“A concussion!” she exclaims. “There is no way your trainer would let you on the ice with a concussion.”

  She’s got me there. “Okay fine. But I’m still not afraid to play with a little cold.”

  “You’re not, huh?”

  The smirk on her face has me on alert. But do I back down?

  “Nope.”

  “So … it wouldn’t bother you if I” — she shifts her body so she’s leaning on the pole instead of touching it — “put my hand in your face?”

  She holds her arm up and reaches for me. I rear back and try to push her away.

  “Get your nasty germs off me, woman!”

  I continue to bat her hand away to no avail. She’s surprisingly strong when she’s determined.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to strengthen your immune system?”

  She’s way too good at this kind of combat. I bet she played a lot of “I’m not touching you” with her sister growing up. That’s the only explanation.

  “I said I wasn’t afraid of a cold,” I argue and finally grab her wrist. “Not that I’m actively seeking whatever crap spreads through airports.”

  “For a big, strong guy, you are surprisingly easy to torture.”

  “For a tiny woman, you are surprisingly spry when trying to torture someone.”

  “I have many surprising qualities you don’t know about.”

  “Really,” I deadpan, dropping her wrist but staying alert in case she goes in for the kill. “Like what?”

  “Well, you know I’m good at math. I have to be for my job.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And I’m full of useless hockey information.”

  “You’re not telling me anything surprising yet.”

  “I love decorating, so I paint walls and built shelving all the time in my place.”

  “Really.” That one is a bit surprising.

  “Yep. I can take an empty room and turn it into a relaxing haven, perfect for unwinding from the day. Oh!” she adds with a snap of her fingers. “And I will always stop to save turtles from the middle of the road.”

  “Okay,” I nod. “Those are somewhat surprising.”

  “Your turn.”

  I think for a second about random information about me. It’s harder to come up with than I expect. “You already know I’m fantastic on the ice.”

  She huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes in amusement. It doesn’t deter me at all.

  “I’m also a shitty poker player, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. I double majored in theology and philosophy in college mostly because I didn’t understand what the hell people were talking about on those two subjects, and I didn’t want to sound stupid in conversations.”

  Sloan’s eyebrows raise in interest.

  “Of course, that means I have zero life plans after hockey because what the hell do you do with those degrees?”

  That gets a small laugh from her.

  “And I’ve seen every episode of The Office multiple times, even though they have not aged well at all.”

  “Michael Scott really is the worst boss ever.”

  “He is!” I exclaim, glad to finally meet a fellow fanatic. Or at least someone who at minimum knows the names of the characters. “I almost stopped watching but then I got too invested in the Jim and Pam storyline, which got old after a while, but then Dwight and Angela drew me back in.” I sigh dramatically. “I could live on a beet farm.”

  “I think you just found your retirement plans.”

  “Good idea. I’ll move to a farm and grow beets. Maybe try to turn it into a Bed and Breakfast.”

  “Strange combo, but I’ll allow it.”

  “Oh, you will, huh?”

  “For now. Could be interesting for you to sit on the front porch, philosophizing about different religions. At least you’ll get to use your degrees that way.”

  I tilt my head at her. “I feel like you’re making fun of me.”

  “Me?” Her eyes widen in exaggerated offense. “Never.”

  “Liar. All you do is make fun of me.”

  “I do not.”

  “My sensitive feelings are so hurt now.” I fake a pout.

  “They are not.”

  “You don’t know. Maybe I’m crying on the inside as we speak. The little boy inside is weeping at how badly his new friend treats him.”

  “You’re so full of crap.”

  “You can’t prove it.”

  Suddenly, the train lurches to a stop and our laughter and banter cut off as Sloan flies into my arms, my hands immediately grabbing her hips.

  She gasps and the sweet sound triggers something inside me that makes me tighten my grip on her body.

  I look back and forth between her eyes and her lips, those plump lips that are so close to mine, I can feel her breath on me. Her light pants make me wonder if I’m the only one feeling this, this pull. This warmth and sense of her being exactly where she belongs.

  She licks her lips and I take that as a yes … that she is just as attracted to me as I am to her.

  Slowly, I begin moving forward, millimeter by millimeter. The anticipation of tasting her sweet mouth is the best kind of torture and I know the results will be worth it.

  “Hey man, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  The moment is broken, and we look over quickly at the guy who just interrupted what was sure to be the best part of this delay.

  “What?” I ask, not registering what he’s asking me.

  “You look really familiar,” he says as he settles a little too close to me considering he’s got a good two feet of space on the other side. “Did we go to high school together or something?”

  Ohgod. Just what I was hoping to avoid. He’s a Glaze fan who hasn’t put me together with his favorite team yet. I don’t get recognized often without the skates and the sweaty hair, but when I do, it always starts like this.

  I shake my head and try to tilt my chin the opposite direction so he can’t get a good look at me. “Don’t think so.”

  “Oh! This is our stop, sweetie!” Sloan suddenly announces and grabs her bag, quickly dragging it to the door before it closes.

