Page 7 of Merry Pucking Christmas
I can’t believe this is actually happening.
He deepens the kiss, and our tongues meet. His tongue traces along mine, and I moan into his open mouth. It’s sensual, and he tugs me closer, his hands resting on my cheeks. It’s a surreal feeling to be kissing somebody I’ve imagined kissing him for so long.
Like this is really happening, and it’s like my brain can’t keep up.
The plane levels off, and York breaks the kiss.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers at the same time I hear the snap of a camera phone.
I open my eyes, glancing over York’s shoulder at a man sitting across the aisle. “Um,” I say, nodding my head toward him so York can see what just happened.
The man has his phone in the air, obviously having just taken a picture of the two of us. “Oh man, I can’t believe I’m on a flight with York Steele.” He snaps another photo and York shields our faces from the man.
“C’mon. Put the phone away, man,” York says. “If you do, I'll give you a signature, and take some photos with you.”
The man’s smile widens. “Sure.”
For the next fifteen minutes York takes photos with the passengers and signs snapshots he has in his carry on for the passengers. He also gives out some hockey merch, and has everyone on the plane laughing at his jokes.
Meanwhile I’m a wreck. York and I just kissed. And it was amazing, and more than anything I could have ever imagined.
I don’t know what to do with my hands every time he glances over his shoulder at me and smiles.
I’m all awkward limbs and goofy smiles. Finally I plop into my seat and take a glass of free champagne when the flight attendant offers it to me. “Thanks,” I say, chugging it in one swallow.
York’s busy for the rest of the flight chatting animatedly with all the passengers, and I find myself scrolling through my phone, trying my best to find a book in my Kindle to hold my attention.
When the plane touches down, my phone immediately blows up with messages and notifications.
The first text is from Annabelle.
Annabelle: OMG You’re dating York Steele?!?!
My mother texts, sending a link along with her questions of what is going on. I click the link, and there’s an article.
An article.
There’s a picture of York and I at the airport. Another of us kissing on the plane. The headline reads,York Steele is dating the coach’s daughter, Noelle Pearl.
My eyes register my shock as York glances over at me.
“Everything okay?” he asks me.
I can’t even answer him. I just show him my phone and he reads the article.
“Um,” is all he can say.
“What do we do? We need to tell them it’s not true,” before I can finish what I’m saying York digs out his phone and stares at it.
“It’s your father.” He answers the call. “Hello, sir,” he says into the phone.
My eyes are bigger than saucers as I listen to the one-sided conversation.
“I understand,” he says before hanging up.
The plane taxis to the gate as York slides his cell into the pocket of his jeans.
“What did he say?” I glance at my phone, wondering why my father hasn’t called me.