Page 71 of Body Check

“The Mountain? Tell her she got lucky with you.”

“Shit, man! You ever want to work out with us, we’ll have you looking like a Duke Harrison clone in no time!”

I hold up my hands, camera still clutched in my right. “Jokes aside, we need a few volunteers. We haven’t decided if we’d rather shoot one interview per commercial break—we’re looking at four or five of you then—or if we’d rather make an exposé with all of you and stitch them together.”

Cain leans an elbow on the back of one seat. “My vote’s for all of us. It’ll be funnier that way.”

I glance at the cards clasped in their hands and then over to my team. “We’ll do it by suit. Everyone will get . . .” I count the number of rows that the players are filling up, then quickly do the math in my head. “Three cards a pop. It’ll work toward three commercial breaks, and that way Fillmore won’t have my head when I tell him we made sure to get every player.”

“Aw, does he have a favorite?” asks Sylas Trent, a D-man on the second line. He flutters his long lashes and twirls a hand in the air. “No, don’t answer that. I know it’s me.”

His right-wing partner, Quinton Dennis, slaps him on the back of the head. “Bro, you weren’t even your momma’s favorite.”

The guys roar with laughter at what is clearly some sort of inside joke that I’m not privy to, while Trent’s cheeks flush a brilliant shade of red.

After asking Cain to count out the cards and pass them all out, I confer briefly with Carmen and Adam about what it is we’ll need before angling my body to pick my way to the back of the plane.

Thank you, turbulence, for easing up so I don’t lose my breakfast.

I move quickly, careful not to elbow any of the guys in the back of the head, until I’m standing in the aisle at the very last row and breathing the same air as Jackson.

Up close, his suit is even more spectacular.

Or maybe it’s just thathelooks even more spectacular now that I’m inches away.

His rugged face tips up to stare at me, even as he tugs his new hand of cards close to his chest. “No cheatin’, Holls,” he murmurs in that husky Texas drawl of his, “I see what you’re up to.”

When he flashes me a grin, I can’t help but shift my weight and steady myself on the seat opposite his, which is blessedly empty. “Your cards are safe with me.” My tone, despite an attempt for dry and witty, comes out breathy instead.

Any lingering hope that he won’t notice that I sound like I’ve inhaled helium goes out the window when he lowers his lids, giving my basic yoga pants and even blander white top a slow onceover. In that classic Jackson way of his, he draws his thumb over his bottom lip and simultaneously makes my knees clack together.

“But amIsafe with you?”

It’s not an innocent question. Does he mean his heart? His happiness?

I’m not given time to answer.

“Holly!” Carmen calls out, about seven rows separating us. “You want to get us started?”

Right. Yes.

I nod, then swallow down that airy, breathy voice that’s a total giveaway as to how much I want Jackson right here, right now. “Everyone with diamonds, you’re up first. We’ll go around a few times to make sure no one’s left out, so if you’re still thinking on your answer feel free to sit this round out.”

The guys jostle each other as they all decide who’s up first.

Ultimately, it’s Sylas, Cain, and the rookie, Kammer, who rise from their seats and sort of slouch in place to avoid hitting their heads on the overhead bins.

I try to hold back a snort and end up hacking out a cough. “Y’all, this isn’t the classroom. You don’t have to stand when spoken to.” I wave a free hand toward my team. “Carmen and Adam will take care of making sure you’re within the frame. Take a seat, gentlemen.”

They all sit as one, and then the fun begins.

24

Jackson

“Ionce had this fan who tattooed my face on her tits. We’re talking full on hairy ’stache inked over a left nipple—hold on, can I say nipple on TV?”

Laughter rumbles in my throat as Tommy Kase, Harrison’s backup, looks to Holly for guidance, his brows drawn together in consternation.

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