Tending Her Heart – By Allie Lasky
TENDING HER HEART
BY ALLIE LASKY
AUDREY
I have one rule: no fucking hockey players. They only want one thing, and it’s not sex. It’s access to my dad.
I thought going to college would be a fresh start.
Nobody knew who my dad is… or so I thought.
Until my freshman year boyfriend asked if I could hook him up with tickets to a game.
A guy I dated sophomore year gave up hockey after high school, so I thought he was safe.
Turns out he thought he could recondition and make it in the big leagues.
And that doesn’t include all the people I thought were friends hitting me up for my access to the team and the players.
So, no. I don’t fuck around with hockey players. In or out of the bedroom.
The library was my safe haven. The books don’t care who my dad is. The books don’t want to get in my pants. It’s why I’m excited to start my master’s degree in library sciences in the fall. Even if it means moving back to Boston.
Fuck, I miss sex, though. I’ve been so gun shy, I haven’t put myself out there in a long time.
Maybe a trip to Los Angeles with my dad isn’t the end of the world. He’s going for work—LA is hosting the NHL draft this weekend—but I can run around town visiting the beaches and the bookstores to celebrate my graduation.
As I settle into my cushy first class seat, I pull out my headphones and Kindle. I can’t read paperbacks anymore unless they make them in large print. I have enough difficulty with my vision on a regular basis; I don’t need to add eye strain from squinting at too-small print.
The other passengers start to board. I get about a chapter into my book before a shadow falls over me.
“Excuse me,” a deep, masculine voice says. “This is my seat.”
I look up and try not to gawk at the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s about my age and tall, the top of his head brushing the plane’s ceiling. He has sharp, angular features and piercing blue eyes. His frame is broad and wide, almost lanky. Not a hockey player, then. They’re usually bulkier.
Rising, I catch a whiff of his cologne as I move past to let him in. He smells incredible, like honey and sunlight with a hint of cinnamon.
Great. Now I have to sit next to an incredibly hot guy for a five-and-a-half-hour flight. With my luck, he’ll probably want to sleep the whole time instead of professing his undying love.
Across the aisle, my dad looks over at me. He has his laptop out, trying to get some work done while we’re stuck on the tarmac. We both like the aisle seats, so we’re sitting side by side rather than next to each other.
“You okay?” he murmurs, eyeing the guy with a frown.
I appreciate the concern, but I don’t need it.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
The guy beside me mutters something under his breath. It almost sounds like I’ll say , but that can’t be right.
Turning to look at him, I’m struck by the profile of his face. A strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and an aquiline nose that’s clearly been broken more than once. He’s clean shaven. Good. It would be a crime to cover up that jawline.
He pulls a book out of his ratty navy-blue backpack. It’s thick, too. A real doorstopper.
I pick up my Kindle and try to focus on my own book. It’s a new release from one of my favorite authors. Everyone says the book is her best yet.
But I can’t focus. I am so fucking aware of the man beside me, the way he trails his finger down the paragraphs, the flick of each page.
I shiver.
“Cold?” His voice is rich and thick. He reaches up and adjusts my air condition vent so it’s not blowing directly on me. I’m treated to another whiff of his cologne, warm honey and cinnamon.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Seb.” He holds his hand out for a shake, and after a moment, I take it. His grip is solid. “What are you reading?”
“Audrey. It’s a romance.”
He waits expectantly. Does he really want me to elaborate?
“She’s left an inheritance by the wacky old lady who lives in her building, and the lady’s grandson is trying to keep all of the money.”
Seb nods. “So of course they fall in love.” His lips twitch in a smile.
I frown. “Yeah.” Is he making fun of me?
“Sounds like a good book,” he says.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
He flips over the cover. It’s a thriller from a best-selling author. The airport newsstand price sticker is still on the cover. He’s about a quarter into the book.
“I like it so far,” he says. “It’s interesting, at least.”
With a hum, I turn back to my book. His eyes stay on my face for another few moments before he, too, turns to his book.
The flight attendant pokes her head into our row.
“Welcome, Mr. Henry, Ms. Turner,” she says. It’s always creepy that they greet us by name. I know our names are on the flight manifest, but it feels invasive. “May I get you anything to drink?”
