Page 8 of Damsel in Defense
Someone’s watching me.
I fight to ignore the feeling.I don’t want to engage with anyone but the flight attendant who brings me my desired juice.The last thing my frayed nerves can handle is a fan gushing over me the entire trip.That sounds so self-centred, but I really need some me-time.
Fuck it.I can’t ignore this person.I can feel their gaze burning into me.
I shift slightly, turning my head.
And then I see him.
Mason.
Golden BoyMason Warren.
Sitting just across the aisle with his boarding pass still clutched in one hand, wearing a baseball cap and that same infuriating half smile he gave me right before he disappeared into the night like some kind of emotionally devastating mirage.
Our eyes lock.My heart forgets how to function.
He lifts a brow.
“Morning, seatmate,” he says, his voice low and amused.“Funny seeing you here.”
Oh no.?
CHAPTER FOUR
MASON
Getting recognized in an airport is hell.
The literal worst thing that can happen, in my opinion.I realize that I am a hockey celebrity, and getting spotted by fans is a common occurrence—but in airports, you’re trapped.
There’s nowhere to run to.There’s nowhere to hide.
I’d once made the mistake of running into a men’s bathroom, thinking that if I stayed in there long enough, the fans would lose interest.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Social media blew up that day, talking about how long I was in there and that I should get my colon checked.Not my finest moment.
Today, my luck doesn’t seem to be holding up either.There’s a special kind of hell reserved for public attention at 7:00 a.m.when you’re undercaffeinated and overstimulated.
A swarm of bright phone screens, lip-glossed smiles, and unsolicited touching happens as I make my way through security and to my gate.Two women who have been speed walking directly behind me, taking pictures of me but not asking for onewithme, gossip at a regular talking volume.My skin crawls at their chosen topic.
“That’s him, right?The Golden Boy?”
“He totally looks like a boy next door.One I want to do unspeakable things to.”
“I heard he broke up with Jess—the model with the yoga line?”
“She broke up with him, I think.”
“Wait.Didn’t he, like, hook up with someone last night?I think I saw a picture on my—”
I duck into my gate and practically shove my boarding pass at the attendant.I need to get away fast.
When I started my career in the NHL, the nickname of Golden Boy didn’t bother me.Mostly because the nickname was about my looks.I’d had shoulder-length, long, blond hair and a golden tan that had me looking like a surfer rather than a hockey player.
Yet as the years passed, the name evolved into something I didn’t like.My hair is much shorter now, and I learned more about sun protection as my career developed.
