Page 88 of Facing Off
I. Am. On. His. Lap.
My muscles get ready. That micro-moment of tensing before action. I’m going to pull away from Hughes, and he feels it. Because his lips brush against my ear as he asks me to, “Just wait.”
A gruff, desperate request.
It makes me hesitate just enough.
“Until?” I breathe.
“Until it stops, Sonya.”
That small oval-shaped window to the outside world says that he has a point. We’re inside an angry cloud, and the plane is rocking enough that I shouldn’t get back to my feet, because a ballerina with the yips is bad enough, but getting injured would be a death knell for my audition.
My heart beats like a hummingbird as Hughes tucks my head under his chin and locks me in closer with his big arms.
What was I thinking, unbuckling myself and going over to him when the seatbelt sign was on?
I don’t know, but now that I’m here, he’s the closest substitution of a seatbelt there is, I guess. It’s why I haven’t gotten up yet, I justify to myself. Seems like I have no choice but to bear with it. It’s cozy. A tight embrace. I’m enclosed. Protected. We’re so close that I feel his throat flex. Multiple times. He’s a big swallower, I see.
I am, too.
I keep swallowing. Fuck, are we both scared now? It’s a bad storm that we’re flying through, not like anything I’ve ever experienced before. The sky cloaks us with purple-gray darkness. If it wasn’t for these overhead lights shining down on us…
They dim.
Not in a we’re-crashing-and-the-plane-is-malfunctioning kind of way. More in a the-flight-attendant-saw-me-on-Hughes-and-is-trying-to-give-us-privacy-for-some-potential-chaotic-Mile-High-Club-situation kind of way.
My mouth drops open. This is bonkers. Rain is coming down hard, our surroundings have blended together with soft shadows, and…
“They really think we’re about to fuck?” I wonder, my tone bewildered and sharp. “Is this what happens in the world of rich hockey players? Safety protocols are suggestions?!”
I should be so embarrassed and outraged that my face feels on fire, but all Icanfeel is the heat and pressure of Hughes’ firm grip.
“You’re in my lap and I’m not letting go, baby. Anyone might think that…you know.”
He’s trying to keep his voice casual, I think, but we’ve both gone frozen. Lap-sitting in the dark was not on my bingo card.
My core twinges. I can’t help it. Despite the fact that we could drop out of the sky as a fiery ball of metal and the rain splatters the plane like soft bullets, I’m now imagining us without our clothes. God, the way we’re sitting without any space between us, he could have pushedintome the whole way. I could have taken him and warmed his hard length for as long as he wanted. It would be…
Fuck!
I’m winded somehow and my face is officially on fire. I don’t say a word. Neither does he.
We hear the booming of thunder in the distance.
The lightest shudder runs through Hughes’ body. My cheeks hollow as I contend with not just my arousal, but a surge of protectiveness curling in my gut. This version of Hughes that’s afraid of flying is so different from the arrogant, confident man who loves to tease me.
“You know what you need to do?” I hear myself saying. “What I do all the time.”
“What do you do all the time?” he asks in a way that makes me think his eyes have closed.
“Catastrophize.”
“…what’s that mean?”
How do I explain this? “Okay, imagine the very worst-case scenario in your head?—”
“Then you figure out how to beat it?”
