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He watches me bite into my dinner. “There’s nothing wrong with getting help, you know.”

I stare down at my pizza. “I know, Seb.”

He harrumphs because he doesn’t believe me.

If it makes him feel better, I don’t either.

CHAPTER THREE

Olive

When Sebastian playedhockey for Lindon University, he was a campus star. Everyone knew he was aiming for a position on any NHL team who would have him. He wasn’t picky as to which one, though he wanted to stay on the east coast to be close to Mom and me. And as his two biggest fans, we knew without a doubt he’d get drafted.

He spent a lot of time in the weight room to get into peak physical shape and practically lived at the rink running drills to better the ones he wasn’t as strong at. The people close to him knew he was going to be successful—that he was going to get everything he deserved out of life.

The money. The title. The attention.

All he wanted was to play the game. He said everything else was a bonus.

I’m proud of the boy three years my elder for not changing who he is simply because of the number of zeroes on his paycheck, or the endorsement offers he gets from big companies. When he told me he was going to be the new face of Nike, I thinkI’dbeen more excited about it than he was. Mostly because it’s hard finding a good pair of sneakers when you’re a five-foot-eleven woman with a size eleven shoe. I told him I wanted a pair of Nikes for Christmas the second he signed the contract with the multi-billion-dollar company.

One thing is for sure. I couldn’t handle the type of spotlight that Sebastian has on him all the time. It’s not as big as the onesshining on his seasoned teammates, but it’s there. Watching. Waiting for him to screw up.

Me? I’d be plastered on every magazine and tabloid cover known to man because of my bad decisions. I’d be a PR nightmare. The bonus? I’d be a PR nightmare with a hell of a face card thanks to my makeup collection.

The truth is, though, I like my life. I don’t have any big talents that could make me famous the way he is. I can’t sing or dance. I suck at art. I have no musical skill, though after three months of piano lessons I probably should havesome.I was relatively decent at basketball in high school, but definitely didn’t get any athletic scholarships for my time on the team. Out of the Henderson siblings, I’m simply…average.

I’m a junior studying communications at the same alma mater Sebastian graduated from two years ago, with no clue how to utilize the degree. He was reluctant when I told them that I’d made my choice to go to Lindon when I had three other options that accepted me as well. But I’ve always found something magical about the campus that drew me in the second I visited him.

And there was also Alexander O’Conner.

Of course, I hadn’t made my decision solely based on a guy. Especially not one as confusing as Lindon’s former left wing. When I first met him, I barely knew anything about him other than how hot he was and how much Sebastian absolutely hated his guts. It mostly had to do with their competition on the ice. As teammates, they dominated. As competitors? They battled it out for everybody’s attention. The coaches, the scouts, you name it. Both were talented. Intense.

But only one could be the best.

The only saving grace for them was that Sebastian graduated first. If they’d been in the same year, I don’t know if their paths would look the way they do now.

Maybe the cocky confidence that Alex had shouldn’t have made him so alluring when I met him officially at a bonfire my freshman year, but I’m only so strong. When a guy looks like he could be the inspiration for a Greek Adonis sculpture, it’s hard not to be enamored. Dickhead personality or not.

High, sharp cheekbones. Strong jaw. Piercing baby blues that look directly into your soul. How could anybody not immediately drop their panties when he shoots them his signature smirk?

And I did drop them.

Multiple times.

So many times that—

Wait. What the hell am I even supposed to be doing right now? And how did I get on the topic?

“You’ve got that look on your face,” Skylar, my best friend since freshman year, says with a tiny smile. She props her chin on her hand, ignoring the book she’s got sprawled open in front of her.

I play dumb. “What look?”

Her blue eyes roll.

They remind me of Alex’s.

God.Nope. Not going there.