  Following her lead, I pick up the rest of our stuff and race after her, barely making it through the door before it closes behind us and the train pulls away.

  I blow out a hard breath, grateful that conversation with the fan didn’t go any further, and maybe still a bit miffed about missing out on kissing Sloan senseless.

  Probably for the best. If that guy had figured me out mid-make-out session, I can only imagine how quickly the pictures would end up all over the internet.

  “Thanks.”

  Sloan smiles sweetly up at me and I forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t kiss her in the middle of this airport.

  “No problem. It actually wasn’t about you. I just don’t like making small talk with strangers on a train.”

  She takes off to the exit and I quickly follow behind her.

  “Oh you don’t, huh?” I chide, knowing full well she’s lying because here I am.

  “Too germy,” she replies and I bark out a laugh. She asks, “Where are we anyway?”

  We both look around, trying to get our bearings straight before finding a sign giving us a clue.

  “Looks like we’re back in the main terminal,” I reply.

  “Think they have wrapping paper somewhere in these shops?”

  I shrug and adjust the strap of my duffle on my shoulder. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sloan

  “I’m officially giving up on wrapping paper,” I announce as I drop down into yet another airport chair. I’m tired of sitting in Tampa International, but we lucked out finding these cushioned chairs in the main terminal. And some fun snacks during our search. What is it about chocolate Chex that just tastes better on a trip?

  “I don’t believe you,” Becker replies, settling next to me. He shifts around to get comfortable and then arches a brow my direction.

  “I know I said it before, but we’ve now hit every store in two different terminals, including this one. If they don’t have wrapping paper in the main terminal, it’s nowhere.” I harumph my frustration. “You know what? I’m going to send them a strongly worded complaint about this.”

  Becker laughs but doesn’t look over, instead closing his eyes as he leans his head back on the chair. “About wrapping paper?”

  “Why not?” I unzip my backpack and pull my phone out from the inner compartment. With all my bag issues today, I was afraid of keeping it in my back pocket, so unless we’re sitting, it’s been safely tucked away most of the day. Becker can keep me updated on our flight. “They need to know little things like this are irritating to customers. It’ll help them make the airport a better place to be.”

  “You go right ahead and send that complaint. Should I start calling you Karen or Becky? Maybe Janet? Who is it that calls the manager these days?”

  “Jackass,” I grumble, which earns me a light chuckle despite his still closed eyes.

  Becker looks so relaxed, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a small smile gracing his lips. Lips I was this close to kissing. I’m not sure if I’m grateful to that guy for interrupting our moment or pissed about it.

  Don’t get me wrong—I want to kiss Becker. A lot. The more time we spend together, the more attracted to him I am. If we had met under any other circumstances, I’d have no hesitation at all. It’s just hard to figure out what’s real and what’s just emotions due to the situation. As much as I’d like to throw caution to the wind, it’s safer for both of us to keep a few boundaries in place. For now anyway. The day isn’t over yet.

  I quickly respond to a text from my sister updating her on our schedule, then begin scrolling through my phone, trying to find the official airport website. I’m shocked by how many random places my search engine tries to take me to.

  Finally, I’m on the right page, but how the heck do I submit a suggestion? Do I just complain? But are the stores even operated by the airport? This is more effort than I thought it would be.

  “I hate people watching,” Becker suddenly blurts out.

  I glance up at him, my eyes already tired from the strain of reading this tiny little screen and never finding what I’m looking for. Becker’s body is still relaxed, but his head is up and eyes are open, taking in our surroundings.

  “What? Why?”

  “Most people are boring and if you get caught staring you look like a creeper.”

  “It’s true. You do.” I get back to my scrolling while we chat. “I have the advantage of being a woman. If a kid is doing something weird and I’m watching, all I have to do is smile and for whatever reason everyone assumes I’m dreaming of the day I have kids. As if I can’t be silently judging the family for letting their kid do dumb things.”

  Becker huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that’s not what they assume I’m thinking if I smile at a kid.”

  “That’s not what I assume when you smile at me either.”

  Becker turns his head and gives me the creepiest smile. “Put on the lotion, Clarice,” he says, changing his voice to up the disturbing factor.

  “Ohmygod, stop. I was just kidding. What I meant to say is you look hot and not at all creepy when you smile at random women.”

  He slowly leans forward. “I want to wear your skin.”

  I hold up my hand to try and stop him. “You’re going to give me nightmares,” I say with a laugh.

  He continues moving forward, coming as close as he can to me until he’s nuzzling my neck. The scratch of his scruff tickles and makes me tuck my chin, which only draws him in closer. “Are you afraid?” And now I could do without his breath on my neck, that creepy voice a total turn off.

  I push him away from me, giggling. “I’m serious. I’m such a weenie. I don’t do horror.”

  He drops back down into his seat and runs a hand through his hair. “If you don’t do horror, how do you even know what I’m referring to?”

