Chapter 3

Noelle

“I can not take your seat,” I say, sounding horrified. “First, I’d never hear the end of it from my father. He’d say you need the leg room.” I glance down at his legs, but instead get caught up at the crotch of his jeans. I snap my eyes back up. “I’ll be back in coach.” I turn to head in that direction, and York stops me, grabbing on my arm.

“Wait. I can’t let you not have first class. You deserve it.”

I scoff, rather loudly. “I assure you. I don’t.”

“How about an upgrade,” a flight attendant says. Her bright blue eyes focus right on York. She’s tall, blonde, and beautiful in a bubbly-sort-of way. In an every-man-would-be-crazy-not-to-want-her way.

York smiles, barely noticing her as his smile is aimed at me. “Great. Noelle, you’re up here by me.”

I nod, not wanting to make a fuss as I can already see the first few passengers about to board. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s not,” York says, like he owns the airline. He grabs my carry on with one hand and secures it above our heads. “Sit,” he demands, and I do.

I realize I sort of like his bossy side, or either I’m willing to do anything the man ever asks of me. It’s absurd. I’ve had this crush on him forever, and now that we’re in this close space, I can’t think of anything to say to him. “Thanks,” I say, lamely. I plop down into the seat, pulling my phone out of my pocket.

Me: About to take off. See you soon.

Annabelle: Can’t wait!!!

My best friend, Annabelle. She’s still living in Colorado, on the same block as my parents. She’s married with a few kids, but every time I’m in town I make it a point to catch up with her.

Annabelle: Saw online that you're flying with York. Are you all dating?

Me: No, stupid press. I wish they’d leave celebrities alone.

Annabelle: Either way, must be a nice flight. You get to sit by him the whole time.

I chew nervously on my bottom lip, wondering if I should tell her that we’re sitting together or not. I decide not to add fuel to the fire.

Me: We didn’t book our flights together. He’s in first class.

Annabelle: Maybe you should head to the bathroom mid flight and fall into his lap.

I shake my head, staring at my phone like Annabelle is crazy, because she is.

Me: That’s a horrible idea.

“I always hate these things,” York says, snatching my attention away from the phone in my hand.

“What things?” I push my phone back into my purse.

“Planes.” York’s eyes glance nervously around. “I’ve always been a bit scared of them.”

“But you fly all the time.” I’m gobsmacked that a man who pretty much lives on planes could be scared.

He shifts closer, his shoulder touching mine. “It’s the takeoff. Like I feel like we’re just going to fall out of the sky.”

“Really?” Our eyes lock. “I would think if anything you’d be terrified of the landing because technically that’s where most things can go wrong.”

York appears mortified, and I realize what I’ve just said. I place my hand on his arm. “Not that anything is going to happen here.”

He glances down at my hand resting along his arm and visibly swallows. “Thanks.”

The flight attendant comes over the speaker announcing for everyone to basically buckle up and get ready. Sure, she doesn’t say it quite in those words, but that’s the gist of it all. York’s gone white, and I rub along his arm.

“What usually helps you during takeoff?” I ask him, wanting to ease his anxiety just a bit.

“Usually I’m drunk, but I didn’t want to show up at your parent’s house shitfaced.”

“I get it. Well, I’ll try to distract you.” I smile.

The loud engines gear up as we taxi down the runway. We’re nowhere near the main runway yet, but York tenses anyway.

“We’re still okay,” I tell him. “Look at me. Let’s focus on your breathing.” I breathe in deep through my nose, and out my mouth, mimicking the way I’ve seen on TV when someone is freaking out. “That’s it,” I say for encouragement as York follows my lead.

“You’re really good at this.”

I beam. “Thanks. Keep breathing.” I place my hand over his. “You’re doing great. Just keep looking at me.” Having all his attention on me is sort of freaking me out, and I’m glad we’re breathing together.

“Thank you, Noelle.” His eyes bore into mine, and I keep breathing.

We inch closer as the plane pummels down the runway, lifting off. As soon as the plane lifts off the ground, York’s lips capture mine. We’re kissing and my head spins with anticipation of what’s to come.

I can’t believe this is actually happening.

He deepens the kiss, and our tongues meet. His tongue traces along mine, and I moan into his open mouth. It’s sensual, and he tugs me closer, his hands resting on my cheeks. It’s a surreal feeling to be kissing somebody I’ve imagined kissing him for so long.

Like this is really happening, and it’s like my brain can’t keep up.

The plane levels off, and York breaks the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers at the same time I hear the snap of a camera phone.

I open my eyes, glancing over York’s shoulder at a man sitting across the aisle. “Um,” I say, nodding my head toward him so York can see what just happened.

The man has his phone in the air, obviously having just taken a picture of the two of us. “Oh man, I can’t believe I’m on a flight with York Steele.” He snaps another photo and York shields our faces from the man.

“C’mon. Put the phone away, man,” York says. “If you do, I'll give you a signature, and take some photos with you.”

The man’s smile widens. “Sure.”

For the next fifteen minutes York takes photos with the passengers and signs snapshots he has in his carry on for the passengers. He also gives out some hockey merch, and has everyone on the plane laughing at his jokes.

Meanwhile I’m a wreck. York and I just kissed. And it was amazing, and more than anything I could have ever imagined.

I don’t know what to do with my hands every time he glances over his shoulder at me and smiles.

I’m all awkward limbs and goofy smiles. Finally I plop into my seat and take a glass of free champagne when the flight attendant offers it to me. “Thanks,” I say, chugging it in one swallow.

York’s busy for the rest of the flight chatting animatedly with all the passengers, and I find myself scrolling through my phone, trying my best to find a book in my Kindle to hold my attention.

When the plane touches down, my phone immediately blows up with messages and notifications.

The first text is from Annabelle.

Annabelle: OMG You’re dating York Steele?!?!

My mother texts, sending a link along with her questions of what is going on. I click the link, and there’s an article.

An article.

There’s a picture of York and I at the airport. Another of us kissing on the plane. The headline reads, York Steele is dating the coach’s daughter, Noelle Pearl.

My eyes register my shock as York glances over at me.

“Everything okay?” he asks me.

I can’t even answer him. I just show him my phone and he reads the article.

“Um,” is all he can say.

“What do we do? We need to tell them it’s not true,” before I can finish what I’m saying York digs out his phone and stares at it.

“It’s your father.” He answers the call. “Hello, sir,” he says into the phone.

My eyes are bigger than saucers as I listen to the one-sided conversation.

“I understand,” he says before hanging up.

The plane taxis to the gate as York slides his cell into the pocket of his jeans.

“What did he say?” I glance at my phone, wondering why my father hasn’t called me.

York leans in, whispering into my ear so nobody can overhear us. “Your father wants us to keep pretending to date. He said a scandal right now would be bad for the team, and that he talked with the head of PR, and we can’t handle another scandal right now.”

I lean back to look into York’s big blue eyes. “Scandal?”

He raises a finger to my lips, lightly touching me. “Shh. After last year with a few of the players. It’s just through the holidays,” he whispers.

“We need to pretend to date?” I ask, my head swiveling to make sure there’s no eyes on us.

“We’ll discuss it once we’re off this plane. But yes,” he says with a megawatt smile. The one he gives for all the cameras.

The one that has made me fall completely head over heels for this man.

This is going to be bad.