Page 32 of Thoroughly Pucked

“Sure,” Ledger says.

“Not everything I do is a superstition.”

“But most things are,” Ledger counters with his eyes on me, and I can tell he’s ribbing him for my benefit. Well, ribbing appreciated.

“Can we make always flying private your new superstition?” I tease.

Dev smiles knowingly. “See? They’re a good thing. I’m glad you like the service, Aubs.”

There’s also a flight attendant on the plane. I don’t even know why we have one, but Dev said the service came with the plane. Since Sterling has already brought us prosecco, I can’t complain. I swirl the crystal flute I’m holding, having too much fun. “Yes, please book me a private flight every time, Fitzgibbons,” I say in a snooty British voice.

“Is Fitzgibbons your butler or your personal secretary?” Ledger asks, amused.

“Don’t you know? All good hair stylists need personal secretaries.” I take a drink of the delicious bubbly and a very obvious idea hits me. “This isn’t the same as a private jet or anything, but if either of you ever need a haircut, it’s on the house.” Already, I know they’ll try to pay me, so I preemptively put my foot down. “And if you ever go to another stylist I’ll be devastated for life, so consider that before you get your locks trimmed elsewhere.”

Dev rakes his fingers through his messy hair. It’s light brown, wavy, a little on the long side. More shaggy than anything though. “Aubs, is that your subtle way of saying I need a haircut?”

“No. Your locks are lovely,” I say to Dev.

He winks, and then I look at Ledger as I finish off my glass of champagne. “Yours are too.”

“Glad you think so,” Dev says, tugging at his own hair. “Because while I might not tie up my shoes in a set order due to superstition,Ledger”—he drops the name like it’s an insult—“I do always save my off-season haircut and get it chopped right before the first game.”

In seconds, Sterling materializes at my side. “Would you like some more, ma’am?”

Damn, that is some kind of service. Sterling’s older than I am by a couple decades, so I hardly feel like a ma’am but still, I tell the silver-haired, barrel-chested man in the black pants and white dress shirt that I’d love another glass.

“As you wish,” he says, then takes the flute to fill it.

He retreats to the galley and Ledger arches a brow at me. “Question for you.”

“Hit me up.”

“Do you cut your own hair? I’ve always been curious.”

“I can. But I don’t.” I cross my legs and kick my foot back and forth, the pink knee-high boot like a metronome, keeping the tempo of the conversation.

“Why not?”

“A haircut is one of life’s great pleasures. Why deny myself?”

Ledger nods a few times, seemingly liking that answer. “Then who does it for you?”

“My mom,” I reply easily. “She says it makes her happy.”

The flight attendant returns with another glass. “Here you go, ma’am.”

“Thank you so much, Sterling. This is amazing,” I say to the helpful man. Maybe he’ll use my name now. I’ve told him to call me Aubrey.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” And no such luck. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

A Jet Ski? A koala? An omelet? “Chocolate with caramel?” I ask, not seriously expecting a yes. Or for Dev to laugh instantly. Ledger chuckles too.

“Of course,” Sterling says.

I blink, straightening. The attendant disappears and I stare, slack-jawed, at Dev then whisper, “Is he really getting chocolate with caramel?”

Something passes between the guys—there’s a spark in their eyes. Then, Ledger answers, “I told Dev you liked that kind of chocolate. He picked some up for you this morning.”

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