Don’t Tempt Me, Captain

006 || First Class Trouble

ZURI

"I never agreed to this, you know."

Hawk looks up from his seat across the aisle, where he's been trying to stretch his injured leg without knocking over the little table between us.

"Agreed to what?"

"This!" I gesture around the private jet. "You announced my interview in front of Dacre, told him I was coming to Seattle, and practically dragged me onto your plane!"

"Baby Blue, you walked onto the plane yourself."

"Under emotional distress!"

"Ah." He nods thoughtfully. "That explains why you threatened to castrate me on the stairs."

"I haven't ruled it out."

His grin widens, and I resist the urge to throw my complimentary pillow at him.

"Hawk, I'm serious. You can't just make decisions for me."

"I didn't make a decision for you. I arranged an interview."

"You arranged—" I stop. "Wait. There's actually an interview?"

"Tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock."

I stare at him.

He looks offended. "Christ, Zu. Did you think I was bluffing?"

"Yes!"

"I'm wounded."

"Not nearly enough."

He laughs, but I can't join him. Yesterday, I had a job, a fiancé, and an anniversary dinner planned. Today, I'm unemployed, single, publicly accused of s****l misconduct, and flying to Seattle with my brother's married best friend.

A man who kissed me this morning while I was wearing nothing but a towel.

My life has become a badly written television drama.

"It's an interview, not a job offer," Hawk says, watching me. "The medical director agreed to meet you. Management will be there too."

"Do they know about the scandal?"

"Yes."

My stomach sinks. "And they still agreed?"

"Reluctantly. Being accused of something isn't the same as being guilty."

I look down at my hands. For the first time since my dismissal, the possibility of working again feels real enough to frighten me.

"And if they reject me?"

"Then we find another way."

"You make everything sound so easy."

"Nothing about this is easy, Zu." His expression softens. "But I need you."

I swallow, unsure what to say.

Fortunately, Hawk ruins the moment by reaching across the table and stealing a strawberry from my plate.

"Hey!"

"Payment for services rendered."

"Get your own!"

"Yours taste better."

I throw another strawberry at him. The bastard catches it in his mouth, looking so pleased with himself that I briefly consider opening the emergency exit.

Then he shifts his injured leg, and his smile vanishes.

His fingers tighten around the armrest as he takes a careful breath.

"Your knee—"

"Hurts only when beautiful women assault me with fruit."

I narrow my eyes, but there's sweat along his hairline, and he hasn't moved his leg again.

Before I can question him, the flight attendant announces that we're preparing for takeoff.

Hawk fastens his seat belt and closes his eyes. For once, I leave him alone.

...

By the time we’re airborne, Hawk has stretched out on a reclining sofa at the back of the cabin and is watching me from beneath his lashes.

“You know, there’s plenty of room over here.”

"I'm comfortable here,” I pat the armchair where I’m seated.

"Didn't say you weren't."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

His gaze travels over my face before settling briefly on my mouth. "Like what?"

Oh, for goodness' sake.

I cross my legs, and his eyes follow the movement.

"Hawk. Behave."

"I am behaving. You should see me when I'm not."

I grab a cushion and throw it at his face.

He catches it, laughing, but the movement makes him wince. His hand goes straight to his knee, and he mutters something unpleasant beneath his breath.

My amusement disappears.

"Serves you right," I say, although I'm already leaning forward.

"Cruel woman."

"Can you get comfortable?"

"Trying."

I help adjust one of the cushions under his leg, careful not to disturb the brace. When I straighten, Hawk is watching me with an expression I don't recognize.

"Stop staring."

"Hard to do when you're standing that close."

I become painfully aware that my hand is still resting on his thigh.

I remove it and return to my chair before my common sense suffers another embarrassing defeat.

For several minutes, we sit quietly. Hawk closes his eyes while I scroll through my phone, deliberately avoiding social media. I have no desire to discover what strangers are saying about my breasts today.

A notification sounds from Hawk's phone.

He picks it up, and I accidentally catch a glimpse of the screen.

