Page 2 of Puck Me Secretly

“Sure, sounds fine.” My parents enjoyed significant societal commitments. Warm airport welcomes were not something we did as a family.

“Love you, Rory.”

“See you soon, Mom.”

I hung up the phone. Not caring that it was only noon, I motioned for the bartender to pour me another gin and tonic. Boarding started in 30 minutes and I needed liquid courage to get on my flight.

A man approached the bar. I studied him from beneath my eyelashes.

Smoking hot.

He stood well over six feet tall and his light brown hair touched his collar. From the silver military style watch on his wide wrist to thenavy dress shirt that opened at the collar, he looked expensive. His dark jeans fit over his sculpted ass. Super-hot and so not my type. I didn’t go for athletic men, and I didn’t go for wealthy ones. He was both.

As if he had a sixth sense, he turned so I could see his face.

Holy fuck.

The breath sucked into my body as I took in his incredible jawline that narrowed towards his chin. His cheekbones were so chiseled they’d make Di Vinci weep. Slanting blue eyes studied something behind me. Pulling my eyes away from him, I tossed back my drink.

A voice crackled over the loudspeakers. “Attention all flyers, Canada West, flight 335 to Vancouver has been delayed. Your new departure time is 12:50 PM. We apologize for this inconvenience.”

I refrained from groaning. I hated flying.

“Another one, sweetheart?”

“Yes please, make it another double.”

“Sure thing.”

The hot guy sat at the bar, a few seats away from me. Out of my peripheral, I noted that he checked his watch when the announcement sounded. Then, he motioned for the bartender to bring him a drink.

During my four years in New York, I preferred to date artists. Most of my ex-boyfriends were brilliant painters with sweet souls. What they lacked in physique they more than made up with their intellect and sensitivity. This guy appeared to be the typical guy who avoided talking about his feelings, preferring to watch sports and drink with his buddies.

He was also built to fuck.

The thought rushed through my brain like a bad buzz. I sat frozen, my drink halfway to my lips. Where had that thought come from? I studied him with discretion. The sports television above the bar held his undivided attention.

The Baby Men, as my father had coined my boyfriends, had one major flaw. They all sucked in the sack. Maybe it was their lanky, thin frames or the fact they were more cerebral than physical, but my sex life, to date, had been lackluster.

Hot guy had massive shoulders, and an athletic body. To be honest, his power scared me. Like a dark angel who could crush a woman’s heart without even trying. He’d take charge in and out of the bedroom.

I learned early in life that I don’t want to give anyone power or control over me. My entire life I suffered in a power struggle with my dad. Why would I date someone who wanted to dominate? This guy was pure alpha male. An exciting prospect in the sack, but the rest of your life promised to be a living hell.

A voice crackled over the loudspeakers. “Attention, please. This is the first boarding call for Canada West, flight 335 to Vancouver. Departing passengers should proceed to gate number 23 immediately.”

I downed my drink so that I felt buzzed enough to manage take off. I headed to the washroom. My long black hair hung straight down to my waist. I could do nothing about my bleary blue eyes, but I touched up my lip gloss and squared my shoulders.

Fake it, till you make it.

I walked to the boarding area and sat down on one of the hard, blue seats. Despite the alcohol coursing through my veins, I felt panicky.

I can do this!

The boarding line diminished until only the airline staff remained at the gate. I could not seem to get off my chair. My churning gut told me not to get on that flight.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Canada West, flight 335 to Vancouver is closing its doors in one minute. Ticketed passengers must board immediately. I repeat, this isthe final boarding call for Canada West, flight 335 to Vancouver.”

Did it matter if I took a later flight? My parents wouldn’t care. They were at a function tonight. I could get a hotel, or even better, return to NYC.

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