes you up on it.”
“You’re a good friend, Maxime,” I say. “I’d be happy to talk to him.”
“Gavin and I didn’t get close until training camp. I don’t know what was different, but we spent time talking about the direction of the team, like how he wanted me to be an alternate captain this year because he thought I was already serving in that role in the room. We’re different. Sometimes what draws you to someone is their differences. Like us.”
“Like us,” I repeat happily.
We talk and flirt for hours longer, and I don’t care what time it is because I’m savoring every second I have with Maxime. Finally, the late hour catches up with me. I yawn, which Maxime picks up on.
“You need to get to bed,” Maxime encourages.
I nod with regret. “I know, but I don’t want our night to end.”
“I don’t either. It’s crazy, but I miss you, Skye.”
“I miss you, too.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Maxime says. “We’ll set up another video date.”
“Okay. Have a great game tomorrow. I’ll be watching.”
Maxime’s face lights up at the news. “I’ll try to score a goal. I need to impress the girl I’m dating.”
Oh, Maxime, if you never scored a goal again, I wouldn’t care, I think happily. You already impress me by being the man you are. The man who worried about me the second he saw me in Belgium and who could instinctively read my thoughts.
We say goodnight, and as soon as he signs off, I hold my tablet over my heart for a moment.
I know I need to go slow with Maxime. I know this.
I also know I’m starting to fall for him.
My Maxime, I think, setting my tablet aside, is worth the risk of falling.
With that wonderful rush filling me, of a new relationship that could become something magical, I turn off my tablet and set it on my nightstand. I fall back into my pillows and close my eyes.
Ready to dream of all the wonderful things that are happening in my life.
Starting with Maxime Laurent.