Page 31 of Forbidden Game

Still, Parker is one of the few people I trust to look out for me in that way.

I take a tentative bite and the flavors melt on my tongue. The light nutty taste combines with the deep roast of the asparagus. There’s a pop of brightness from some lemon, which is cut by the sprinkling of parsley.

Wow. Who knew airport food could be this nice?

“Cracking, isn’t it?” Parker smiles at me as he cuts into his quiche.

“Not bad.” I smile back, letting some of the tension peel off my back.

After we finish our meal, we make our way out to the seating area. Parker secures us two chairs in the back corner with a view overlooking the runway.

I sink into the leather before grabbing my tablet out of my handbag. If we’re going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, I might as well get some work done. Plus, I don’t think I can handle any more conversations with Parker today. Clearly, one of my wires is crossed and I’m not functioning right.

I refuse to slip up.

I’ve worked too hard to craft the perfect friendly yet professional relationship with the guys. It’s a fine line I walk, and I won’t let that line become blurred because my brain keeps replaying a certain British man’s penis.

After an hour passes with no news from any of the employees about an update to our flight and a lack of an email or app notification from the airline, I grow worried.

“We should’ve heard something by now,” I mutter.

Parker looks up at me from his gaming laptop. His headset is half on, one ear free from the padding. There’s something oddly attractive about that look.

“I can go ask for an update?” he offers.

“No, I need to stretch my legs. Just keep playing whatever it is you’re playing.”

I peel myself off the leather chair and give my back a quick twist. A few bones click with the movement. I can’t imagine what I would’ve felt like if I’d been stuck camping out on the chairs by the gate.

I stride up to the agent assist desk—although podium would be a better word to describe it. The man gives me an overtly kind smile.

“Hi, I was just wondering if there was any update on our flight. We had an indefinite delay.” I show him my phone so he can scan the boarding pass, but he waves it off.

“Mr. Covington’s companion, correct?”

There’s that word again.

“Correct.” I maintain a placid smile.

“Unfortunately, it still doesn’t look like we—” he pauses as the computer makes a little dinging sound. “Oh, look at that. Serendipitous timing. They just updated your departure time. It looks like it will be ten p.m., but we will come find you for your boarding at nine fifteen p.m.”

My insides crystalize. That’s in eight hours.

Eight. Hours.

God help me.

SIX

PARKER

Sydney is pissed.

I watch as she gets on her tiptoes and leans farther forward on the counter that separates her from the hotel clerk. Her voice is hushed but full of derision as she grinds out every word. The poor clerk’s eyes grow wide as saucers at her clipped remarks and sweat begins to bead at his temples.

“I don’t understand, Stewart. How is it possible that I booked two rooms but only one is available?”

“With so many events this weekend and the snowstorm grounding flights, we ran out of rooms.”

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