Pick Six: A Quick Snap Novella

by S. A. Clayton

  Pick Six

  S. A. Clayton

  Contents

  Pick Six

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  The Quick Snap Novella Collection

  Note From the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by S.A. Clayton

  About the Author

  Pick Six

  A Quick Snap Novella

  By S.A. Clayton

  Pick Six

  A Quick Snap Novella

  Copyright 2020 by S.A. Clayton

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyright materials in violation of author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design: Kari March Designs

  Editing: Chelle Olsen

  Published by: Lady Boss Press, Inc.

  Chapter 1

  Brooks

  I hate airports. Not because of the overpriced food, but because I can’t seem to get through the experience without someone recognizing me. Even with my baseball cap, sunglasses, and oversized clothes, there’s always one kid or father or brother who finds me and asks for a picture. I’m extremely grateful for my career playing professional football in Seattle. Still, there are times—like now—where I wish I could be anonymous.

  “Flight 343 to Seattle, Washington is now boarding.” I check my ticket and breathe a sigh of relief as I make my way to the gate and hand over my boarding pass.

  “Have a safe flight, Mr. Davis.” I give the ground hostess a small smile as I ignore the lineup of people behind me and head through the jet bridge and onto the plane. One of the many perks of having a well-paying job is the ability to fly first class—something I still find exciting, even after all these years.

  I sit down in my aisle seat, praying to God that the person sitting next to me has no idea who I am and loves to fly in silence. Just as I take out the magazine I bought earlier, I feel a light tap on my arm and immediately straighten my shoulders. I take a deep breath and turn with a friendly smile, expecting to see a fan. What I see is the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on. Her dark brown hair is up in a messy bun on the top of her head, and it doesn't look like she's wearing any makeup. I can see a faded line of freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, and it intrigues me. Her hazel eyes stare as I take her in. I smirk at the low-hanging sweatpants and oversized sweatshirt she’s in; an outfit she’s making look better by the second.

  “Can I get by?” she asks in a small voice as she points to the empty spot beside me. It takes me a minute to realize the seat is hers because I’m too busy looking at her lips and wondering if they’re as soft as they look. I shake my head and push away those thoughts as I let her by, loving the smell of her perfume as it lingers when she sits down.

  “I’ve never flown first class before.” She laughs, wiggling her legs around and smiling. “They upgraded me because economy was full.”

  Lucky me, I think as she puts her bag on the floor under the seat in front of her and leans back against the vinyl.

  “I’m Ashley,” she says, offering her hand. The second I take it and feel her soft skin against mine, a bolt of electricity shoots through my entire body.

  “Brooks,” I say, leaving out my last name in case it triggers recognition. Honestly, though, at this point, I wouldn't care. All I know is that I want to talk to her for the rest of the flight and learn as much about this woman as possible.

  “So, Brooks, why are you flying to Seattle?” It's a harmless question, standard small talk for anyone used to traveling.

  “I live there.” Her eyes brighten with a smile as I try to evade the question, but it's no use. I know what the follow-up question will be even before she asks it.

  “So, what do you do?” I can either answer this question honestly or be purposely vague. I choose the latter, just to make the conversation easier.

  “I work with athletes,” I say. It's not a total lie. I do. But right now, I don't really want to talk about myself. I do that with the media daily. And, to be honest, I’m sick of it. I want to know about her. I want to know everything there is to know about this beautiful woman sitting next to me.

  “What do you do?” She gives me a knowing look, clearly realizing I’m deflecting but not calling me on it.

  “I work at a hotel by the coast. I’m the manager there.” I smile because I’ve probably sent a few of my family members to stay there on game days. It blows my mind that I could have been near her and not noticed. Because right now, the idea of being oblivious to the gorgeous beauty that she is doesn’t make sense to me.

  I rest my arm on the piece of metal that separates our seats, my hand falling limply over the edge. When she moves to grab something from her bag, my fingers graze her knee. Her quick intake of breath lets me know that my touch gets to her just as she affects me. I smile to myself, loving the reaction.

  Her eyes glance my way quickly and then avert just as fast. The longer I sit next to her, the more I wonder what draws me to her. It might be that she's not throwing herself at me or the fact that she didn’t immediately recognize me, that it all seems new and exciting. But right now, all I want is for those hazel eyes to land on mine once more so I can sear them into my memory.

  When she's done rummaging through her bag, I observe as she pulls out a very tattered copy of the third Harry Potter book. I chuckle to myself because she can't possibly get any more adorable.

  “What?” she asks, holding the book tightly to her chest. “Do you find my choice of reading material amusing?” God, that sass is so attractive. Almost as much as the rest of her. I wasn't expecting that tone to come out of her mouth, especially with how sweet and quiet she seemed earlier.

  I shake my head, and the look in her eyes softens. “Not at all. I was just surprised you pulled out my favorite Harry Potter installment. That has to be a sign.”

  “A sign?” she questions. From the apprehension that flickers over her gaze, I know I likely shouldn't tell her what I think the sign means. So, I fudge the truth.

  “It means that we’re meant to be friends.” Her answering smile could light up a whole damn room, and I realize that I made the right decision. The truth would have been too much. Telling a girl you just met that you’ve been picturing your first date with her for the last five minutes and then being confined to a tight space for the hours afterward could’ve been disastrous.

  “Really? You like Harry Potter?” She raises an eyebrow as I lean back in my seat, tilting my head so I can stare right at her.

  “To be honest, I haven't read the books since I was a kid. But I watch the movies every now and then.” She scrunches her nose, and I chuckle lightly. “What? You don't like the movies?”

