Page 66 of Puck Me Secretly

“The female in the middle of that mix was none other than Rory Ashford. She is the daughter of the Vancouver Wolves’ GM.”

“Turn it off." A player shook his head in disgust.

The television snapped off.

All the eyes shifted to me. I swallowed, feeling stupid.

“You okay?” a player asked.

I nodded.

“You’re all right. If that had been my girlfriend, she’d be hysterical right now.”

“Same,” someone else agreed.

I nodded, working to keep all the emotion off my face. “Thanks.”

I made my way to the farthest seat away from everyone. I curled up on the seat and turned my body away from the group. I felt vulnerable, weak, and on the verge of my own hysterical tears.

My phone was blowing up. Two calls from Dad and about a million texts.

Me: I’m fine

Dad: Tell.Baxter.To.Call.Me

The last thing I needed was Dad coming to my defense.

Me: Dad. Please. It’s tense right now

Dad: I knew it was a mistake to let you go

Me: If it wasn’t for Logan, it could have been way worse

Dad: Call me

Me: I have to go, they are boarding

A slight lie, but I knew if I talked to Dad, I would begin to cry and I probably wouldn’t stop. My cheek was on fire, and I felt dirty, angry, and completely overwhelmed. I avoided making eye contact with anyone.

I sat there, pretending to work on my phone, until they called us for boarding.

I usually satin the front, in business class, with the rest of management. When I walked to my seat, I saw Baxter sitting in the seat next to my assigned seat.

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

I carried on, heading to the back, where the players sat. I picked a random seat, jammed my bag in the baggage bin and crawled over to the window seat. I put on my seatbelt and covered myself with the blanket I stole from business class. The players filed in after me. Everyone left me alone. No one sat beside me, probably because I was curled up in a tiny ball and staring out the window. My body language screamed 'leave me alone'.

Someone shoved their bag in the bin above my seat. Then a familiar masculine citrus scent hit my nostrils.

I glanced up at Max. He had the start of a black eye and a split lip.

We didn’t speak when he eased his big body into the seat beside me. I watched as the flight attendant walked us through the usual safety procedures.

“You okay?” Max’s voice was low.

I knew he was asking about the fight, but I pretended he was talking about the takeoff.

“I still don’t like to fly.”

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