Page 19

Chapter 19

Brodie

T he plane’s a different kind of playing field, and Charlie dominates it. I take her in from my aisle seat, trying hard as hell not to look as besotted as I feel.

She’s perched in the window seat next to me, laptop balanced on her knees, explaining something to Finn about social media engagement. His pink hair looks neon under the overhead light as he leans over from across the aisle, actually paying attention for once in his life.

‘So basically, you’re saying I should post more thirst traps?’ Finn waggles his eyebrows.

‘I’m saying you should post content that aligns with your personal brand while maintaining professional standards.’ Charlie doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Though given your…aesthetic, that probably does mean the odd thirst trap.’

‘Personal brand?’ Scottie says from the row behind us. ‘Finn’s brand is chaos incarnate.’

Finn turns around to flip him off. ‘At least I have a brand. What’s yours? Professional wallflower?’

‘Boys, let’s keep it civil at thirty thousand feet.’ Charlie smiles but gives them both a pointed look over the rim of her computer.

Pride settles low in my gut watching her handle them. These lads gave me shite for weeks when we first pulled the team together, testing every boundary. But she’s got them eating out of her palm.

Finn tips his chin at me. ‘And when’s MacRae getting his own cooking show, eh?’

Laughter ripples through the lads. I sink my teeth into my cheek.

Charlie doesn’t lift her head. ‘Careful, Lennox. Last bloke who took the piss ended up signing a three-series deal. You keen to be my next client?’

Finn’s cackle dies mid-choke.

Scottie leans into the aisle. ‘Naw, he’s allergic to success.’

‘Fuck you, Kerr.’ Finn pegs a scrunched napkin at Scottie.

Charlie taps her pen against the screen. ‘Finn, the only stats I’ve got on you are from your dating profile. And they’re not impressive.’

A beat of silence. Then Jamie’s dry chuckle. ‘Brutal. I like it.’

Finn sprawls across the entire row like he chartered the flight. ‘Who’s the worst client you’ve ever had? Besides this grumpy bastard, obviously.’ He jerks his thumb at me.

‘Client confidentiality, Lennox. But I’ll tell you this – MacRae’s not even in my top five. Not for lack of trying, though.’

The lads howl with laughter. Even my lips break their stoic line.

Charlie’s knee leans against mine, and I don’t move. Just let her leg burn a hole through my joggers while she works on her laptop.

Jamie swaggers down the aisle, cool as ever in his designer tracksuit. ‘Harrington. That sponsorship deal with MacKenzie for MacRae and us …’

‘I know. Brilliant, wasn’t it? I keep telling you guys I’m the best,’ she says. ‘Time to wise up and believe me.’

‘Brilliant’s underselling,’ Jamie says. ‘But the clause about social media—’

‘Requires one post per month per player, with product placement that doesn’t look staged. I’ve got a photographer who can help you nail the aesthetic.’ She keeps typing, multitasking like a pro.

Jamie’s eyebrows hike up. ‘Sorted then?’

‘Sure.’

Scottie lobs a peanut at Charlie’s head from two rows down the aisle. She catches it mid-air and pops it between glossed lips. Cool as a cucumber.

‘That all you got, Kerr?’

‘Show-off,’ he grins.

She throws one of her own nuts back. It bounces off his forehead, and he looks…bewildered.

Her dirty laugh hits raw, and everything under my skin answers. I want to bottle the sound, inject it straight into my veins. Want to drag her into the loo and lick her lipstick off. Want to drop to one fucking knee right here.

Christ. I’m going to marry her someday.

The thought hits me like a tackle to the chest. But it settles deep in my bones, certain as gravity.

Coach Wallace passes by, grizzled jaw working around a mint. He pauses at our row. ‘Charlie. Got a minute? Want to make sure Brodie’s press stuff isn’t clashing with training or team commitments.’

‘Of course.’ She closes her laptop. ‘Hold this, would you?’

Our fingers skim, and electricity zips up my arm.

Then she squeezes past me, and my face is inches away from her round arse. I remember the sting in my palm when I slapped it last night. The way she moaned like it was her favourite thing. And now I’m meant to sit still and play the role of her client, while every part of me is screaming to drag her back onto my lap and remind her how it felt?

Charlie holds her composure, professional mask firmly in place as she follows Wallace to the galley.

I fake reading, ears straining to catch their conversation. No chance. The cabin hums around us, engines a low growl. Then Wallace’s rare laugh catches me by surprise. Took me ages to get more than a grunt out of Wallace, and she’s got the old grump laughing .

I stare straight ahead, fighting to keep my expression neutral. But inside? I’m bursting with pride. That’s my girl.

When she returns, sliding into the seat beside me, I keep my eyes on my book.

‘What?’ She nudges my knee with hers, making it look casual.

