Chapter 3: Puck Me Secretly: Chapter 2

AS I MEANDERED onto the plane, I couldn’t shake the sensation I was walking to my doom. I avoided the glares of annoyed passengers as the flight attendants closed the door behind me.

I checked my ticket. Seat 2A.

I stumbled when I realized that the hot guy from the bar was in seat 2B.

My t-shirt rode up my torso, only inches from his face as I worked to shove my bag in the compartment above his head. He watched me without expression until it jammed in.

“I’m sitting next to you, in 2A.” I worked to keep my voice casual.

He stood up, towering over me. With limited room, I brushed across his hard body while I clamored to my seat.

“Thank you,” I murmured, feeling tipsier than I wanted to be. That last double gin was hitting me hard. After putting on my seatbelt, I double checked the latch three times before pulling the safety manual out from the seat pocket in front of me. I read it twice, checked where the nearest emergency exit doors were and the secondary exits. I checked under my seat for the inflatable neck cover with the whistle even though I knew we wouldn’t be flying over water.

I glanced up into two icy blue eyes.

I talk too much when I’m nervous and right now my anxiety was off the charts. “I hate flying. I avoid it at all costs.”

He didn’t respond, but he held my gaze.

I tightened my seatbelt. “People say flying is statistically safer than driving in a car, but I know a ton of people who’ve been in car accidents, and they’re fine. No one walks away from a plane crash.”

I stopped talking when the flight attendant started the safety demonstration with a bored expression on her face. I gasped as the plane lurched backwards. I peered out the window as our aircraft got pushed out from the airport building.

The plane crawled towards the runway. I listened to the captain drone on about flight time, headwinds and estimated time of arrival. Fear gripped me as the engines fired up, rumbling beneath us. I should have taken the bus. Or the train.

I wish I had taken the train.

The power of the engines vibrated beneath us as the plane raced down the runway with a terrifying speed. I whimpered.

Hot guy unwrapped my ice-cold hand from the armrest and covered it in his massive grip. I shut my eyes and worked to not hyperventilate.

“What’s your name?” my voice trembled.

He took his time answering. “Why?”

“If I die holding your hand, I want to know your name.”

“Max.”

“My name is Rory.”

The entire aircraft rumbled around us as it lifted. The powerful force pinned me back against my chair. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying we wouldn’t die.

The plane steadied from its intense ascent into nothing but air. It took a few minutes, but I opened my eyes.

When I’m nervous, I talk. And right now, the words poured out of me. “I had such a bad feeling getting on this flight and my gut is never wrong.”

He still held my hand, so I tugged against his grip. He took his time releasing it.

I turned to him and once again his near perfect features shocked my senses. More words, without permission, flowed out of my mouth. “I finished school in New York and now I’m heading back home to Vancouver.”

He waited but didn’t speak.

I tried again. “Are you from Vancouver?”

“No.”

“Are you visiting?”

His blue eyes narrowed at my obtrusiveness. “I’m moving there.”

“Oh.” I glanced down at his left hand. No wedding ring. “By yourself?”

“By myself.” His tone was dry.

I re-tightened my seatbelt. “I have a new job there. Which I’m dreading.”

Silence fell between us. I snuck a glance at him and his steady gaze met mine. He wasn’t speaking, but he was listening.

“I have to intern for my dad’s company. My dad thinks his business is my legacy. He wants me to follow him in his footsteps. Either that or give him several grandsons who can take over the minute they’re old enough but…”

“But what?”

“But it’s not like I’m ready to get married or have kids. So that option is out.”

I stole a glance at him. He was still listening.

“I’ve had boyfriends before, but they were more for fun, you know? It’s not like I would marry any of the Baby Men.”

“Baby Men?”

“That’s what my dad called my boyfriends, because they weren’t like you.”

A quizzical expression crossed his face. “Like me?”

I cursed my lack of filter.

The booze in my veins was making my tongue slippery. I squinted, as I tried to back out of this conversation. “You know.” I waved my hand in his general vicinity. “You’re all sporty and bossy looking. I bet you like sports bars. My dad likes sports bars, but the Baby Men preferred chess bars.”

“You think I’m bossy looking?”

I turned and took in his chiseled features, big hands, and huge shoulders. He was all alpha and definitely bossy. “Trust me. You’re bossy.”

“Why do you think I’m bossy?”

Because you seem like a take charge kind of guy. Especially in the bedroom.

“Are you telling me you’re not bossy?”

He held my gaze until I squirmed. “No.”

“That eye thing you just did. Total bossy move.”

Those beautiful lips curled into a smile that would have set Mother Theresa’s heart on fire.

“What’s a chess bar?”

“A chess bar is a place where you go to play chess and drink. Like a sports bar, but chess is the sport.”

That damn smile widened. “Chess is not a sport.”

“You sound like my dad.”

“Chess is not a sport,” he repeated.

“It’s an intellectual sport.”

“It may be intellectual but it’s not a sport.”

I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “Fine. The point is, I wasn’t ready to marry any of the non-sporty, intellectual Baby Men so that means, I have to intern for my dad for an entire year.” I gave a huge sigh. “And I’m dreading it. This business is my dad’s passion. Not mine. But he’s determined that I take over the reins when he retires.”

“And you don’t want to.”

I gave him a sad smile. “I want to do my thing. My parents have planned my entire life out for me.”

“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”

“You have no idea.”

Blue eyes scrutinized me. “I say go for it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Give this intern year everything you’ve got. Do the best job possible.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why would I do that?”

“At the end of the year, if you decide it isn’t for you, no one can accuse you of not giving it your best shot.”

That was decent advice.

I yawned. “My dad would like you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not a Baby Man.” I tucked my feet underneath me. “I think I might pass out now.”