“Lions hockey team out of Cherokee Springs. You’re the left winger.”
“Yeah. You a fan?”
“No. I’m not into sports, especially not hockey,” I declared, laughing.
“Let me guess, . . . too violent?”
“You might say that. I can only take so much testosterone, and all that fighting doesn’t help.”
He nodded. “I can see that. How did you know who I was?”
“You’re a big deal in the hockey world, and especially back home in Cherokee Springs. Your face is on all the billboards, and you’re on almost as many commercials as I am. It’s hard not to know who you are.”
He laughed. “How are you taking being stuck here so casually?”
Lifting one shoulder, I shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do about it, other than wait for a suite to be prepared for us and wait out the storm. It’s not like we have to sit here in these uncomfortable chairs for hours,” I teased.
We were seated in the premium private terminal of the airport. Not only had the flights been grounded, but there weren’t any luxury vehicles or shared rides coming into or leaving out of the airport. The blizzard was extreme and the worst of its kind on the East Coast in decades.
Everything was luxurious in the premium private terminal, from the plush leather and velvet club chairs to the premiumbar selection. Servers attended all our needs, and luxury cars provided service to and from the airport, but not today. They were short-staffed and had no car service available.
Navy took a seat in the chair opposite mine and ordered a drink. “This is crazy. This isn’t how I planned to spend my Valentine’s weekend,” he announced.
“I don’t think any of us had, other than the staff, of course.”
He nodded and looked miserable as he stared into the drink in his hand. “You didn’t look too happy when you entered the terminal.”
“Since you don’t follow hockey, you wouldn’t know that we just got our asses kicked.”
“Literally or figuratively?”
“Figuratively. If you think that I look bad, you should see the other guys,” he replied teasingly, pointing at the scratch above his left eyebrow.
“Fight or the game?”
Shrugging, he replied, “They’re both one and the same.”
He turned his attention back to the TV overhead where a reporter was giving an update on the weather on the Eastern Seaboard. I took advantage of that opportunity to take in his beautiful features. Navy Prather was roughly one or two inches over six feet tall and 220 pounds.
He appeared to be mixed with golden caramel-colored skin, wavy hair, and thick, silky eyebrows over almond-shaped, bedroom eyes that ended in a bed of long, curly lashes that looked like silk, and most women would die for.
“Where were you headed?” I asked.
“Cherokee Springs.”
I laughed. “That’s where I was going. Home sweet home. Do you just play out of there, or are you from there?”
“It’s my hometown. It’s been a rough few weeks, so I planned to spend time with family. I knew I was cutting it close, butI thought I’d be making it in time for my parents’ annual Valentine’s Day ball.”
“I’ve had enough of balls. I planned to go home to celebrate loving myself.”
“That sounds lonely.”
I laughed dryly. “Honey, you can be in a room full of people and still be all alone. Trust me. I’ve been there.”
“I know the feeling. I thought women lived for this day.”
“Most of us do, but you have to make the best of the situation, right?”
