For the next hour, we go back and forth, exchanging funny stories and sharing childhood memories. He tells me about the time he and his brother switched places to take one another’s tests, and I tell him about the time Kennedy and I got locked in an Old Navy after hours and the fire department had to come get us out. It’s not a date, and yet somehow, the conversation is better than any I’ve ever had when out with a man.
Cole Berrett is a genuinely good guy. One I could easily see myself falling for, which is exactly why I can’t.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
cole
I laymy hand on the horn, and a few moments later, Jake storms through his building’s front door. He loads his luggage into the trunk clumsily, then slides into the passenger seat with downturned brows over bleary eyes. We probably didn’t have to leave quite so early this morning, but I’m not taking any necessary risks after my missed flight, and if he didn’t want to leave at five thirty, then he could have driven himself.
There’s nothing wrong with flying commercial, but packaged pretzels, cramped middle seats, and sitting near crying babies can’t compete with extra legroom and first-class finishings. And missing a flight while wearing the captain’sCis, to use Lily and Violet’s vocabulary, abig no-no.
“Don’t be cranky.” I chuckle at his pout. “I got you a coffee. Extra cream, one sugar.”
I hold out the Boston Bean coffee—Maya swears they make the best espresso in town—and the lightly caramelized and nutty aroma defrosts some of the ice in his glare.
He leans back into the leather seat with a mumbledthank youand a yawn. “Sorry. I’m exhausted. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
I peer over at him, one brow cocked. “Something, or someone, you want to share?”
He rolls his eyes over his to-go cup. “I’m sore, jackass.”
“Ah,” I commiserate.
He took a few rough hits during yesterday’s game. It’s no wonder he spent the night twisting and turning.
“Rest up on the plane,” I suggest. “Plenty of time to sleep before we get to San Diego.”
His responding grunt is the last sound he makes on the ride to the airport. Our team’s chartered jet departs from a private terminal at Boston Logan International Airport, so I park my car at the nearby enclosed lot, then huddle into my jacket, pushing through the winter winds as I make my way to our plane. A bundled-up flight attendant waits at the bottom of the steps, a familiar branded parka zipped up to his chin.
“Morning, Samuel,” I say.
“Nicholas,” he replies with a slight nod. “Good to have you with us again.”
I’ve told the crew to call me Cole, but it hasn’t stuck. At least he’s no longer calling me Mr. Berrett.
With a dip of my chin, I take the warm, scented towel from him, then wipe off my hands as I climb the steps.
The assistant coaches are deep in conversation near the front of the cabin, likely working out plays and strategies for the upcoming game. With a brief greeting, I pass them and shuffle to my usual spot. Our seats aren’t assigned, but we follow an unspoken seating chart, nonetheless.
I slide into the Italian leather seat next to Cameron and buckle myself in. My seat buddy is already half asleep by the window, head lolling onto his neck pillow.
“Morning,” he mumbles without opening his eyes. Despite years of early practices, flights, and workouts, he’s mostly useless before six a.m.
“I wish this flight wasn’t so long,” Logan complains from a row over. “San Diego’s so far.”
“If you slept, it wouldn’t feel so long,” Cameron snarks. He pulls his eye mask on, indicating his participation in the conversation is over.
Logan flips him off with a lazy hand gesture. “Anyone want to playGrand Theft Auto?”
“I’m good,” Jake says beside him, already reclining his seat. “I need to catch up on sleep, too.”
“Lame,” Logan says with an exaggerated eye roll. “Berrett?”
“Nope.” I shake my head and stretch my legs out. “Got some reading to do.”
The flight from Boston to San Diego is about six hours, which means I have plenty of time to dive into the world ofDexxar. As much as I hate to admit it, the book’s decent. It won’t be studied in college lit classes anytime soon, but it’s held my attention so far. Sure, it’s a bit difficult to completely suspend my grasp of reality, but that’s the fun of fiction, I suppose.
Cameron lifts his eye mask up and squints at me. “I’m sorry. What?”
