Top Shelf (Seattle Serpents), page 28
Fuck me. Nothing like a glass of good whiskey to help me ease my nerves before a flight. You’d think being a pro hockey player who flies a good chunk of the year, I wouldn’t be bothered by flying, but that’s not my luck. I loathe being cooped up in a plane where I have no control over what will happen to me. If there’s one thing I like, it’s having control.
“Thanks!” she retorts with false cheerfulness. “Picked it out myself and everything.”
I hate the way my lips twitch at her sarcasm. I hate even more the way my hands shake as I lower my emptied glass.
“Nervous flyer?” she guesses. She’s clearly in the mood to chat and doesn’t seem to care that I’m not.
“Yup.” The word is clipped, and I hope it’s enough to make her realize I don’t want to be bothered.
It’s not.
“You know, adding alcohol to the mix can actually exacerbate your flight anxiety.”
I peek over at her. She’s not looking my way. Her attention is on her drink sitting in front of her. “Is that your daily word?”
“Hmm?”
“Exacerbate? Is that your daily word or something?”
She giggles. “No. I just have this weird habit of busting out the big words when I drink too much.” She takes a healthy sip of her white wine. “Nervous flyer,” she tells me, setting the empty glass on the counter just as a voice comes over the intercom.
“Flight 1027 for Seattle will begin boarding in five minutes. Please make your way to the gate.”
I reach into my back pocket and pull my wallet out. I pluck two twenties from inside and toss them on the counter, nodding to the bartender who kept my drink refilled the entire hour I’ve been sitting here.
“You know,” I say to the woman as I push to my feet. She turns toward me, those damn brows arched high once more. “Adding alcohol to the mix can actually exacerbate your flight anxiety.”
Her lips inch upward in a gleeful grin. “That so?”
“Yep. Heard it firsthand from some crazy cat lady at an airport lounge.”
“She sounds smart.”
“She sounds drunk.”
“Buzzed,” she clarifies. “And only barely.”
I don’t know her well enough to argue that fact, so I let it go, instead grabbing my backpack from the floor next to the chair I just vacated.
“Have a good flight, Mr. Grumbles,” she mutters as I walk by.
I laugh, shaking my head as I make my way from the lounge to my gate. She’s right—I am grouchy today. I’m grouchy because I had to spend the last two weeks with my family, who, at times, can be wonderful, but this latest trip? It was nothing but one painful event after the next since it was my evil stepsister’s wedding. She married a man who is basically the male equivalent of her, which equaled two long weeks of them being the most dramatic humans on the planet and calling off the wedding three separate times, including on the wedding day thirty minutes before the bride was set to walk down the aisle because she hated the first look photos—whatever the fuck those even are.
Then, just when I’m coming down from all the bullshit of the trip—including losing my luggage on the way there—I’m reminded that when I hit the ice in two weeks, I’m going to have a new teammate I’d rather not have. So yeah, I am grouchy, and I don’t give a shit if a random woman in the airport lounge thinks I’m an asshole because of it.
I reach the gate just in time to hear them announce that first-class passengers can board, so I scan my ticket with the airport worker, then walk down the narrow and awful-smelling ramp to the plane I am not looking forward to sitting on for the next six hours, especially since I know I have to sit next to someone. I’d much rather have nobody next to me, but the flight I chose didn’t have single-seat options, so I’m stuck trying to avoid conversation the entire ride home.
I grab my tablet from my backpack, then slide my headphones over my ears—the last thing I want is for my seatmate to think I want to talk—and load up Netflix. I connect to the in-flight Wi-Fi and queue up Community to continue my eighth rewatch, then I settle back into my seat, turning my head away from the aisle so I don’t make eye contact with anyone that walks by. I’ve somehow managed to make it this far in the trip without someone recognizing me, and I’d like to keep it that way.
I keep the noise canceling off so I can hear any announcements, but it’s all the same crap it usually is: the flight attendants saying things like full flight and reminding people not to overstuff the bins above them and asking everyone to take their seats quickly.
“Attention passengers: we’re looking for an Auden Sinclair. Auden Sinclair, are you on this flight?”
The attendant repeats the name twice more before shrugging, then announcing they’ll be closing the door for takeoff.
“Wait! Wait! I’m here!”
I’m sitting close to the front of the plane, and even with my headphones over my ears, I can hear the voice coming from the walkway. It’s a woman, so I assume it’s this Auden Sinclair person we’re waiting on. She sounds panicked, and I guess I would be too if I were the idiot holding up the flight for everyone else.
