Chapter Three

Zoey

"Do you want me to put that in the overhead compartment for you?" Brent asks, pointing to the bag in my arms as we sit side by side.

"No. Don't touch it," I bark, louder than I mean to, while clutching my bag closer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the passengers in the row across from us gawking over at me. Probably irritated that I'm causing more disruption to their flight.

I lower my head and hunch my shoulders in an effort to make myself smaller.

Brent raises his hands in surrender, his eyebrows drawing together in frustration. "Jesus, sorry," he mutters. "I was just trying to help. Forget I asked."

I shouldn't feel the need to explain myself, but after snapping at him, guilt settles in. "It's just… expensive photography gear," I say, offering an excuse anyway. "I want to keep it close."

It's also one of the most significant things that Liam ever gave me, and I want to safeguard it. Well, that and the engagement ring he bought me and then asked to have back when he broke it off.

I bend forward to push the bag under the seat in front of me. I'd rather keep it on my lap, but I know the flight attendant won't allow it, and I've already pushed everyone's patience at this point. I don't want to cause another scene.

I give the bag a gentle push at first, but it doesn't slide under even an inch.

I try again but it seems like the fabric of the bag is stopping it.

A frustrated huff escapes me as I shove it harder.

This stupid seat.

This stupid bag.

This stupid flight.

Everything feels too small, too cramped, like the walls are closing in on me. It's not the airplane–I've never been a nervous flyer. It's just the stress of what's riding on this weekend; a perfect wedding for Phoebe and maybe Liam realizing that he misses me. Sitting next to my nemesis isn't helping to lower my blood pressure either.

Finally, with one last push, the bag slides into place, but not before my head smacks into the hard plastic seat back in front of me.

"Ooof," the passenger in front of me groans.

I already know my cheeks just turned an embarrassing shade of cherry red.

"Sorry," I whisper, rubbing the sore spot on my forehead.

I don't look up at Brent as I slowly ease back into my seat, gently rubbing the injured spot.

It really hurts, but I don't want Brent to know. I'm embarrassed enough as it is.

I realize that getting comfortable on this flight home is no longer an option—not with my large bag under my seat, a small welt on my forehead, and zero legroom to stretch out. At this point, I just need to get through this flight and then the next three days in proximity to my ex and the barista, and Brent, the guy who stood me up at prom.

The guy in the window seat has his headphones on and seems to be fast asleep already, leaning his head against the window. Brent clicks his seatbelt back into place, and I do everything I can to pull my body as far from him as humanly possible, waiting for him to finish so that I can do the same.

I steal a glance at him—his broad shoulders filling the seat, his relaxed posture—and I hate him a little more for looking so damn composed. Of course, he wouldn't be fazed by this. Nothing rattles Brent Tomlin.

I should know. I spent most of my high school years sitting on the stadium bleacher seating of our local rink, watching my now ex-fiancé, Liam, and Brent play hockey. Nothing seems to rattle Brent, which makes him such a great hockey player, even though admitting that tastes bad in my mouth. I don't like to think of anything about Brent in a positive light. Especially what a talented hockey player he is… he'd enjoy my good opinion too much.

Or maybe he wouldn't care at all. He certainly didn't care that I had my heart set on going to prom.

It's been years since prom night, and yet, here I am, still fuming about it. I close my eyes, willing the memories away, but they slip back in—the dress, the flowers, the excitement… all ruined because he decided that shooting pucks was more important than taking me to prom.

I take a deep breath, opening my eyes and staring straight ahead. I just need to survive this flight. And the wedding. And the next few days of seeing Liam parade his new life in front of me.

The seatbelt sign dings, and I fumble with my phone as it vibrates in my pocket.

My sister.

Before I can type a reply, Brent lets out an audible groan beside me, shifting like my texting is somehow a personal offense to his existence. My annoyance peaks.

"Really?" I mutter under my breath, but before I can say anything else, the flight attendant approaches our row, the tail of her Santa hat swaying, her eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of Brent.

Of course.

"Mr. Tomlin. Is there anything I can get you before we take off? I'm so sorry you were bumped from first class," she says, her eyelashes fluttering at him.

"It's okay. The holidays are busy, I get it. And call me Brent."

Her smile widens, a full, toothy grin at his charm.

Ugh. Somone, get me a barf bag.

"Ok, Brent," she says, trying his name out on her lips, clearly enjoying it. She shifts a little closer. "Great game last night. I saw that hit you made in the third period."

"You saw that, huh?" he says, flashing her a smile. "Thanks."

