King of the Court

Chapter 1

NOVA

We all have dreams that light us up and turn us on.

Ones that make us tingle and come alive.

I didn’t expect mine to become a reality.

And I never thought they’d look like him.

When I step onto the airplane, my heart pounding with anticipation, I expect to find business class bursting with glamorous people and enough legroom to lie down between rows.

There isn’t room for a floor nap, but there are hand towels and bottled water.

I strap into 1B, then tuck my magazine and boarding pass into the pocket on the wall in front of me.

“Would you like a blanket?”

The flight attendant’s perky voice has me straightening.

“I’m fine, thanks. Honestly, I could sweat in a snowstorm. I used to think it was a curse, but it’s kind of a blessing.”

She’s staring at my pink flip-flops as if they might bite her.

“Please switch your phone to airplane mode for takeoff.”

She continues down the rows.

My phone shows no new messages, so I send one.

Nova: Can’t wait to see you! I can’t believe this is really happening. Wish me luck :D

I switch the device off and twist the silver bangle on my wrist.

I’m on an adventure, I remind myself as I lean toward the window in time to see a plane lift off the tarmac.

My stomach flips.

This is why I got the aisle seat—so I’m as far as possible from watching that.

I open a note on my phone and reread what I’ve written.

Mari and I used to dress up as brides. We’d make dresses out of old tablecloths and toilet paper and race through the fields.

I’d run as fast as my legs would carry me, and she followed behind to make sure I didn’t fall.

She’d roll her eyes and tell me I was being ridiculous, but I knew she loved me.

“How long until takeoff?” a woman across from me asks when the flight attendant passes the other direction.

“We’re waiting on one more passenger.”

I didn’t realize planes waited on passengers.

Out the window, another plane races down the runway like a speeding bullet.

The shrill sound of a phone echoes in my mind, the only warning before darkness reaches for me, clawing up from deep in my stomach. Sweat beads at the back of my neck.

I’ve been talking myself into this for days.

But now…I’m not sure I can do it.

It’s not too late to get off.

I’m halfway out of my seat when I collide with a man coming down the aisle.

He’s huge, towering above me and easily engulfing the space around us with his broad shoulders and wall of a chest. His face is partially hidden by his hoodie while sweatpants cling to his lean hips and strong legs. A logo-print duffel is clutched firmly in his hand.

He glances into the overhead with a brief double-take at my pink luggage before dropping his bag at his feet and yanking off Beats headphones.

"You’re in my seat.”

His voice is more growl than words, and it rubs along my skin like sandpaper.

My fear is crowded out by disbelief at this man’s audacity. “I don’t think so. I’m 1B.”

I checked my boarding pass a zillion times as I navigated the airport.

His eyes narrow. “I’m always 1B.”

“Except today,” I go on helpfully as I drop back into my aisle seat, which grew infinitely more appealing in the seconds since this stranger tried to take it from me.

I shift my knees to the side, the universal symbol for “go on through.”

His stare is intense, and looking for a way out, I reach into the pocket for my boarding pass that’s tucked in a magazine somewhere.

My bracelet slips halfway off, and I push it back on.

He doesn’t move.

Finally, his impatience overwhelms me.

“Fine! If it matters so much to you, take it.” I shift over to the window. Not my fault if I lose my breakfast on him. “We’re waiting for a late arrival…”

I trail off as the flight attendant shuts the doors.

He’s the late arrival.

He shoves his duffel into the overhead compartment and sinks into the seat, tugging his hood back from his head.

My breath catches.

His eyes are the color of chocolate, smoldering with little flecks of gold and fringed with thick lashes.

A faded scar slices through one of his eyebrows.

Almost-black hair decorates his square jaw, a five o' clock shadow though it’s barely two.

His nose has a slight dent, and his lips look as though they’ve been cut from marble.

Good God, he’s beautiful.

Strikingly, imperfectly beautiful.

Picasso said the reason his portraits were skewed, why he painted every eye differently, is because every eye is different. It’s not an issue of painting; it’s an issue of seeing.

If uniqueness is beauty, this man is a work of art.

The pilot runs through the takeoff spiel, and the flight attendant demonstrates how to fasten a seatbelt. Her attention is fixed on the guy next to me, as if he’s the one responsible for getting us to our destination in one piece.

“The flight over to Denver will be turbulent,” the pilot says over the speaker.

I take a deep breath as I pull out my phone and switch on the signal.

Nothing from Mari.

I turn it off again and lean back against the headrest.

