Page 44 of Lucky Puck

“Sorry. I couldn’t talk her out of coming up tomorrow.” He fists his hand and breaks his mesmerizing stare. It takes every brain cell still alive not to reach out and drag his hand back to my face for more of that druggingly soft touch. I shake myself mentally and roll my shoulders.

Then all I can do is give him a shrug. He nods, looking unsure about whether he should say something to me, and sparked by his moment of vulnerability, I finally find my voice.

“I notice you didn’t mention to her that we’re not really—” He claps a hand over my mouth with that same lightning speed, and instant disappointment wells up that he didn’t cover my mouth with a kiss instead. Stupid girl that I am.

He whispers in my ear, moving his hand to cup my chin. The intimacy of our position is close and warm as we exchange breathy breaths while he speaks, sending a shudder of something through me.

“This isn’t the time or place to discuss our status. I’ll let her know when I see her in person, evidently tomorrow.”

“Then she won’t be disappointed that she won’t be meeting me since I⁠—”

This time he does cover my mouth with his, reminding me exactly why I wanted him to kiss me again in vivid sensual reality. His mouth presses hot and hard against mine, opening me up, and I’m vaguely aware of whistles and people in the background. After one long, slow sweep of his tongue, as if he’s marking my mouth as his territory, he relents, ending the kiss, but still holding me close against him as if to shield me from our spectators.

It’s easy to ignore the ribald comments as the flight attendants quiet things down. The spectacle at the fan event last night inoculated me against the attention. I’m known for my ability to pivot, although I’m lucky I don’t have a severe case of whiplash after this weekend.

Keeping my voice a low murmur, I say into his neck—which smells like nirvana and I want to live here forever—“If we keep doing these public displays of affection, it’ll only encourage more attention.”

I feel the vibration of his quiet chuckle, but he continues to hold me in place, and I feel his mouth on my hair. Is he kissing my hair? If I were standing, my knees would go weak enough to drop me. As it is, my breathing strains, and it’s not because I’m plastered to him—well, yes, it is, but not because he’s suffocating me—but what I’m really worried about is the loud, fast beat of my heart drumming so hard he probably feels it if he doesn’t hear it.

The flight attendant’s voice comes over the speakers then, signaling that everyone is boarded. Brody loosens his arms and brushes a stinging soft kiss across my mouth as we separate. It’s the kind of kiss that makes my hand automatically rise and touch my lips.

Now without the heady scent and warmth and bulk of him touching me, stark cold reality may as well have been dumped on me like an icy bath, making me sit back almost as desperate to avoid him as I was to cling to him a moment before.

This kind of conflicting emotions can’t be healthy. I touch my forehead as if my problem is a mere headache.

“You okay?” There’s an odd mix of concern and amusement in his voice, and I nod without meeting his eyes.

“I’ll try and keep the PDAs to a minimum, but…” he stops, and I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

I look at him. “But?”

He leans into my space again. Shit. “But you’re awfully irresistible.”

For a split second, I believe him, then I realize he’s teasing. He must be teasing, even if he doesn’t look like he is because he looks like he’s going to devour me if I don’t do something.

I give him a mild shove and an annoyed look. “Stop teasing already. I’m not in the mood. This is serious.”

“I know.” Then for no discernible reason, Brody leans in, cupping my chin and kisses me again, this time slow and sensual like he’s exploring me, testing me, getting to know everything about my mouth, my teeth, and my tongue. And I kiss him back, sighing into his mouth, one arm lifting to wrap around his neck like I’m holding on for dear life because it feels like I’m flying through space, like he’s taking me somewhere I’ve never been before. I grip him tighter--

A loud snort-laugh from across the aisle intrudes, stopping me. Sabien laughs as the flight attendant clears her throat to interrupt the kiss. Brody lifts his head, and his hat dislodges, and I turn to see the flight attendant’s eyes go double-wide. She grins as she stares at us.

“I recognize you two. You’re the Vegas newlyweds and darlings of social media. Congratulations, Brody and… Mrs. Brody. I apologize for… interrupting, but it’s time to make sure those seat belts are fastened.”

It’s not lost on me that she said nothing about Brody being an NHL All-Star, or about hockey at all, and I wonder if she even knows, or how many people out there in social media land know or care about his phenomenal talent for hockey.

When she’s gone, Sabien leans across the aisle. “Should we have your wedding celebration before or after the Whalers charity fashion show next weekend? I don’t want to conflict with that event.” He looks serious.

Brody looks like he’s itching to flip him off, but he says, “After. Or never. Maybe you can plan it for after the season, and we won’t have to do it at all.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” I say. “I’ll make the, umm, arrangements. No need for you to go to any trouble, Sabe.”

“You’re no fun.” He sighs. “But if you insist, we’ll do it your way.”

I sit back in my seat, relieved about that one small victory because Brody and I agree and there will be no wedding celebration. Because there was no wedding. I try reasoning with my unreasonable disappointment, but the melancholy sits heavy in the pit of my belly with nowhere to go.

Brody leans in, and I reflexively tighten in anticipation, my tummy vibrating, shaking up the pit of melancholy, as I command myself to breathe because he’s not going to kiss me again, and I need to get over wishing he would. How pathetic am I to get into this charade and enjoy it?

It’s like I’m an actress, and I’ve gone too far into the role, and now the feelings are getting real. Or maybe that’s how acting works, and that’s why so many people love it.