She nods, preparing to keep the conversation going when a passenger coming back from the lavatory clears their throat, waiting impatiently for her to move out of their way.

She leans as tight as she can against the seat in front of Brent and the passenger manages to get past her but now the other flight attendant is headed this way and her eyes widen, knowing that she's about to get pushed along.

"I'd better move but if there's anything I can do to make you more comfortable, please don't hesitate to ask. I'm Heidi, by the way." Her voice, sweet-as-sugar.

I roll my eyes. I'm sure this is the kind of attention that Brent is used to receiving regularly from women. Especially when they know he's a professional hockey player with an eight-figure NHL contract.

Brent shifts his body towards her and away from me, almost like he's closing me off from their conversation.

It shouldn't bother me, but who am I kidding. Everything about Brent bothers me.

Brent clears his voice. "Funny you should ask, Heidi. Any chance that San Diego is your final destination too?" he asks.

I shouldn't care about her answer.

I shouldn't even listen in on Brent trying to pick up the flight attendant. For all I care, he can spend the entire weekend in a hotel room with her and miss the wedding activities altogether. That's one less pain-in-my-ass situation to deal with. But I can't wish for that because it would hurt my sister and David to not have Brent at the wedding.

I glance up at Heidi, disappointment streaked across her face as she bites down on her lower lip.

"Actually, it's not. My work week just started, and this is the first flight of the day." There's hesitation in her voice.

I swear to God that I can actually read Heidi's thoughts, and I'd bet my photography equipment that for a split second, she considered quitting her job just now to take Brent up on whatever he was about to offer her for the weekend.

"He's not worth it." I want to warn her. "He'll break your heart."

But I keep that little nugget of personal experience to myself. She wouldn't have listened to me anyway.

"That's too bad. I need a date for my grandmother's birthday party tomorrow. Maybe another time," he says, though he's just being polite–she just missed her shot.

"Aww, your grandmother…"

I can see the moment Heidi falls harder for Brent when he mentions being a doting grandson, but before she can fall any further, another flight attendant steps in, realizing she might lose Heidi to a sudden "illness" if she doesn't intervene. "Come on, Heidi, we need to get through our flight check for the pilot," she says, physically nudging her down the aisle without waiting for Brent's response.

I try to muffle back a giggle and then return to my phone.

Phoebe: Did you make your flight?

Zoey: Barely. But on the plus side I got more action from TSA than I've had in months.

Phoebe: Was he cute at least?

Zoey: Nope, it was a lady… but I have to hand it to her, she knows how to feel up a woman.

I didn't actually get strip-searched, but she did run a hand between my breasts since I was wearing a wire bra and slid her hands under to make sure I didn't have anything hidden in it.

Just tits in there, I'm afraid.

Phoebe: Ha! Stop teasing. I was hoping you were bringing a date who could take care of that for you while he makes Liam green with envy.

The idea of coming to this wedding alone and watching Liam walk around with the woman he left me for just doesn't sit right with me.

There's not much I can do about that since I'm still single, although Liam and I have been broken up for almost a year.

One night a couple of weeks ago, I got wine drunk and dialed up my sister to tell her that I was going to find a hot date to make Liam jealous. She loved the idea, and then it took on a life of its own, turning into a manhunt for my date over the past two weeks. Unfortunately, my efforts proved unfruitful, and now I am attending the wedding alone.

In my fantasy world, Liam seeing me with someone else would make him realize what he lost and beg me to take him back. Seeing me alone will only solidify that he made the right decision. There isn't much chance it will happen without a date to show him that someone else thinks I'm worthy.

Zoey: I couldn't ask my last match. He wore sweats to our date. And not cute ‘going to the gym' sweats. Like nasty sweats, not even a secondhand store would have taken in.

Phoebe: Damn, you're picky.

I hate when people call us singletons picky.

I'm not picking out a nail color at the salon for a manicure that will only last a couple of weeks. I'm selecting my potential life partner.

And if it were up to me, I'd already be married…to Liam.

Zoey: He took me to a nice Italian restaurant. I wore heels and a bodycon dress. It was the appropriate attire for the evening, I promise you.

Everyone in the restaurant stared at us. I wasn't the only one who found his attire off-putting and out of the dress code for a restaurant that garners that kind of waitlist to get a table.

Then, he had the audacity to ask if we could split the bill.

It's not like I mind sharing the tab, especially if things aren't going well, and we each want to cut our losses. But as we walked out of the restaurant, he said that we should head back to my place because his wife was probably asleep already.

Ick!

Zoey: And it turned out he was married… like they all seem to be.