First class does have some perks. My dad has a bourbon in his hand as he “works.”
“Tito’s and cranberry, please,” I order.
“Of course, ma’am,” the flight attendant says. She can’t be much older than me. Even though I turned twenty-one a few months ago, she doesn’t card me.
“That sounds great. I’ll have one, too,” Seb says.
“Right away.” She gives us a polite smile before returning to the galley. In what feels like no time at all, she’s bringing us glasses—real glasses, not flimsy plastic cups.
He lifts his glass. It takes me a second to realize he’s waiting for me. I knock my glass against his in a toast.
“What brings you to LA?” he asks as he sips his drink.
“My dad has a work trip.” I tilt my head across the aisle. “I’m tagging along.”
In theory, we’re going on vacation in a few weeks to celebrate my graduation, but I’m sure he’ll probably work through it like he has every other trip we’ve ever been on.
Maybe I’ll tell him to cancel the trip and go by myself.
It might be more fun to explore Paris on my own without my dad chaperoning, glued to his phone.
Seb cranes his head forward, looking over my dad. He’s fully in work mode, so he doesn’t know he’s being watched.
“Nice. I work with my dad, too, so I get that.”
I’m curious what he does. He has a strong, athletic body, but that doesn’t mean he works out for a living. Maybe he’s in construction or runs a bookstore. There are other professions in the world that have nothing to do with hockey.
“How about you?”
“Work thing,” he says lightly. “My dad and my brothers already flew into town, but I had a few things to wrap up, so I’m coming in a few days later.”
“Family business, huh?”
He nods, opening his mouth to say something, when the intercom crackles to life. The crew welcomes us to the flight and goes over the mandatory instructions. Our flight attendant whisks away our glasses—mine is still mostly full—and we prepare for takeoff.
Seb shifts in his seat. His hand goes to the armrest, holding on for dear life.
“You don’t like flying?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Just takeoff and landing. You’d think with how often I travel, I’d be used to it by now.”
“You travel for work or for fun?”
“Work. My job takes me all over.” For a moment, he almost has a smirk on his lips, but then the plane lurches into motion and his face goes pale again.
I’m not sure what possesses me, but I cover his hand with mine. And to my surprise, he flips his hand until our palms touch, lacing our fingers together.
“Thanks for this,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It’s not a bother.”
Holding hands with a hot man on a trans-continental flight? Definitely not a hardship.
Once the plane is in the air and stabilized, I expect him to pull away, but he keeps hold of my hand. He opens his book with his other, so I pull out my Kindle again. Every so often, he runs his thumb over the back of my knuckles, almost like he can’t help himself.
His fingers are warm, calloused. I’m guessing from whatever he does to work out.
It’s maybe an hour later before I take my hand back. He looks over at me, his head tilted, until I stand and make my way to the galley bathroom. As soon as I get back, my hands freshly washed, he takes it again. I can’t hide my smile as I get settled.
When the flight attendant brings our meals, we separate again.
“Do you live in Boston?” Seb asks.
“My dad does. I go to school in Syracuse. Well, I just graduated. So I guess I live in Boston again.” I take a breath. Good lord, why can’t I stop talking? “You?”
“I’m based in Minneapolis. I was in Boston for a buddy’s wedding.”
“Lots of traveling for you, then.”
He grimaces. “Yeah. I miss school. It was so much easier.” He purses his lips. “Well, not easier , per se. But less pressure.”
“Before joining the family business?”
“Yeah. I know dropping out was the right thing, it was time, but I promised my mom I’d go back and get a degree someday. Now I have to actually do it.”
I’m insanely curious why his family forced him to drop out.
My dad has always stressed the importance of a college education.
After all, he works everyday with athletes who don’t get a chance to finish their education.
By the time their careers are over, their bodies are battered and they have to start over.
Even though I’m not a hockey player, he didn’t want that for me.
He wants me to launch into adulthood as successful as I can be.
Although a career in library science might not be the most stable financially, I’m fairly certain it’s the most rewarding thing I can do.
I’m a private person and I don’t use social media.
I have no interest in working in hockey, even if it was something we could do together. I need a life outside of my dad.