Maybe I’m not that subtle after all.
Chapter 19
The next morning, I get to the airport early. Some of the lads are already there, coffees in hand, designer bags slung over their shoulders, looking far too awake for this hour. I clear security without a fuss, nodding to fans along the way. A few ask for photos, and though selfies aren’t exactly my favorite thing in the world, I stop. Catalina said I should be more open with the fans,and with social media,so I’m doing my part.
At the gate, I shake hands with the pilot waiting by the entrance, nod at the flight attendants, and step inside the aircraft. I scan the cabin, instinctively searching, and thank God when she’s nowhere in sight. Not yet, anyway.
Row twenty-three, calling my name.
Thiago’s already halfway down the aisle and slaps my hand in passing.
“Martínez,” I call. “Everyone in the same seats as last time, yeah?”
“You got it, boss.”
The lads shuffle down, falling into their usual spots like it’s a ritual—which, to be fair, it is. We won in Houston, so now everyone’s terrified to change a thing. I stow my bag in the overhead bin and sink into my aisle seat.
Minutes pass. The plane fills up. Then there she is.
June’s first, all smiles and sunshine, a pink backpack bouncing on her shoulder. Catalina follows right behind her, hair loose around her shoulders, Strikers polo tucked neatly into dark jeans. She looksofficial. She looks…
Focus, Gallagher.
They pause a few rows ahead, chatting about something, but I know that look on her face. They have plans I’m about to ruin.
June gestures toward an open row, and Catalina nods, but when she glances back, our eyes meet. She freezes.She knows.
Before she can open her mouth, I’m already standing, blocking the aisle. “Kitten,” I say, pointing at the window seat beside me, “your seat.”
She frowns. “Rogue …”
“You’re part of the team,” I state, simple as that.
June looks between us, confused.
“Team superstition,” Catalina mutters, rolling her eyes. “They won last time, so now everyone has to sit in the same exact seats.”
June blinks, unsure what to do.
“Mr. Gallagher …”
“Rogue,” I correct.
“Rogue,” she amends, a polite smile tugging her lips, “I wasn’t here before. Where should I sit?”
I glance down the aisle and spot Luca Moretti settling into his row, one headphone dangling.
“Moretti,” I call.
He turns, thick Italian accent spilling out. “What can I do for you, my friend?”
“This is June,” I say. “She’s sittin’ in your row. Give the lass the window seat, aye?”
He grins like a devil. “For a pretty girl?Ma certo.”
Without missing a beat, he steps into the aisle, takes her bag before she can protest, and lifts it into the overhead compartment. Then, with a little flourish, he gestures toward the seat.
June blushes all the way to her ears. “Thank you,” she murmurs, sliding past him to the window. She glances back at Catalina and grins. Catalina returns the look, equal parts warning and amusement, before turning to me.