It's a photograph of him on the ice, wearing his Seattle Talons' jersey. His golden hair is damp with sweat, and he's grinning beside two teammates, a silver trophy raised above their heads.

TWO YEARS AGO TODAY.

His thumb lingers on the photograph. Then he locks the screen. His smile disappears, and for a moment, he looks terribly tired.

"Championship?" I ask.

"Conference final."

"You won?"

"Scored twice. Overtime winner," he shrugs.

"Were you always this modest?"

He smiles faintly, but his eyes return to the phone lying facedown beside him.

"I miss it," he says.

My chest aches.

I've spent enough time around injured athletes to recognize the grief that comes with losing the ability to do something you've built your entire life around. But hearing it from Hawk feels different.

He notices me watching and reaches for his water.

"Don't look so tragic, Baby Blue. I've still got the best hair in the league."

"Debatable."

He grins, but I find myself looking at his injured leg again.

"Hawk?"

"Yeah?"

"If the Talons hire me, I want you to know I'll give you my best."

His smile fades.

"I haven't seen your scans or your full medical history, so I'm not promising miracles. But I'll work with your doctors, and I'll do everything I can to help you recover properly." I hesitate before adding, "Even if you spend every appointment being an insufferable bastard."

He watches me for several seconds. Then he looks away, rubbing his thumb over the edge of the blanket.

"That's a pretty generous offer."

"It's literally my profession."

"Still." Something about his voice makes me pause.

He looks at me again, and the teasing expression I'm accustomed to is nowhere to be found.

"Can I ask you something, Zu?"

"Depends."

"Come here."

I narrow my eyes. "Why?"

"Because I'd rather not shout across my own bedroom."

"Hawk, if this is another attempt to get me into bed—"

"It is," he says shamelessly. Then his expression softens. "Can I have a hug?"

Well, that wasn't what I expected.

"A hug?"

"Yeah. Unless you've got a waiting list."

I laugh softly and stand. "Move your arm."

He does, making room for me beside him. I perch carefully on the edge of the sofa, avoiding his injured leg, but the moment I lean forward, Hawk wraps his arms around my waist and draws me against his chest.

He's warm, and the familiar scent of smoked vanilla and leather makes my stomach flutter as I slide my arms around his shoulders. His cheek settles against my neck, his golden hair brushing my jaw.

Then he releases a long breath and holds me a little tighter.

I gently run my fingers through his hair, surprised by how readily he relaxes against me.

"Thanks, Zu," he murmurs.

I smile. "You're welcome."

He shifts slightly, and his lips graze the sensitive skin beneath my ear. Accidentally.

Probably.

I stiffen, and Hawk lifts his head. His face is suddenly so close that I can see the darker ring around his green irises.

"Baby Blue, you're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"Looking at me like you're about to make another terrible decision."

My breath catches as his thumb moves slowly against my waist.

"Maybe you should stop giving me opportunities."

His eyes darken. Oh, s**t.

For one ridiculous second, I think he's going to kiss me. The worst part is that I want him to.

His phone starts ringing.

Hawk closes his eyes. "I'm throwing that f*****g thing out of the plane."

I laugh shakily and begin pulling away, but his arm remains loosely around my waist while he reaches for the phone.

He checks the caller and grins. "Oh, this should be entertaining."

"Who is it?"

He answers before I can stop him. "Miss me already, pretty boy?"

I freeze. It's Zayn.

Hawk's smile disappears almost immediately.

"What?"

I straighten, watching his expression change as my brother speaks.

"Zayn, slow down."

"Hawk?" I whisper.

He doesn't answer. His jaw tightens, and when he finally looks at me, my heart sinks.

My brother's voice rises sharply through the phone, loud enough for me to hear.

"WHY THE f**k IS THERE A PICTURE OF YOU AND MY SISTER ALL OVER THE INTERNET?"

I stop breathing.

"What picture?" Hawk demands.

"The one outside her hotel! They're calling her your f*****g mistress, Hawk! Right beside those disgusting pictures Shaw posted!"

Blood drains from my face.