Page 38 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

THIRTY-FIVE

Bodhi plops into the empty seat beside me.

“I was saving that,” I mutter. “And not for you.”

“Color me surprised.” He shuffles his laptop across his knees and starts unpacking what I assume are his in-flight essentials—chargers, snacks, a neck pillow—all of it landing in a chaotic pile on the tray table.

“Any chance of me convincing you to sit elsewhere?”

“Nope.”

Of course not.

“We’ve got a nearly nine-hour flight ahead of us, a perfect time for a little heart-to-heart.” He opens a bag of mixed nuts.

“Oh, great.” I get comfortable in my seat. “Let’s hear it. I’m sure we can unpack it all in the twenty minutes before takeoff.”

The women start to file onto the jet.

There are only three left: Mia, Summer, and, thanks to a producer veto, Emma. My gut told me to send Emma home last night, but apparently, my instincts were overruled “for storyline purposes.” So, River was sent home, and Emma is coming to Hawaii.

“Better to wait. The cabin noise will give us more privacy,” Bodhi says, like he’s planned this out. He pops a cashew and offers me the bag. I wave it off.

“Perfect,” I mumble.

Mia’s the last to board. Summer’s chatting over her shoulder as they make their way down the aisle, her voice carrying through the plane. Mia has her headphones slung around her neck, hair a little tousled like she let it air-dry and didn’t bother with doing much else.

She gives me a small smile, one that still manages to send flutters to my gut. Then her eyes flick to Bodhi, and she lifts a brow, silently asking, What the hell is he doing there?

I say a quick hello to the women as they pass. But when Mia comes within reach, I lean across Bodhi—ignoring his exaggerated sigh—and let my fingers trail down hers in a slow, deliberate pass.

I track her down the aisle until she drops into the seat next to Summer.

“And that, my friend,” Bodhi singsongs, “is exactly what we need to talk about.”

“Dude, we’re not friends,” I snap. “First, you were flirting with Mia, and then there’s the stunt you pulled with my mother.”

I take a breath, trying and failing not to let my frustration boil over.

Bodhi lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I told you I was sorry. The mom thing? I was just as blindsided as you. We thought we were pulling off some sweet, wholesome moment. Surprising and sentimental. Not an emotional grenade. We didn’t know about your history. I swear it.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night,” I huff, even though I’m almost positive he’s telling the truth. If he weren’t, production would’ve highlighted it instead of trying to sweep it under the rug.

“Fine. Believe what you want.”

I sneak another glance at Mia. She must’ve already been watching, because the second I look between the seats, our eyes lock.

I had the whole flight mapped out. A playlist ready for us.

I was going to ask her how last night with her brother went, how she’s feeling.

I wanted to know her favorite snack when ice cream’s off the table.

Maybe see if we could bring back our morning walks.

Catch the sunrise together before the world wakes up. I bet it’s even better in Hawaii.

Christ, I’m a romantic bastard.

The thought makes me chuckle under my breath.

Bodhi throws me a side-eye.

The flight crew finishes sealing the cabin and starts the safety demonstration. Before I know it, the runway slips away beneath us, Chicago shrinking into a sprawl of lights and gridlines as we climb.

If Mia were next to me, I’d be reaching for her hand.

Does she get nervous on planes? I don’t even know. But I want to. I want to know everything . I want to be the world’s leading expert on Mia Matthews.

I’m going to try hard enough for both of us.

True to his word, as soon as the steady drone of the plane starts to lull me into something like relaxation, and I pop in my earbuds, Bodhi nudges my arm.

“Yes…” I sigh, pulling one bud out.

“We need to align here.” He pulls out a beat-up notebook and flips it open. “We’ve got two weeks left before it hits the editing room. If you want to keep control of your story arc, now’s the time to strategize.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following.”

“I’m asking you to be smart about this.” He taps the page.

“If you’re falling for Mia—which, spoiler alert, literally everyone can see—then we need to land on a runner-up.

I know you wanted to send Emma home last night, but she’s your only viable second option.

It adds tension and makes your final choice less obvious.

Keeps people guessing. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but production isn’t going to let you send her home. ”

“Jesus.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Emma’s not a viable option. That’s the whole problem. She’s the only one who still seems to think this could turn into something, which is exactly why I wanted to send her home.

“You’re lucky I’m still here.” I let more bite into my tone than I mean to.

