Page 2 of The Flight Risk

He nods and continues to walk to his room. “Yeah. Just friends. Goodnight, Tess.”

“Goodnight, Oakley.” Deflated, I sit back on my feet and watch this perfect man walk into his room and shut the door without a backward glance. No running back to me. No turning around and explaining why he just wants to be friends. The message is clear: he is not that into me.

But I don’t do love with men. I certainly don’t do friends with them, either.

1

Present Day

“Tell me the truth. Did you and Tristan have sex on this counter?”

I tease Brooke as she scurries around the white quartz counter with a vast variety of cupcakes filling the display case and the cupcake stands. The grand opening of Brooke’s Bakes is in ten minutes and my best friend is in full-on freak out mode.

This bakery means so much to her. She quit her job teaching kindergarten to run this business. Even though she left me to manage those little rascals solo, it’s a beautiful thing to see her dream come to fruition like this.

“We have some self-control,” Brooke protests. For the thousandth time, she adjusts the green chairs around the small tables scattered around the bakery. I do see a small smirk. She’s not telling the whole story. “But I’m not saying that Tristan didn’t try to make that happen.” Her smirk turns into a full-on cheesy grin as I’m sure some steamy memory flashes into her mind.

“Are you sure?” I tease. “I know what you two are capable of. It’s been a topic of conversation on many girls’ nights. You both are so cute, it’s gross. But also, good for you, girl.” Tristan and Brooke used to be mortal enemies, always at each other’s throats. Brooke also had this stupid rule about not dating hockey players because of some assholey thing Tristan said a decade prior. Still, the sexual tension between them was palpable. I remember encouraging her to take the risk and date a hockey player and I am so happy she did. Turns out, Tristan had been secretly obsessed with her since the moment he met her. Although it was clearly they were meant for each other, I gladly take credit for them being together. I better get some sort of shoutout at their wedding for the little nudge I gave her.

They took a risk on love. To be frank, that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Love is the gateway to potential heartbreak and I’ve had enough heartbreak in my life.

I adjust the pile of napkins and that’s when Tristan Lawson, Brooke’s fiancé and one of the stars of the Dallas Storm hockey team, walks in with yet another bouquet of pink daisies, Brooke’s favorite flower.

“Tristan! I thought you said you needed to go get something important! If we have another vase of pink daisies in here, people are going to confuse my bakery for a flower shop.” Tristan doesn’t say a thing, just grabs Brooke’s waist and pulls her in for a kiss that’s probably meant for behind closed doors.

“I’m never going to stop bringing flowers to you, Cupcake. Especially on a special day like today. I’m so proud of you.” He presses his forehead to hers, then plants a small kiss on her nose. My stomach tightens a little. It’s not jealousy that I’m feeling–more of a yearning. A want. That feeling has gotten stronger since they started dating. I snap back into reality and push that feeling down to bury it, just as the rest of the Dallas Storm make their way into the bakery.

A line of extremely large men trickle in one after another, all decked out in various Dallas Storm attire. All twenty-two of them form a line to hug the lady of the hour. Ever since Brooke and Tristan got together, we all have formed our own big happy family. I grew up with one older sister, Tara, but we aren’t super close. Brooke basically became my surrogate sister since the first day I met her during our back-to-school teacher prep days four years ago. We hit it off right away–something that was foreign to me. Even with my sister, we never just clicked. It has always been a strain.

My heart skips a beat as the last person enters the bakery. The only man who ever kept me in the friendzone. Adam Oakley, the Dallas Storm’s star goalie.

I can’t help but check him out. He is wearing jeans and a black long-sleeved hoodie shirt with the Dallas Storm logo right in the middle of his chest. His light brown hair peeks out of his backwards hat and his sleeves are rolled up toward his elbows, showing off his veiny forearms. My entire body shivers and I have to adjust how I’m standing. My body reacts like this every time I’m near him. He made it very clear in Telluride that he doesn’t want me like I want him. Yet no matter how much I’ve tried over the past year and a half, no matter how many men I’ve been with, I still can’t get him out of my head.

He reaches Brooke and flashes his smile, his deep dimples making their appearance under the scruff lining his cheeks and jawline.

Is he seriously trying to kill me?

My cheeks blend in with the pink bakery walls because the next thing I hear is, “See something you like?”

I turn and find Tristan leaning against the counter next to me, his arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

“It’s just hot in here, that’s all.” I fan myself, attempting to sell my story. The thing is–you can’t bullshit a bullshitter.

Tristan presses his lips together as Oakley notices both of us from across the room. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with our sweet, golden retriever of a goalie… who you are clearly interested in.”

“I am not.”

He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Okay, I was into him back in Telluride, but nothing happened so I moved on. No harm. No foul. I’m over it.” I’m so not over it. My heart rate spikes and my hands become clammy as Oakley heads our way and leaves Brooke talking with Bradley and his wife, Jen, who has their four-month-old baby girl strapped around her chest.

“Well he’s single. Just in case you were wondering.” Tristan swipes a cupcake from the back of the stand and licks the icing.

“I wasn’t.” I snap a little too quickly. “God, you are like the annoying big brother I never had. No wonder Brooke couldn’t stand you for ten years.”

Tristan chuckles, then focuses his attention on the 6’7” tower that is Oakley and gives him a hug. I tuck my dark brown hair behind my ear and clear my throat. Suddenly, I am wondering if I have something on my face or if my lipstick is smeared or if I developed a massive zit on my nose in the two minutes since he walked in the door.

After a very bro-esque greeting, Oakley’s green eyes meet my own. Truth be told, that was one of the first things I noticed about him–our eyes are the exact same shade of green.