Page 6 of Game Changer

He crumples it in his fist and shoves it in his seat pocket.

My jaw hits the floor.

“Just because you’re not into sports doesn’t mean it’s not a viable interest for others.”

Apparently, tequila has the side effect of giving me a soapbox and whispering that I should use it.

“That so.”

I survey his tall physique, admittedly a bit too happy to have an excuse to stare at his long, hard legs, his impossibly broad shoulders, his huge hands.

“You ever play basketball? I bet you’d be good.”

His mouth twitches. A sign of life. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He reaches for his headphones and tugs his hoodie back up over his head.

Guess we’re done talking.

For the next hour, I read my magazine and sneak looks at him while he plays around on his phone.

I wish I had a sketchpad.

I don’t typically draw people, but I’m itching to draw him.

It’s not only the beautiful lines of his face and body, larger than anyone I’ve ever seen in person. It’s his magnetic charisma, which is twisted because he couldn’t give more standoffish vibes if his sweatshirt had “STAY AWAY” printed from cuff to collar.

A few times, I catch him looking at me.

It’s like being scorched by the sun. Not sunbathing-on-a-beach sun, but ant-under-a-microscope sun. I’m not used to his intensity, but I don’t hate having his eyes on me.

I remind myself of the purpose of this trip.

My sister and I were close growing up. Even when she moved to Denver, we talked every few days and spent holidays together.

I didn’t realize how much distance was between us until I got the invitation saying she was getting married to a man I’d never met.

The second I got the invitation, I called and told her I was coming to help.

For the next month, I’m in Denver for her wedding. We haven’t talked about exactly what I’ll be doing, but I’ve already had visions of us hugging, our flower bouquets wrapped around one another’s shoulders, and the happy tears in her eyes when I give the world’s best MOH speech.

It’s not like Mari’s all I have in the world, but… well, she sort of is.

An announcement comes over the intercom to say we’ll be landing in Denver in an hour.

Not soon enough.

The plane bounces, and my stomach lurches. I unclick my seatbelt and stumble out of my seat toward the bathroom.

I was hoping to avoid the “rocking in a corner” scenario, but it seems more likely with every bump.

“I’m sorry, Mar,” I whisper.

I brace a hand on the counter and think of my childhood hero. My partner in crime.

Every time my life has gone to shit, she’s been the one who got me through. I want to return the favor. To be there when she needs me instead of the other way around.

A knock comes on the door, making it clank against the frame. Apparently, I forgot to lock it.

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