The engine starts, a rolling hum that vibrates through me.

“Do you take a lot of planes?” I ask.

My seatmate stares blankly.

“Is this one good? Safe?” I press.

He leans over me to look out the window. “Got two wings.”

The plane starts its acceleration down the runway.

“I’m Nova,” I manage as the plane lifts off.

Talking will keep my mind off our situation.

Hoodie Guy glances over but doesn’t answer. He’s a few years older than me, probably late twenties or early thirties.

No name. Got it.

“Are you from Denver?” I press.

“No.”

“Me neither. I’m going for a wedding.”

He exhales hard, as though resisting small talk is the noblest possible pastime and he considers himself a knight of the highest order.

“Work.”

It’s a grudging gift from lips so perfectly formed I’d trace them, if I didn’t think he’d bite me first.

His knees nearly reach the opposite wall, even with the added legroom, while my feet barely touch the floor.

“Construction? Because you’re huge,” I go on at his expression. “Tall, I mean,” I add as the woman across the aisle coughs. “Not huge other places.”

His brows lift.

Now I’m looking at the hands folded across his stomach. They’re big, and tan, with long fingers and tidy nails.

Outside, the ground drops farther away. I force my attention away from the window.

“I’ve avoided flying for years now, but my sister is getting married and I won’t let her down. In fact, I’m working on my speech right now. Do you want to hear—”

“I don’t.”

My mouth snaps shut.

If Mari was here, she’d tell me not to talk so much.

I flip my phone facedown in my lap and take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. It’s my nerves about flying. I’m trying not to have a panic attack. If I have to spend the entire flight curled in a ball on the floor, I will get there in one piece. I’d do anything for my sister. We’d do anything for each other,” I finish in a single breath.

My seatmate frowns, studying me with a new intensity.

As if, for the first time, I’m something other than a nuisance.

He reaches across to lower the shade so I can’t see the lack of ground firsthand.

The panic recedes a degree.

He’s close, his faces inches from mine.

“Switch me seats,” he says before I can thank him.

My heart beats faster as I reach for my seatbelt.

We switch spots, and his body brushes mine. I nearly trip. Sparks dance along my nerve endings.

He puts a steadying hand on my waist.

Only it’s not steadying at all. It makes my stomach flutter in an entirely new way.

His hands are huge, and when I look down, tendrils of black ink like smudges of charcoal extend from under the cuffs of his sweatshirt.

What the…

They’re mysterious and badass and more than a little hot.

My thighs press together.

I haven’t thought about sex in weeks. Possibly months. Not since…

Well.

Let’s just say what happens between the sheets has never blown my mind.

But between his massive build, the glittering dark eyes, and the intriguing secrets, this man is built for fantasies I never knew I had.

I don’t normally go around thinking filthy thoughts about strangers, especially grouchy ones, but I sneak another look at those hands as he sits, adjusting his sweatpants over hard thighs and—

The flight attendant unclips from her seat and approaches. “Can I get you a drink, Mr.—”

“Tequila?” I ask hopefully.

It’s fake courage, but I’ll take whatever I can get.

My seatmate holds up two fingers.

The flight attendant nods so fast her neck cracks. Guess I’m not the only one noticing how attractive he is.

A few deep breaths later, she returns with the drinks.

“To new adventures.” I lift my glass and then drink its contents back in a single shot, the heat burning down my throat.

He watches before drinking his in a long, slow gulp, his tanned throat bobbing.

I’m thirsty again.

The tequila’s already working its magic, and the humming of the plane sounds farther away and less threatening. The alcohol has the not-unpleasant side effect of making my skin tingle.

“Do you like games?” I ask. “We could play one. Two Truths and a Lie. That’s where I make three statements—”

“I know how to play.”

My seatmate stacks our empty glasses and sets both on his tray.

I take that as assent and try to think up a good one. “I once stole a chocolate bar from a grocery store.”

His beautiful mouth twists in dissatisfaction.

Lame.

“I once gave a man a tattoo.”

Now there’s a lift of one dark brow. He’s listening.

“And… I love my sister more than anyone in the world.”

He makes a sound like a scoff as he takes me in, a long sweep from my toes upward that lingers on my faded jeans, the curve of my breasts under my off-the-shoulder T-shirt, and my candy-pink hair before landing on the lip gloss I swear the tequila washed away.

I’m not a total stranger to male attention. But I’ve never been the subject of a look like that, and certainly not from a man like him.

“The last one.”

My mouth falls open in protest. “What? Why would I lie about that?”