“I’m here!” she repeats as her shoes slap against the airplane floor. “I’m here. So sorry. I had to pee.”
The attendant gives her a tight-lipped smile. “No trouble. Next time, please remember we have lavatories on board that you’re more than welcome to use.”
“Sure, but those dang things are always so tiny, and I swear someone always has to take a massive shi—”
“Good morning, folks. I’m Captain Archer, and I’ll be your…”
The captain cuts off whatever the woman was going to say next, which is fine by me. I’d rather not listen to her excuses and just get this damn plane off the ground.
Seconds later, a shadow falls over me, then the bin above me is pulled open. Shit, I curse to myself. Because why wouldn’t my seatmate be the late person? Goes with the theme of the rest of my trip, I suppose.
She plops down next to me, her bag hitting the tray table as she clambers into the seat. The table falls, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. She just sets her bag on top of it and begins rooting around in it. A familiar scent tickles my nose as she gets settled. I can’t exactly place it, but I could swear I’ve smelled it recently. Today, even. It smells like—
“Oh, hey! It’s you! Hi, Mr. Grumbles!”
I turn toward the cheerful voice coming from my left.
It’s her. The woman from the lounge. She’s smiling at me like we’re old friends, like she can’t wait to annoy me for the rest of the flight—like she’s going to enjoy annoying me.
She moves her hand around, the one that’s plunged deep inside the oversized black bag, then it reappears with a bag of chips. She shoves the awful-smelling things right under my nose, shaking the bag as if I can’t smell the pungent foot-like stink coming off it.
“Frito?”
I want to roll my eyes or sneer at this woman because what the hell is she thinking? Could she not tell from my demeanor in the lounge that I’m in no mood to talk? If I didn’t want to talk then, I sure as hell don’t want to talk now.
But I don’t say anything like that. I don’t roll my eyes, and I don’t sneer. I simply shake my head once, answering her question.
“Your loss.”
She shrugs, takes the bag back, and shoves a few chips into her mouth, and even with my headphones on, the crunch is loud and obnoxious.
Fucking hell. This is going to be a long flight.
Want more?
One-click to start reading! >>
THANK YOU
My husband, Henry. Thank you for being there to support me through this one. It was a long journey, and you never stopped showing up for me. I love you.
Laurie and Kristann. Always my biggest cheerleaders! Thank you both for your endless support.
My editing team. Caitlin, Julia, Judy… You ladies are incredible. Not just for catching all my mistakes but for being so damn patient with me. Thank you.
Kim, Nina, and the VPR team. Have I mentioned lately how much I appreciate you? You made this journey easier, and I’m forever grateful to be part of the VPR family.
Tidbits. Thank you for sticking by me, even when I suck and don’t show up. Your continued support means the world.
You. Thank you for joining me on this rollercoaster ride of a career.
With love and unwavering gratitude,
Teagan
OTHER TITLES BY TEAGAN HUNTER
SEATTLE SERPENTS SERIES
Body Check
Face Off
Delayed Penalty
Empty Net
Top Shelf
Match Penalty
CAROLINA COMETS SERIES
Puck Shy
Blind Pass
One-Timer
Sin Bin
Scoring Chance
Glove Save
Neutral Zone
ROOMMATE ROMPS SERIES
Loathe Thy Neighbor
Love Thy Neighbor
Crave Thy Neighbor
Tempt Thy Neighbor
SLICE SERIES
A Pizza My Heart
I Knead You Tonight
Doughn’t Let Me Go
A Slice of Love
Cheesy on the Eyes
TEXTING SERIES
Let’s Get Textual
I Wanna Text You Up
Can’t Text This
Text Me Baby One More Time
INTERCONNECTED STANDALONES
We Are the Stars
If You Say So
STANDALONES
The DM Diaries
Best Friends for Never
Stay on top of my new releases, cover reveals, sales, and more by visiting:
www.teaganhunterwrites.com
TEAGAN HUNTER writes steamy romantic comedies with lots of sarcasm and a side of heart.
She loves pizza, hockey, and romance novels, though not in that order. When not writing, you can find her watching entirely too many hours of Supernatural,
One Tree Hill, or New Girl. She’s mildly obsessed with Halloween and prefers cooler weather.
She married her high school sweetheart,
and they currently live in the PNW.
www.teaganhunterwrites.com
Teagan Hunter, Top Shelf (Seattle Serpents)