“I’ve apologized. Multiple times. Even if we didn’t know your relationship was strained, we should’ve checked in with you. We screwed up. I’m sorry. Can we move on? You haven’t made my job easy, either.”

I arch a brow. “Didn’t realize that was my responsibility.”

“It’s not. But usually the bachelor is more amenable to the process he signed up for.” He turns as much as the seats allow. “I gather you’re going to see this through to the end, even though you’ve checked out on everyone but one…”

He’s fishing for more, but I’ve got nothing to give him. I haven’t fully made sense of it myself.

I know if I asked Mia right now to ride off into the sunset with me, there’s a good chance she’d run—in the opposite direction. Maybe that’s the show. Maybe it’s not. Either way, I’m not risking it.

I need more time.

To show her I’m serious.

To figure out if she even wants serious . With me.

She’s agreed to try , and that’s something.

Sure, I’ve got a shark for a lawyer who could probably get me out of the contract, but I won’t do it unless I know Mia would walk out with me.

I must take too long to reply, because Bodhi’s already shaking his head. “Whatever. But you do realize you’re going to have to go out with the other women, right?”

I’m not worried about Summer. It’s been clear for a while that she’s more interested in building a friendship with Mia than anything with me.

But Emma? She’s a different story. I’m going to have to talk to her and hope she understands. I’m pretty sure she will.

Bodhi keeps going as if we’re already in agreement. “So, how do we make that happen? More importantly, how do we make it believable ?”

I lean back, thinking. Then it hits me. “What about a compromise?”

He huffs, but decides to hear me out. “What are you thinking?”

“I want off-camera time with Mia.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Is this about getting your dick?—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” I grit out.

“Fine. Fine. If you keep it quiet, work around the schedule, and don’t make it obvious, I won’t ask questions.”

“In return, I’ll play the part. Within reason.”

He groans. “C’mon, man. I’m trying to work with you here.”

“No physical stuff. I’ll smile. I’ll be charming. But I’m not crossing boundaries. Mia’s trust means more to me than your story.”

He studies me, then lets out a dramatic sigh that I take as agreement.

I pop my earbud back in.

Is there any better feeling than washing the plane off after a long flight? After nine plus hours next to Bodhi, I feel like I need to cleanse more than just my body.

I turn the dial until the water runs hot.

At least we came up with a plan I actually feel good about. Logan would be so proud.

With nothing on the schedule tonight, knowing Mia has a room to herself, and having production’s blessing—okay, maybe more like reluctant acceptance—I want to surprise her and share the good news.

Maybe we’ll take a walk on Waikiki beach. Maybe we’ll just order room service. Honestly, I’m good with anything, as long as I get to do it in her presence.

Fuck. Just thinking about seeing her has blood pooling south.

I let the warm spray fall over my skin. With body wash in hand, I run my hands over my chest and down my stomach.

I continue my descent until I reach my half-hard cock, wrapping a hand around it and stroking slowly. When I close my eyes, her face is there—the same as it’s been in more than a few of my fantasies.

Pale blue eyes. Water beading along milky skin and dark lashes. A single drop clings to her bottom lip, and her tongue darts out to catch it.

A shiver rolls through me as my grip on my shaft tightens.

I follow the path of the water as it trails down her slender neck, slipping over her collarbone and across the swell of her breast. Her hair, jet black when wet, clings to her damp skin in inky strands.

My hand moves, thumb brushing slowly over her hard nipple. I ache to taste the water on her skin, but instead, my tongue grazes my own lip, chasing the thought.

I replay our kiss. The softness of her lips. The way she opened for me. The slide of her tongue, and the way her body fit perfectly against mine.

Her hand slipping between her thighs.

Her back arching when she came.

Her needy sounds, and the rasp of my name.

On the next upstroke, my fist twists at the head. My thumb swipes over the tip, slick with precum, making the slide down smoother.

I imagine it’s her hand instead of mine. Her mouth on my throat, her lips dragging lower, her tongue flicking out?—

Knock.

Knock.

Whoever it is can wait.

A low groan slips out as I brace my forearm against the tile wall, head bowed, strokes growing faster, more desperate.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Are they trying to knock down the door? I can hear it over my heartbeat, the rush of water, and through the bathroom door.

Pound. Pound.

Christ.

Thud-thud-thud.

“Fuck,” I mutter, yanking my hand away, jaw clenched. I leave the water running, grab a towel, and sling it low around my hips.

Clipped strides take me to the door. I yank it open. “This better be good?—”