‘Nothing.’ I turn a page I haven’t read. ‘Merely observing you charm the trousers off my entire team.’

‘Jealous, MacRae?’

‘Naw, impressed.’

She shrugs, but I catch the pleased blush on her cheeks. ‘Athletes are all the same. Speak their language and they fall in line.’ Her voice is light, but there’s a weight behind the words that I don’t miss.

‘Is that what you did with me? Made me fall in line?’

Her hazel eyes meet mine, that spark between us flaring hot and bright. ‘You’re still a work in progress, MacRae.’

Her fingers graze my wrist under the table, featherlight. And yet, my pulse roars louder than the plane.

Hours later, it’s dark, the dim aisle lights glowing like a runway stretching into nowhere. Noise drones steady around us, underscored by twenty-odd rugby lads snoring into neck pillows. Most of the team is either passed out or in that twilight zone between awake and dreaming, headphones clamped on and sleep masks pulled down. Finn’s is a unicorn, for fuck’s sake.

My knee bounces, counting the seconds until Charlie shuts her laptop. Her profile is washed in that faint screen glow. I memorised the slope of her nose months ago, but it still drills straight into the place I don’t let anyone near.

Finally, she settles back, and I put two scratchy airline blankets over us.

‘Everybody’s asleep.’ I say. It lands more breath than voice. ‘Let me hold your hand.’

She hesitates for a second. Wary. Looking around. Then she quickly slips her hand under the blankets and threads her slender fingers through mine, squeezing hard enough to crack bones.

It’s fucking embarrassing how much that touch settles me. I’ve gone without for months before – no sex, no comfort, no one’s hands on me, except the physio’s – but now that I know what it’s like to have Charlie touching me, I can’t go back.

She half-turns and shifts closer a few inches, her hair tickling the side of my neck. She dips her other hand inside my joggers, and I go still.

‘What do you think you’re doing there, Champ?’

She hums and grazes my balls with her nails through the cotton. I bite my tongue. Of course, I’m hard as a rod for her, but that’s not what I’m after right now. She slides her hand into my briefs and wraps her fingers carefully around the precious MacRae Crown Jewels.

Where her future babies live.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

I’ve never let anyone do this before. Every other time, it’s been eager tongues and greedy mouths, like they were trying to win points for enthusiasm. But this – her warm hand on me, still and steady – it’s not about getting off.

It’s about letting her in.

‘That’s right. Hold them. Just hold them.’

Her palm cups me, warm as sunrise, and her thumb strokes the sensitive seam infinitely gently. ‘Like this?’

‘Aye. That’s it.’

My eyes roll back. Saints preserve me. I’m not sixteen, I’m twenty-six, and she’s got me trembling over a handshake with my balls.

My heart’s pounding so loud I’m sure someone’s going to hear it. But no one stirs. Only the hum of the plane and the slow, soothing hold of her soft fingers.

My dick’s raging, and every nerve in my body’s lighting up like a fucking Christmas tree. But that’s nothing compared to what’s going on in my heart right now.

I press a kiss to her temple.

This is it.

I’m going to tell her that I love her. On Table Mountain. With the city lights and that daft cable car and a bottle of fizz.

Her breathing’s changed, slower and heavier.

‘Want me to touch you?’ I whisper against the shell of her ear.

She nods – reluctantly, but she nods – and I work my hand inside her yoga leggings to find her warm and wet. She lets out a quiet gasp.

I trace her with two fingers, never pushing in.

‘Still think you’re the boss?’ It’s not about making her come. It’s about reminding her who she belongs to. ‘Still reckon you own me?’

‘Y-yes.’

I cup her, thumb pressing down where I know she likes it. ‘But who owns this pretty pussy?’ I’m so hushed, it’s barely audible.

Her stifled moan vibrates through my bones. She doesn’t have to say it. By now, we both know.

‘Can’t fuck you here, baby. Barely fit into that loo by myself.’ I tuck her hair behind a reddened ear. ‘I’d split that sink in half. Just feel me for a minute. Just know I’m here.’ I let my palm rest over her mound.

She smothers a giggle against my collarbone. ‘Romantic.’

‘Me? Naw. I would fuck you like a raging bull until you’re too tender to take me.’ I bury my nose in her hair. ‘But we’re in public, on a plane, so all we’re gonna do is hold hands under the blanket while we fall asleep.’

I withdraw my hand from her sweet, swollen heat and pull hers out of my joggers, then I tangle our fingers together again, hidden underneath the blanket. ‘Sleep, Champ. I’m here.’

I lean back and pull the blankets tighter around us. She drifts off first, breath evening out. Her head lolls onto my shoulder, and I count her lashes in the dim cabin light.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The syllables in my head beat louder than the engines.