I decided to add it for good measure since she called me "picky."

Luckily enough, my rideshare rolled up, and I jumped in, closing the door behind me. When my date tried the door, I told the driver to hit the gas, and I'd pay him double.

Phoebe: What a douche.

Phoebe: OK, then, did you try out any of those male escort services I sent you? Or what about a male stripper? He'll at least look good in a tux. Or, in a pinch, we could probably find you one of those Christmas gram guys. They're always trying to make a quick dollar.

I hear Brent snicker to my left. Glancing over, I find him smirking over my shoulder. Damn him.

"Did you read that?" I snap.

"Which part? About the married slob or the male prostitute that your sister wants you to hire for her wedding?"

I let out a growl and shake my head. It was better when we didn't speak.

I pull my phone back up and tip the screen toward the snoring passenger sitting in the window seat next to me so that Brent can't see it.

Zoey: What did I do to the universe that it hates me so much? I'm sitting next to Brent Tomlin on the plane, and he read my texts.

I lay my phone down and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment as I lean back in my chair.

My phone vibrates again.

I open my eyes and flip my phone back over to read it.

Phoebe: Oh my God! You should ask Brent to be your fake boyfriend! Liam will be insanely jealous that you're dating him.

There's no way. That's a terrible idea. I can barely stand to be around him for two hours, let alone the entire weekend. But… Phoebe isn't wrong. Liam would hate it. He'd hate it a lot.

If I truly want Liam to burn with jealousy and realize that he made a mistake breaking up with me, there isn't anyone better suited for the job than the left-defense for the Seattle Hawkeyes sitting right next to me.

Liam was a freshman in college, and he said the distance was getting hard for him. When Brent heard he ended things, he showed up at my house and decorated my entire front porch in daisies and candles, asking if I would go with him to prom.

Looking back, I think Brent felt obligated to ask me. Maybe since Liam had graduated and Brent was the new captain of the hockey team, he somehow had to continue living Liam's legacy. Which included taking the girlfriend Liam had just broken up with to prom.

I was excited about going with Brent. He was always nice to me and used to sneak me extra snacks in Spanish class when our teacher wasn't looking. My favorite was the trail mix with white chocolate chips, cashews, and raisins. He always had a ziplock bag just for me in his backpack. And occasionally, I'd find a little baggie of the snack in the spot where I always sat on the bleachers when I went to watch them practice.

It made me feel special when he asked me to go with him. An ego boost that I really needed at the time after such a hard breakup with Liam.

The day before prom, Liam had heard that Brent had asked me to go as his date. Liam texted me, telling me to be careful and that Brent was a player, but I didn't have a choice. It was too late to find a different date, and maybe I liked that Liam was a little jealous after dumping me.

I guess Liam got the last laugh when Brent canceled on me while I stood in my kitchen, dressed in my gown with my hair up and my makeup done. Liam showed up the next day with red roses and apologized for Brent being a jerk. We got back together that night.

So yeah, if Liam thought that Brent and I were dating, he would turn green with envy, I'm sure of it.

I hear Brent clear his throat next to me, and then I realize that I forgot to guard my phone.

"You want to make Liam jealous?" I hear Brent's voice directly over my shoulder as he reads my text.

"Are you serious right now?" I ask, my eyebrows knitting together. I bury my phone back in my jacket pocket so that he can't read anything else that my sister says. "Can't you mind your own business for five minutes? I'm sure there's a flight attendant around here somewhere that you could flirt with instead of spying on my conversation with Phoebe."

Brent is the last man on earth that I want to dive into the nitty gritty of my failed engagement with Liam. I'd rather jump out of the emergency exit upon reaching altitude.

Think of the irony of it all. Attempting to make the man who left me before our wedding jealous of the man who left me at my house all night in a prom dress waiting for him to pick me up.

I think I'll pass.

"I already know about the breakup. And I don't need the flight attendant now that I have you," he says.

My stomach twists. Of course, he already knows. We have mutual friends, after all, and it happened a year ago.

"What do you mean "you have me"? If you think I'm desperate enough to take the flight attendant's place and play tonsil hockey with you all weekend, then you've had too many hits to the head."

He shakes his head with a lopsided grin. "That's not what I meant. I'm saying we can help each other."

I stare back at Brent, considering whether or not to ask him to elaborate, but I'm not sure if I want to know what he wants in return for this favor.

The thing is, I don't really have a choice.

Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell, but there's a small, annoying voice in the back of my mind reminding me I'm out of options. Brent might be the only one who can make this wedding bearable.