Sebastian Hale?

Shirley POV

I hurried downstairs, still tugging my jacket into place, my hair slightly damp from the rushed shower. The doorbell rang again, Kayla clearly wasn’t the patient type. When I opened the front door, she stood there with wide eyes, mouth slightly open as she took in the house.

“Shirley! You didn’t tell me you live in a freaking mansion!” she exclaimed, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Her gaze bounced from the grand foyer chandelier to the sweeping staircase and the expensive artwork on the walls. “This is insane. Are your parents celebrities or something?”

I laughed softly, closing the door behind her. “Not quite. Dad’s in business. Imports, exports… stuff like that. It’s not as glamorous as it looks.”

Before I could say more, Dad appeared from the living room, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Kayla.

“Evening,” he said warmly. “You must be the friend who texted for the address.”

“Kayla, sir. Nice to meet you. Your house is beautiful.” She shook his hand enthusiastically.

“Call me Mr. Patterson. Shirley’s friends are always welcome.” He glanced at me with that teasing glint. “Heading to the hockey game?”

“Yeah,” I replied quickly. “Kayla invited me.”

“Brad’s team, right?” Dad asked. I internally groaned. “Tell him I said hi if you see him. He’s your mom’s best friend’s son. Good kid.”

“I’ll try,” I muttered, grabbing my keys and purse. “We should get going.”

Kayla waved cheerfully as we stepped outside. The cool evening air felt refreshing after the long day. Her sleek red convertible suited her bubbly energy perfectly. She slid into the driver’s seat, and I buckled up beside her.

“So,” she started as soon as the engine purred to life, “first game at Hawthorne. You nervous?”

“A little,” I admitted, watching the neighborhood lights blur past. “I’m not exactly a sports person.”

“You will be after tonight. The energy is addictive. Hawthorne versus Westfield is always brutal—especially because of the captains. Brad Walker versus Sebastian Hale. Pure rivalry.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sebastian Hale?”

“Captain of Westfield. Tall, insanely talented, and actually a decent guy from what I’ve heard not the cocky asshole type like Brad and his crew. The stands go wild whenever he’s on the ice. Total heartthrob material.” She winked. “You’ll see why.”

The drive took about twenty minutes, filled with Kayla’s nonstop chatter about school gossip, teachers to avoid, and the legendary tension between the two teams. By the time we pulled into the packed school parking lot, my nerves had settled into a low buzz of anticipation. Curiosity about this Sebastian guy lingered in the back of my mind.

The stadium lights flooded everything, turning night into day. Crowds streamed toward the rink in Hawthorne silver and black, mixed with Westfield’s deep blue and gold. Chants and music already thumped from inside. The atmosphere crackled with energy.

“Ready?” Kayla asked, linking her arm with mine.

“As I’ll ever be.”

We showed our student IDs and found seats in the student section, close enough to feel the action. The bleachers vibrated. Cheerleaders performed on the ice during warm-ups, Stacey front and center with her perfect ponytail and plastered smile.

My eyes scanned the teams warming up. Hawthorne’s side was loud and flashy. Brad moved like he owned the ice, fast, aggressive, barking orders. But across the rink, Westfield’s players carried a different intensity. Number 17 caught my attention immediately. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair visible under his helmet. He skated with powerful, controlled grace, directing his team with authority. Even from a distance, his presence commanded respect.

The game started with a deafening roar. The puck dropped, and the rivalry ignited instantly. Bodies slammed against the boards, sticks clashed, and the speed was breathtaking. Brad dominated early, scoring the first goal on a sharp wrist shot. The Hawthorne crowd erupted. Stacey and the cheer squad screamed his name.

But Sebastian answered back. He won a face-off cleanly, weaved through defenders with surprising agility, and set up a perfect pass that led to Westfield’s tying goal. The blue-and-gold fans went wild. When he glanced toward the stands after the play, his eyes swept our section. For a split second, they seemed to pause on me. Or maybe I imagined it.

Kayla nudged me. “See what I mean? Sebastian’s the real deal. Brad hates losing to him.”

The first period ended 2-2, with Brad and Sebastian trading blows on the ice. Tension thickened in the second period. Jason delivered a hard check on a Westfield player, drawing boos. Sebastian responded by stealing the puck from Brad in a breathtaking move, leading a rush that put Westfield ahead 3-2. The way he moved was precise, strategic, in stark contrast to Brad’s flashy aggression.

By the third period, the score was tied again at 3-3. Every play felt personal. Brad and Sebastian faced off multiple times, the rivalry was too obvious. With under two minutes left, Brad won a crucial face-off and charged toward the net. But Sebastian anticipated it perfectly. He blocked the pass, stole possession, and launched a lightning-fast counterattack. His shot rang off the post, but the pressure forced a penalty on Hawthorne.

Westfield capitalized. Sebastian assisted the game-winning goal with a pinpoint pass in the final thirty seconds.

Final score: Westfield 4, Hawthorne 3.

The Westfield side exploded in celebration. Hawthorne fans groaned in disappointment. Brad slammed his stick against the boards in frustration, glaring across the ice at Sebastian, who calmly bumped gloves with his teammates, a small, satisfied smile on his face.

“Damn,” Kayla muttered. “Sebastian just owned that game.”

We stayed in our seats as the stands slowly emptied. Players eventually emerged from the locker rooms. Brad appeared first on the Hawthorne side, surrounded by his crew, still fuming from the loss. His eyes found me in the crowd, and he made his way over, jaw tight.

“Patterson,” he said, voice edged with irritation. “You came.”

“Couldn’t miss seeing you ‘shine,’” I replied, echoing his words from the janitor’s closet with a touch of sarcasm.

He stepped closer, ignoring the loss for a moment. “Tough game. But I meant what I said yesterday. I want you here. Come to the after-party anyway. Hawthorne’s hosting to blow off steam.”

Before I could respond, movement from the other side of the hallway caught my eye. Sebastian Hale walked out with a couple of Westfield players, gear bag slung over his shoulder. He was even more striking up close, sharp jaw, dark green eyes, insanely hot! I looked at Brad then looked at Sebastian’s face again, Brad was really lacking behind in terms of beauty. He noticed my intense stare and looked back at me.

Oh Shit! I lowered my head shyly, before raising it slowly peeking whether he was still looking at me but he was already lost in the crowd. Phew... What a relief!

"....what do you say huh?" Oops! I forgot Brad was with me, "Ummm..."