My stomach drops at the thought of Tara’s constant warnings and badgering about staying away from our clients when we’re off the clock. Clearly, I’m not doing a great job of that, no matter how accidental my run-ins with Zanders have been.
“Do you happen to know what Tara did last night?” I cautiously ask, looking down at my plate, and nervously pushing my food around. What if she was out last night? What if she saw me last night? What if she saw us last night?
This morning, I scoured the internet for any sign of a leaked photo of Zanders and me outside the bar, but his PR team certainly did their jobs, cleaning up any possible evidence of our interaction.
“Probably doing the exact thing she told us not to do. I’d bet money she was running around looking for the guys from the team last night, acting desperate as hell.”
My eyes dart up from my plate, amusement sweeping across my features as I look at Indy’s wide eyes and gaping mouth.
“Oh fuck.” She quickly slaps her palm over her mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
A moment of silence falls between us as we look to each other, testing the waters, unsure of where we each stand on the topic of our coworker. Until finally, I double over on my side of the booth, laughing my ass off. Eventually, Indy joins in, both of us silent due to how hard we are cracking up right now.
“She’s such a hypocrite.” I wipe away the tear that’s pooled at the corner of my eye.
“Oh my God,” Indy sighs in relief. “I’m so glad we’re on the same page because I’ve wanted to ask you for weeks.”
“She’s worried about us fraternizing with the players, but she’s so thirsty when she’s in the aisles talking to them, doing the exact thing she told us not to.” I smile, thoroughly enjoying the boost of serotonin from that laugh attack. “But regardless, it’s not worth the risk of losing our jobs.”
“Is it not?” Indy questions, cocking her head to the side. “I think I might put my job on the line for a night in the sack with one of those hockey boys.”
I eye her for a moment, wondering if she knows something I’m not ready for her to know yet. Or maybe ever.
“Figuratively, of course.” She points to herself. “Loving boyfriend and all that.”
“Of course.”
Indy has made it clear over the past few weeks how she’s in it for the long haul with her live-in boyfriend, Alex. She’ll constantly joke about the temperature rising when the hockey boys start stripping on the airplane or how she’d risk her job for a single night with one of them. But from what I know of her relationship, she loves Alex way too much to risk him.
“But if I were single and a certain alternate captain for a certain hockey team from Chicago who just happened to ooze sex appeal continually hit on me, I might risk my job for that.” Indy suggestively looks up at me from across our booth.
“Zanders is not hitting on me when he constantly rings the call light. He’s just torturing me.”
“Mm-hmm,” Indy hums. “Torturing you to get your attention because he wants to screw you.”
I stay silent on that front. Indy doesn’t even know about our interactions outside of the plane, yet she still knows the truth.
“A night in bed with God’s gift to womankind is worth the risk, I’d say.” Indy knowingly raises her eyebrows before taking another bite of her brunch. “And just so you know, figuratively speaking, if you ever did want to break the whole flight attendant/hockey player boundary thing, your secret would be safe with me.”
I give her a thankful smile, but not big enough to confirm or deny her statement.
“Figuratively, of course,” she adds before taking another bite of her food.
When I pull up to my parents’ house, twenty minutes outside of Nashville, my stomach instantly drops with nerves. I couldn’t tell you the last time I was home. Over the last few years, holidays have been a hit or miss between Ryan’s and my hectic schedules, paired with my blatant attempt to avoid this city.
“Hey, lady,” my driver says from the front seat. “I have another ride. You have to get out.” Understandably so, I’ve been sitting in the back of his car for a couple of minutes now, nervously spinning the gold ring on my thumb and contemplating bailing altogether.
“Sorry.” Inhaling a deep breath, I exit his car and smooth out my top, feeling extremely uncomfortable. And not because I’m still full from brunch, but because I chose an outfit entirely out of my comfort zone. I own a whopping one top my mother would approve of, so here I am wearing the monstrosity.