Page 56 of Mother Pucker

I saw the flush that crawled up her neck before she cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ear like she did whenever she was nervous. “I’ll see you after warmups, then.”

“Oh, you’re so screwed.” Brooks, our team’s goalie and one of my closest friends, follows my gaze, looking over the seats in front of us before bursting into laughter and taking me out of my thoughts.

I purse my lips, tamping down my irritation, before turning toward the guy who also happens to be our team owner and Beckett Langfield’s brother. “Shut the fuck up. It’s not like that.”

Brooks chuckles, flitting through his phone as if he even has enough brain cells to read. He does. Honestly, he’s one of the sharpest guys I’ve ever met. He’s also one of the most polite and down-to-earth, but I don’t need to compliment him in my inner monologue.

I catch him shaking his head right as I tip my head back to close my eyes. “It all makes sense now.”

I exhale a sharp breath through my nose, forcing myself to keep my eyes closed and count to ten, hoping the douchebag at the front of the plane finds something better to do with his time by then. Otherwise, he risks incurring my wrath.

I roll my shoulders, addressing Brooks, “What all makes sense?”

If it wasn’t for holding up this ruse and not getting anyone’s suspicions up, I’d be sitting next to Shay. BetSmarmy-Samwouldn’t be able to find his balls to leer at her then.

Brooks snorts. “I’m just surprised it took me this long to put it together.”

I give him a sharp look, but it doesn’t do much to shut him up. Thankfully, the hum of the flight engine drowns out his voice as he continues, so I don’t have to worry about the rest of my team jumping in to listen to the gossip like teenage girls. I swear, they might be worse.

“I should have known the second you insisted she be your full time PT, instead of going to Greg like the rest of us.” He refers to our athletic trainer. “Don’t think I don’t know that you had your agent call Gavin to figure out a way to pressure her to come with us to our away games, too. He told me, and I had a suspicion it was because you had a hidden agenda, but I hadn’t confirmed it until now.”

“You’re an idiot; I’ve got no hidden agenda.” This is true. I’ve prettyopenlystated my agenda to the woman in question, and that is, I want her. I want her badly; I want her now, and I wanther all the goddamn time. “My leg is fucked up and she’s helping me fix it. End of story.”

“Uh huh,” he says, flipping through the photos on his phone. “And that’s why you’re sitting here with smoke coming out of your ears? You’re going to cause a fire, bro.”

I take another breath, trying to relax back in my seat and close my eyes. It’s the only hope I have of not losing my shit. Clearly, I need to do a better job of reining in my temper because if it doesn’t let up, the whole team’s going to find out why I’m pissed.

They haven’t seen me be crazy about a woman. Hell,Ihaven’t even seen me bethiscrazy about a woman. Not even Audrey, not by a long shot.

The feelings I’ve developed in this short amount of time for the knockout sitting at the head of the plane are unrivaled with anything I’ve ever felt about anyone in my past. And that’s both unexpected and obvious.

Unexpected because, for so long, I’ve been keeping my head down, focused only on my career. I definitely didn’t have any notions of getting into a relationship with a single mom. Not that I disliked kids or anything; I just never thought about them. But ever since I spent time with her son yesterday, the thought of having kids of my own someday doesn’t seem so foreign.

And obvious, because from the moment I saw her, I’ve been enamored. Enamored with her wit, her charm, and her disarming beauty. Enamored with her perfection and her flaws. Enamored with the truths she tells, and the facade she sometimes hides behind.

Hell, I might even be enamored with her fears.

It sounds strange, but I like the idea of being by her side as she works through them. I like the idea of being there when she leaves them behind–like the cigarette I caught her smoking last night–and takes a step forward.

It’s not surprising that, from the moment I saw her, I had no chance. No chance of surviving whatever this was going to become without getting my heart involved.

I open my eyes a few moments later to see if Smarmy is still there, but my view is blocked by Fedir Rudenko, our right wing, doing his yoga exercises in the middle of the damn aisle.

He does this on every flight as part of his ritual–a full warrior one and warrior two pose before doing a few sun salutations–while the rest of us let him do his thing. Even the flight crew works around him.

The man is a giant–there’s no other way to describe him. If you think I’m large, you haven’t seen Fedir. And though his size makes him slightly slower on the ice, I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the impact if he ran into me.

So, to watch a virtual giant doing yoga on each flight, because he says he’s scared of flying and it helps him calm his nerves, is somewhat comical. And he does it so nonchalantly, too, not giving a shit if he’s inconveniencing anyone trying to get around him.

“Hastauttanasana,” he chants, bending his body backward, stretching out his abdomen and chest. Oh, right, he also talks through each pose, as if he’s instructing a class. “Focus on your core. Let your navel be a direct line to the heavens. Let your soul transform into butterflies you release into the sky.”

I lean to my left and then to my right to see if I can see Smarmy-Sam still chatting it up with my girl, but no matter how I try, I can’t get a clear view over the enormous right winger in front of me.

“Fedir,” I call, trying to get his attention to no avail. I’ll have to wait until he gets to the pose where he’s folded over, touching the ground.

“Beautiful, colorful butterflies. Lovely butterflies. Watch them float.”

I wait, tapping my fingers on the armrest before turning to watch Brooks’ shoulders shake with laughter. I don’t know what the fuck is so funny. Asshole.

---