Page 24 of Fly Boy
Threading his head under the strap of his flight bag, he thumbs toward the door. “If you’re ready? Your father suggested that we stay tonight at the Copper Ridge Lodge and Spa.” He pulls his phone out from his pants pocket, typing into it before adding, “It’s not too far from here.”
I nod and push off my seat, my clammy palms leaving handprints on the leather. Bending, I collect my spilled things from the floor and shove them into my purse. I fumble with the handles as I drag it out from under the table and try to lift it, the thing almost weightless, only for Wyatt to take it from me.
“What about your skates?” he asks, gesturing to the overhead luggage bin.
“Oh, right.” I chew on my lower lip, not wanting to leave them. Call me superstitious, but I’m having a good run. Like hockey players who don’t shave if they get to the playoffs, I don’t want anything to happen to my blades if I leave them on the plane, even with what I assume is the airfield’s tight security.
Wyatt reaches over my head and pops open the door, pulling out my equipment bag and tossing it over his shoulder before wordlessly walking out of the jet and into the pouring rain.
He’s carried my bags the whole time we’ve been on the ground—from when we landed to where he sits them down and waits in line for reception. I don’t know if he’s being nice or coddling me, but I don’t like it, nor do I need it.
Big deal, I freaked out.
I’m over it.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for the umpteenth time, his eyes still filled with concern, as if he sees me like a fragile doll that needs to be handled with care.
“I told you back on the plane, Wyatt. I’m fine,” I reply, squaring my shoulders with a sense of bravado I don’t completely feel yet. But hell, if I let him see that. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You looked like you were going to pass out earlier.”
“Well, I’m not.” I cross my arms over my chest. I’m close to snapping because, apparently, I don’t do well with embarrassment. “Besides, it takes a bit more than unstableweather to freak me out.” I gesture to myself. “Remember… professional athlete. I have nerves of steel.”
“Miss Cartwright,” he sighs, resigned. “It’s okay if you were scared.” Dragging a hand through his hair, his gaze lowers to the ground for the briefest of seconds. Releasing a heavy breath, he says, “Iwas nervous for a bit there. It doesn’t mean—”
Huffing noisily from my lips, I hiss, “I’m fine.”
An older couple in front of us finishes up and moves to the side, freeing the receptionist to beckon us forward, her smile bright and welcoming as she waits. I lift my purse and rest it in the crook of my arm, a slow smile playing on my lips as I decide to go for a different tactic. One that I know will leavehimflustered instead of me.
“Maybe next time I can sit in the cockpit, and you can hold my hand… y’know, since you seem to be so worried about me.”
He growls, low and frustrated in his throat, the sound sending goosebumps down my arms. I fight a shiver as I march forward, leaving my grumpy pilot behind, my well-practiced paparazzi smile in place.
“Good afternoon,” the woman says in a cheery voice as genuine as my grin. “Welcome to Copper Ridge Lodge and Spa. How can I help you?”
“Hi, my father called ahead, requesting two rooms for tonight,” I say, leaning against the counter.
“Name?”
“Phillipa Cartwright.”
She taps on her keyboard, concentration knitting her eyebrows as she surveys the computer screen. “Ah, yes, Miss Cartwright. I’ve got you right here.” She pauses, reads something, and then looks between Wyatt and me. “I can see you requested two rooms. Unfortunately, we only have the presidential lodge available for this evening.”
“We were told there would be two rooms,” Wyatt says authoritatively as he joins me at the desk.
“I understand, sir, but the lodge is a two-bed.” She glances at me. “It’s our most luxurious private dwelling that overlooks the forest. It’s very secluded… rustic… excellent for couples.”
“For couples?” Wyatt says harshly, and I turn to glare at him.
“Yes, sir,” the receptionist—Stacey, from her name tag—says.
“You have nothing in the main hotel?”
She clicks on her keyboard again, in a way that I’m sure is only to appease him, and then she shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. We’ve got a large wedding party staying with us this weekend, so the entire hotel is fully booked.”
“The lodge will be fine,” I reassure her, then reach into my bag to grab my purse. “He doesn’t like to spoon,” I whisper teasingly, quiet enough that only Stacey can hear me. She smiles just as Wyatt’s hand circles my arm, tugging me away and out of earshot.
“Miss Cartwright, I don’t think…”