Finn farts in his sleep. Scottie groans. Charlie’s hand stays tangled with mine under thin, scratchy polyester.

This must be what peace feels like.

Sunlight stabs through the oval window. I wake up to the sharp scent of airline coffee and a crick in my neck. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I try to shift, but something tugs at my hand.

Charlie’s hand.

Still laced with mine, right out in the open. Bare skin on bare skin. The blanket is slipped down our laps, exposing our tangled fingers for the whole cabin to see.

Fuck.

I shift my gaze sideways. Jamie shifts, rolling his shoulder like he’s scrumming in his dream. Across the aisle, Finn’s drooling on his neck pillow. A few rows back, one of the lads cracks his neck, stretching before sinking back down.

Most of the team’s still scattered in various states of semi-consciousness, either dead to the world or caught up in their headphone universes.

The toilet door clicks open behind us. Footsteps approach from the back. I don’t turn. Just track the movement as Scottie walks past and drops into his seat two rows ahead. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t look back.

But he definitely saw.

Someone coughs.

Charlie stirs against me, lids fluttering. When she catches sight of our hands, she stiffens like I’ve slapped her. Then pulls away fast and tucks her hands into her lap like they’ve been caught committing a felony.

‘Relax,’ I murmur, ‘no one saw.’ I’m not so sure, but I don’t tell her. She’s freaking out enough already.

Her shoulders don’t drop. She scans the cabin with a calculating look. Then she meets my gaze, and, for the first time, I see it clearly. Fear. There’s something else, too. Guilt bleeding through the cracks in her game face. She glances away too fast, like she knows I caught it.

Christ, I hate that she’s looking at me like that. Like I’m the one making her life harder by being in it.

‘It’s fine,’ I keep my tone low. ‘They’re all half-dead. Nobody’s noticed.’

Her lips press into a line, but her breathing slows a bit. I reach out, touch her knee under the tray table, give it a squeeze. She pushes me away.

And it lands like a kick to the groin.

Touching me, holding my hand in public, is enough to send her into a full-blown panic.

‘What the fuck are you so scared of?’ I whisper.

She doesn’t say a word, just stares down. The breath backs up in my lungs, like I swallowed a fist, thick with everything she won’t say.

Is it me? Am I not enough for her to risk it? Or is she still somehow hung up on Callum, still dragging his shadow around like it’s stitched to her heels? Or maybe afraid of what her dick of a dad might think?

I want to shake it out of her, make her see I’m nothing like either of them. But I shut my mouth and let it settle. Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking it. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like fuck. Aye, I get it. But how long am I supposed to stand here with my arms open, pretending it doesn’t sting every time she retreats?

She shakes her head, voice barely a breath. ‘I’m just careful.’

Careful. That’s what she calls it. Like it’s professional caution.

I pull my hand back, rubbing the back of my neck. ‘You’re acting like being seen with me would torpedo your life.’

‘No, but… This isn’t a game, Brodie. One tabloid headline about us and everything I’ve built—’

‘What?’ I lean closer, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. ‘You lose clients? Get called a tart chasing athletes? Daddy being mad at you? That it?’

‘Don’t be dense. I’m also trying to protect you.’

‘From what? Being happy?’

Charlie twists away, fumbling with her buckle, that stubborn jaw set like steel. She’s not protecting me. She’s protecting herself. From the messiness. The risk.

Lads are waking up, stretching, muttering about jet lag. The plane lurches, slowly descending through clouds. My gut churns worse than any turbulence ever could. And the doubt creeps in, slow and insidious. Does she not feel what I feel? Am I making this bigger in my mind than it actually is?

Everything in my face pulls tight, but I force it loose. No point in getting worked up now.

I unbuckle, standing too fast. ‘Need the loo.’

The cubicle’s a fucking coffin. I brace against the sink, watching my reflection sneer. Bloody eejit. Maybe I’ve been kidding myself this whole time.

Knuckles rap the door.

‘MacRae.’ That’s Finn’s sleepy drawl. ‘You birthing a rugby ball in there?’

‘Piss off, Lennox.’

Half an hour and one podcast episode later, the plane dips and wobbles as it descends. I steal another look at Charlie. She’s already pulled her game face back on, all business. But I can’t unsee it now. How hard she works to keep me at arm’s length.

I make myself smile and crack a joke about Finn snoring like a chainsaw, but the feeling doesn’t leave.

The plane touches down with a thud, and I command myself to focus.

We stand to gather our bags, and Charlie’s already two steps ahead. My eyes follow her, trying to ignore the hollow burn behind my breastbone.

It’s nothing. I’m tired. Long flight.

But when she flicks a look over her shoulder and finds me tracking her, the smile she sends me slips at the edges.

Something’s shifted.

And I’m not sure how to fucking fix it.