Page 78 of Pucking One Night Stand
Out of the glass doors, we walk down the corridor toward the main entrance. Her heels click with purpose. Mine click with suspicion.
“Your Dad say anything else about Blake hitting him?”
I don’t answer.
Because no, he hasn’t. And even if he had, I don’t trust myself to say anything right now that won’t come out in all caps and profanity.
We reach the main doors. Sunlight streaks in as I open them, and we head out into the parking lot, which is surprisingly packed.
So, this is where everybody went.
The low hum of voices is everywhere, layered with the scrape of sneakers on pavement, and someone’s laughing far too loudly. People are bunched together in clumps like they’re waiting for a parade or an alien ship to land.
Valerie is half-gesturing about something while Torro, Andrew, Musa, Gretchen, and Holly are all standing in a loose circle near one of the Aces-branded vans, exchanging confused looks like they missed a meeting.
Andrew’s waving his phone around mid-rant, probably live-tweeting something, and Mikey is filming everything with that damn handheld camera he’s surgically attached to. Tarquin, Suzanna, and Calam are near the back, just looking utterly baffled.
But it’s not just them. It’s players, too. A lot of them.
Blake's standing dead center like gravity obeys him personally.
He’s in a tight huddle with Peters, Jett, McAvoy, and Brody, heads close like they’re planning a coup. Bishy and Davis are mock-wrestling near the curb, grinning like idiots. Vasko’s leaning against the hood of someone’s car with his arms folded, watching everyone.
Almost the entire damn team is out here, along with half of security.
And all of them are looking in one direction.
Mine and Riley's.
Blake turns, and I catch it, the shift of his shoulder, the... Oh, fuck, swollen face, and black eyes, which are now meeting mine without blinking.
I immediately look at the sky, the pavement, a vaguely interesting crack in the sidewalk…anything that isn’t the sharp line of his jaw or that infuriating glint he still manages to have.
“What the heck is going on?” I hiss, turning to Riley, who’s trying way too hard to keep her mouth from betraying her.
She checks her watch. “You’ll see.”
And then, something shifts.
First, it’s just Valerie glancing upward, shading her eyes. Then Torro’s pointing. “Look.”
More heads turn. Mikey actually gasps. Amelia’s mouth falls open like someone hit her with plot-twist-level gossip.
I squint, confused, following their line of sight.
There’s a sound now. A low hum, somewhere between a growl and a purr, getting steadily louder. Not the usual traffic droneor stadium speakers. No, this is something else. Something airborne.
“What is that?” I mutter.
Riley is absolutely failing to hide her smirk now.
Above the skyline, coming in from the right, a small plane appears. Low. Very low. I feel it in my chest as it approaches, the engine’s hum deepening, vibrating through my ribs like a second heartbeat.
And that’s when I see it. A banner trailing behind the plane, flapping in the wind.
I blink, trying to read it, but it's too far. The letters are big, but I still can’t quite make them out—
Then the plane banks slightly, the sun glints off the wings, and it’s directly overhead now.
