Page 1 of The Flight Risk

PROLOGUE

A Year and a Half Ago

Iclose the sliding back door behind me, half-expecting to see Oakley in the kitchen or chilling on the couch watching SportsCenter. But no sign of him anywhere. My shoulders droop. Well, damn. Water from the jacuzzi is dripping down my legs as I clutch my towel around me. The chill from the air conditioner leaves goosebumps all over my wet skin. Tristan had said Oakley was the only one up. Maybe he went to bed after all.

In my room, I jump in the shower to quickly wash off all the jacuzzi water and honestly, wash away my embarrassment from the way I acted around Oakley tonight. I couldn’t help myself. I have never been so instantly attracted to a guy before. He’s different from the other guys I usually gravitate to, or ones that pursue me. He’s quiet and reserved. I don’t know how to read him. He isn’t falling for my usual flirtation tactics and I feel so thrown off. But I also find that attractive. He’s a mystery that I want to solve and I really hope he finds me attractive, too.

After changing into booty shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, I quietly return to the kitchen and pour a glass of water. My buzz is stronger than I realized and I pray I won’t have a wine headache in the morning. I wonder if Brooke and Tristan are still out in the jacuzzi. They were giving each other sex eyes and I was not about to cock-block my best friend. I am one of the only ones who knows about them and am totally on board with them being together. I know love when I see it and I hope Brooke has found a love that does last. Even if I don’t personally believe in lasting love.

I lean forward, my forehead almost touching the sliding-door glass, to possibly catch a glimpse of the two love birds. Are they even still out there?

“They’re upstairs.” A deep, quiet voice fills the silence.

I jolt, hitting my head on the glass. “Ow, shit!”

“Geez, are you okay?” Oakley asks.

I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my forehead, feebly attempting to erase this moment from memory. Fuck, this hurts. Of course I slam my head against glass in front of the hottest man to ever exist. Now that I have seen him outside of that hockey gear, I like what I see. Ideally, I wanted Oakley to see bikini–sexy Tess. But he is getting this oversized sweatshirt–cozy version.

I swivel around, hand still on my forehead. “I thought you went to bed.”

“I heard Tristan and Brooke run inside a little bit ago. They left all the lights on and I wanted to make sure the hot tub was turned off.” He runs his hands through his perfect wavy light brown hair, showing his muscular arms in the process. My stomach flips and now my forehead is the least of my worries. God help me if I get this turned on by his fucking hair. “They seemed like they were in a hurry.”

He glances at me like we know the same secret. I squint my eyes and point at him. “Do you know something?”

His eyebrows raise and he shrugs as he moves towards the couch. Intrigued, I slowly follow so I can hear whatever confession is about to come out of his mouth. “They aren’t as subtle as they think. And for me to notice something, that says a lot. I am honestly surprised Bradley hasn’t found out.” He takes a seat and practically takes up the entire couch.

I ease into the couch next to him, leaving enough space between us to not come on too strong. This is a foreign feeling. My confidence has never wavered around anyone. What is happening to me?

I scoot closer and say, “I think Bradley is wedding-bombed. He can’t see past the end of his nose. Though I feel like he might be a touch narcissistic and narrow-minded. I also might be biased because I love Brooke and I don’t think she feels as seen as she deserves.” I nod up toward the master bedroom, where I know for sure the two lovebirds are staying for the night. “I think Tristan sees her the way she deserves.”

“And do you…feel seen?” Oakley looks intently at me. It almost looks like he is studying me. Trying to figure me out.

I’m a little taken aback by such a direct question. Like he is unearthing the bad experiences I buried a long time ago. “Um, I don’t know. I guess?”

“Someone would have to be an idiot not to see you. You’re pretty hard to miss, Tess.”

This is the most I’ve ever heard Oakley talk, yet it’s hard to decipher if that last statement was a compliment or kind of an insult. The air between us thickens and I immediately think the former is true. I press my hand into the couch, inches away from his thigh, “Am I?” I look coyly at him over my shoulder.

“Yes.” His voice is deep and serious and sweet all at once.

I want him to see more of me. It’s now or never to make my move. I reach down and grab the hem of my sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?” he asks nervously.

I take off my sweatshirt and am left in my dark green bralette and booty pajama shorts. He intakes a sharp breath and scans my body for a split second before looking away.

“You don’t have to be such a gentleman, Oakley.” I scoot closer so our thighs are touching. Heat radiates from his body and I want to snuggle close so he can keep me warm forever. I lean into his ear. “In fact, I don’t want you to be a gentleman to me at all.” If he can be direct, so can I.

He looks down at me with that same unreadable expression. I close my eyes and lean in, my stomach fluttering in anticipation, thinking he is going to meet me in the middle for a kiss.

Instead I feel my sweatshirt fall on my lap, andhear his voice say, “It’s getting late. We should get some sleep.”

My heart sinks as I open my eyes and see that he’s already standing. I am so fucking confused. I haven’t been turned down by a guy since the seventh grade, when we were all in that awkward stage of life and our crushes routinely shattered our hearts into a thousand little pieces. I quickly throw my sweatshirt back on, feeling wholly exposed.

He rubs the back of his neck and says, “Sorry, Tess. I just think it would be better if…”

“It’s fine. We are just friends.” I beat him to the punch because I have said the same thing to guys before. It was bound to happen to me at some point. I knew that. Then why does it feel so damn bad?