Page 16 of From Wink to Kink

“So, you’re not gonna say anything to Tod?” he asks.

He knows the answer to this and thinks he can change my mind by bugging the shit out of me.

I look out the window at swirling fog and lean my head against the cold glass of the window. Before dinnertime, I’m going to be in a completely new world. New to me, anyway.

“Nah. I’m good. You know that,” I say in anend of subjecttone of voice.

He clicks his tongue and sighs with great drama. He wanted me to give Tod a good dressing-down, but I decided I was above that. Letting him know he got under my skin is the last thing I want to do. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

Look, I might not be the coolest chick in San Francisco, but I do havesomegame. And sometimes sayingnothingsays the most of all.

So, fuck that jerk.

At the airport, Matthew wheels my suitcase inside for me, then catches me in a swaying hug. “Be extra careful, okay, but not so careful that you don’t have fun.”

I hold him tight. “I wish you were coming.”

“You know, honey, a librarian retreat is so not my cup of tea. But a cruise ship full of Speedos, I could hang with. If you know what I mean. See you in a week.”

He watches me head for to check-in and the next time I turn around, he’s gone.

Holy shit. I am really doing this.

Before long, I’ve made it through security and am sitting in a first-class lounge, courtesy of Tyler, waiting for my flight. I’m three chapters into my book when boarding is announced, and I fall in line with the other passengers.

I settle in and holy crap, I’ve flown before, but never first class. Here I am, Ruby Brooks, sitting in a luxurious airplane seat, sipping icy champagne at nine thirty-five in the morning. Seriously, my little crib here in first class is more like an apartment than an airplane seat, and there is leg room for miles.

A girl could get used to this.

Thank you, Tyler.

But on the other hand, I’m a little embarrassed at how attentive the flight attendant is and how elitist it all seems—for heaven’s sake, I’m just a librarian, and a freaking junior one at that.

Of course, I feel like a massive imposter. The woman next to me is tapping away on a laptop that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe. Across the aisle, a man in a crisp suit is already fast asleep, a silk eye mask in place.

I’m contemplating whether it would be completely tacky to chase my champagne with a Diet Coke when a slight commotion temporarily halts my self-conscious anxiety, and another passenger makes his way down the narrow aisle.

Well, shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

It’s Chuck Newcomb, one of the Aftershocks hockey players. Tyler’s friend.

And a jerk of epic proportions.

To be fair, I don’treallyknow him. Sure, we’ve met at a couple team events, but I doubt he knows my name or would even recognize me out of context. He's grinning that infuriatingly charming grin of his, the one that makes women swoon and men want to be his best friend.

But I also happen to know he is truly notorious for a variety of shortcomings—and damn if he doesn’t look the part with his trendy man bun, beard stubble, and leather jacket.

With my book over the lower half of my face, I hide as he swaggers down the aisle like he owns the damn plane. He’s on the other side, one row back, so I have to crane my nosy-ass neck to check him out.

Not that I would. Because I don’t really care.

His Buddy Holly nerd glasses, somehow, look sexy as hell on him. Not a lot of people could pull that off. All chiseled jaw and brooding eyes, he’s also the walking, talking embodiment of toxic masculinity.

And he clearly knows he’s hot, reveling in the attention of the female flight attendants—and some males, too—starstruck and fawning over him as he makes his way to his seat.

You'd think actual royalty had just boarded, not an overpaid man-child who gets paid to hit things with a stick.

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