  I look up at him through my lashes, still determined to find a complaint tab but having no luck. “I said I didn’t do horror, not that I was completely oblivious to pop culture.”

  “What do you mean by horror though?”

  “Scary. All things scary. Or creepy. Or Halloween.”

  Becker gapes at me. “Halloween?! The holiday?”

  “Hate it,” I deadpan, without looking up.

  “Oh man, I am so taking you to a haunted house next year.”

  The thought of still seeing Becker, still knowing him ten months from now makes my whole body light up. Does that mean he wants to see me again? Or is he just spouting off like you do during conversations like these?

  I’m not totally sure how to respond so I play it safe and huff out a laugh. “You’ll end up carrying me out of a haunted house with my eyes closed, weeping against your chest.”

  “I’m sure you can handle it.”

  “Nope. Been there. Done that. Kept my eyes closed the whole time and eventually, they had to send someone in to get me and tell the characters to stay on their side of the room until I got out.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he says with disbelief.

  I shrug. I’m used to people thinking I’m over exaggerating my disdain for all things scary. “Told ya. Weenie.” I point at myself and then get distracted. “Oh! Hey look at this. We could go on a walk around the terminal.”

  “Like a power walk?”

  “Yeah. They have a couple different routes.” I zoom in to get a closer look. “This one is half a mile and takes us around the fancy airport hotel.”

  “You really want to go on a power walk around the airport with our bags, without anywhere to shower and no clean clothes to change into?”

  I pause, my eyes shifting back and forth as I think about what he just said. “Okay yeah. Good point. Scratch that idea.” Fortunately, something else catches my eye. “Oh wait. They have a public art project. Oh! And self-guided tour! What do you think of that?”

  Becker bobs his head. “I could go for an art walk. Could be cool and we’ve got the time to kill.”

  “Let me see if I can get an official itinerary.”

  It takes a quick call to one of the airport offices but the nice lady on the other end emails me their official art walk route, complete with all the details we’ll ever need to know about each piece. It’s completely unexpected, but also an interesting public service the airport offers.

  “Why don’t we start down in baggage claim?” I suggest. “Looks like there’s some good stuff over there.”

  “Works for me.”

  Becker grunts as he pushes up from his chair and another flash of lust runs through me. If he can turn me on with just a sound, I can only imagine the things this man could do to me in a bed. Or up against a wall. I’m not that picky. But I do need to focus and stop letting fantasies run through my head.

  “You don’t happen to have a playlist or whatever on your phone, do you?” I ask as we grab our bags. “Something you use to get you in the mood before a game?”

  Becker furrows his brow. “I do. Why?”

  “We should listen to it on the tour.”

  “Why? It’ll just get me all amped up.”

  “You need to be amped up to walk through a holiday crowd at the airport.”

  “Solid point.”

  He grabs his phone and scrolls through until he finds what he’s looking for, then hands me an earbud.

  We listen while we wander the airport, stopping to look and discuss various art pieces as we find them. We don’t do a lot of deep discussion. More like quiet enjoyment of each other’s company in between each stop.

  I find myself noting again how much I really enjoy his company, even in the quiet solitude of an art walk.

  I’m so grateful my bag broke and Becker noticed. I don’t think, no, I know I wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun during massive flight delays if he wasn’t here.

  When his hand gently brushes up against mine, it feels normal. Like we’ve always been like this. The thought of how much I feel attracted to him shouldn’t scare me, but it does. It shakes me to my core.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Becker

  Fourteen hours. We’ve had fourteen hours of delays today.

  First it was a mechanical problem. Then waiting on a new plane. Then weather delays. Then flight crews timing out. And finally, a huge backlog of planes trying to get in and out as weather finally calmed down.

  So here we are, fourteen hours after our flight was supposed to leave, anxiously awaiting to board.

  “You think we’re actually getting on this time?” Sloan asks, her knee gently bouncing up and down making the entire row of chairs shake.

  “I’m not holding my breath.”

  Maybe just a little bit. There’s still no plane at the gate, but for the first time since we arrived this morning, the gate agents look like they’re prepping for departure. Customers are being handed seat assignments, agents are going in and out of secured areas, passing information back and forth on walkie talkies. Plus, the closer we get to boarding, the less likely we are to get a text message.

  And the more anxious I get.

  As disappointed as I was that I missed seeing my pops today, I’ve had the best time hanging out with Sloan. From the massage chairs to the train ride to going on an art walk, it’s been one of the most entertaining days I’ve had for a while. In a weird way, I’m not sure I want to leave.

  “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get to your dad’s house?” Sloan asks, breaking my thoughts.

  “Sleep.”

  She giggles. “I know that. But what are you going to do before then?”

  “No really. I have a game tomorrow so I need to make sure I get some rest.” I turn to look at her, her hair still disheveled after a long day, but making her no less beautiful. “Once we get up tomorrow morning, my dad and I will get some take-out and hang out in the living room until it’s time to head to the arena. It’ll be nice. Relaxing. What about you?”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11