Page 11 of Never You

“You dirty bastard. Did you kiss her?” He chuckles, eyes beaming.

“You think Kent would be the only one who got slapped tonight if I did?” I huff. “Of course not, you moron. She probably would have chopped off my nuts before she left.’’

He lowers his head a little to lock his eyes with mine, holding up my phone in front of my face. “Yeah, right, she looks like she is really pissed.”

I bite my lip, looking at the picture, imagining how I would have kissed her. She doesn’t look as pissed as she normally is, and I still remember looking into her brown eyes. Instantly, my dick twitches in my jeans, my heart jumping with excitement. Pushing the strange feeling away, I snatch the phone out of his hand and put it back in my pocket.

“Guess I have to ignore my mother dearest a little longer.”

“Just forget about them. Forget about your mother. Forget about Emily. Let’s go away for a few days. Take a break? Get us settled on a nice beach, with cocktails and somenewass to tap? You won the Stanley Cup, and as of right now, you're a free man.Let’s take advantage of that for a few days and deal with this bullshit after we have some fun,” Bodi suggests, keeping a close eye on me.

That sounds damn tempting. To leave it all hanging and just enjoy ourselves in a foreign country. Somewhere hot. Getting wasted before noon, with cheap sunglasses perched on my head. But my father’s run for governor lingers in the back of my mind. As much as I want to tell my family to fuck off, I don’t want to make it harder on my siblings if I bail on my responsibilities.

Breaking up with my girlfriend and hiding out in a foreign country will definitely make it harder on my siblings.

“That is the best idea ever, but it will only postpone the shitstorm I’m going to get. Might as well get it over with.”

When Bodi doesn’t reply, I look at him, cursing the judgy look he’s giving me.

“He’s running for governor, Bodi,” I explain.

Bodi wheezes, disappointed, but doesn’t push any further. “So now what?”

“Now, I’ll do what I always do.” I pour the last of my drink down my throat and slam the glass on the bar, ready to call it a night. “I fix it.”

Even though I really don’t want to.

3

Ifollow the plane outside my office window that’s about to land on the strip of Los Angeles International Airport, my face instantly tensing at the sight of it, a habit I can’t seem to shake.

I swallow hard, pressing my lips together as my arms tighten around my body until the landing gear touches the ground and the plane slows to a safe speed. A relieved breath leaves my lips, my spine relaxing.

It took me months in this office until I was able to watch the planes. Six months before I could sit at this solid mahogany desk and do my job without being distracted, holding my breath in horror every time a plane flew over the building.

I kept waiting for the ear deafening sounds of a crash to confirm my fear. But after a while, the fear passed, and I’d catch myself watching them every now and then. Facing my fear from a safe distance.

A knock taps on the door as I turn back around. “Come in!”

A beautiful brunette with big blue eyes peeks her head through the crack of the door with a smile before she pushes it open.

“Good morning!” Penelope holds a Knights cup in front of me, the liquid inside still steaming, and I gratefully take it from her hands as a scent of cinnamon greets me.

“Tea?”

“Ginger, with a bit of pumpkin spice. Just how you like it.” Her smile is wide, clearly excited to take over my job.

I let my eyes curiously trail down her appearance, a sheer difference from my jeans and white v-neck.

Her brown hair is perfectly styled, her dark blue pantsuit is impeccable, and her nails seem fresh from the salon. She definitely looks a lot more prepared than I did when I sauntered into this building for the first time with my white Converse sneakers still covered in North Carolina dirt.

“You look great,” I tell her, letting a sip of the hot liquid warm my insides.

“Thank you! I’m excited to get started.”

“Yeah, are you ready to sign your life away?” My gaze locks with hers over the rim of my cup.

I’m joking, but part of it is true. Working as a PR Specialist barely gives you room to have a life. Christmas, your birthday, 4th of July, it doesn’t matter; you have to be able to jump up and fix anything media related within the hour.

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