  She flashes me a smile, and it’s something to write home about. I hope I get the chance to see it again.

  “No!” she answers. “I mean, some of them are okay, but they never do the books justice. The first two did a pretty good job, but after that, it seems they took some literary liberties.”

  “So, you're telling me you only like the firs
t two movies?” She shrugs her shoulders, and I huff, leaning back in my seat as I face forward. “That’s it, we can't be friends anymore.” I turn my head and wink as she playfully hits my arm with the book. After a minute of silence, I point to the copy in her hands and ask, “Is that one your favorite?” I already know the answer by the pages’ tattered edges and the volume’s cracked spine, but I want to hear it from her lips.

  “I guess it's pretty obvious, isn’t it?” she asks, and I shrug.

  “Not always. But from the state of the spine alone, I can tell you’ve read that baby at least five times. And then there are the tattered edges. That either means you read it a lot or are one of those monsters who bends the pages to keep her place.”

  She sucks in a breath, her hand going to her chest in shock. “I would never!” she says, smiling.

  God, that expression transforms her whole face. I force my gaze to focus on her eyes instead of just blatantly staring at her mouth as she continues talking.

  “I actually prefer hardcover copies since they’re harder to damage. But for my absolute favorites, I keep the hardcovers on a shelf so they stay in pristine condition, then take out the paperbacks to read. This is actually my third copy of this book.”

  My eyes bulge because that is impressive. “Can I ask why this one’s your favorite? Most people say the fourth one because that’s when shit gets good, and all hell breaks loose.”

  She laughs, shaking her head as if what I just said makes no sense to her. “So many of my friends say that. They think that it's the obvious choice because it’s the longest and, therefore, the one with the most substance. But I don't think so.”

  I nod, hoping she continues because I could listen to her voice for the next four hours and never get bored.

  “Plus, this is the book where one of my favorite characters is introduced.”

  I smile, knowing exactly who she's talking about.

  “Serious Black,” we both say at the same time as she thumbs through the pages, and a blush creeps up her neck to her cheeks. For the first time, I’m speechless. I want nothing more than to make her blush like that for as long as she’ll let me. We’re silent for a few minutes as she thumbs through the pages in the book to find the one she's looking for.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to reading,” I say, not wanting to end the conversation but knowing the signs of a brushoff when I see them. She gives me a grateful smile as our eyes meet once more.

  “Thank you. I know it's rude to talk and then ignore you, but…” I hold up my hand and stop her from rambling because she has no reason to apologize.

  “Ashley, you don't need to worry. I get it. I have a magazine to keep me company,” I say, smiling as I hold up my very boring periodical.

  “Thanks.” She puts on her headphones at the same time I do, and just like that, she's gone, immersed in the fantasy world she cherishes so much. Soon, I stop watching her out of the corner of my eye and drift off to sleep.

  I’m standing at the gate, waiting for Ashley—who I could have sworn was just behind me—when a boy who looks no more than eight years old steps up and taps me on the stomach.

  “Hi, Mr. Davis!” I give him my best smile as he waves his dad over. “I’m a huge fan!” I crouch down to his level and wait for the question that I know is coming. “Can I please get a picture with you?” I look to the father, who has an apologetic look on his face. He’s obviously embarrassed that his child just came up and asked. Sometimes, I find it irritating, but with kids? I’ll never say no.

  I nod as the father gets out his phone, looking like his son just won the lottery. I love this part of my job. Maybe not right when I get off a plane after more than four hours of being cramped in recycled air. But meeting fans? That can be the best.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, holding out my arms so he can fit between them. He hesitates, looking over at his father, who nods his head.

  “Dillon,” he mutters, the shyness finally coming through.

  “Well, Dillon, I hope you’ll watch some of the games this year.” He gives me that big smile only kids have, the type that seems to take up his whole face, as he tells me how he and his father watch every game in the basement since his mom doesn't like football. I turn him toward his dad, and once the picture is taken, the two are gone—just like that.

  I turn around, hoping to see Ashely, but I see the door to the jet bridge being closed, and the gate being shut down. What I’m glad I don’t see is a line of fans waiting for pictures. I’m not conceited enough to think I’m Brad Pitt, but Seattle football is a big deal here. And ever since I signed my new multi-year contract this offseason, the fame has only gotten worse.

  I look around the gate area once more, hoping to catch Ashley, but I don’t see her. She must have walked right by while I was with Dillon. I take one last look around before I head toward baggage claim, hoping the carousel area will give me a chance to get her number. Unfortunately, when I get there, she’s nowhere to be found. So, I do the one thing I swore I would never do. I take out my phone, open Twitter, and start typing.

  Chapter 2

  Ashley

  “What is with you today?” my best friend, Daisey, asks as I take stock of today’s checkin’s, making sure all our guests have arrived and are in their respective rooms. The owner isn’t here, thank God. I can only handle so much of Marcy. She’s known me her whole life, and although she can be a very sweet and amazing woman, most days, she causes more harm than she does good.

  “What do you mean?” I ask naively, knowing exactly what Daisey is talking about but trying to avoid the reasons for my mood at all costs. The minute Daisey gets even a whiff of what happened on that plane and who I met—a guy I was actually interested in—she won't leave it be. Honestly, I want to keep the memory of Brooks to myself for a little bit longer.

  He is all I can seem to think about lately, and it's driving me insane. I see him everywhere. I’ll be talking to one of my employees and catch a flash of strawberry-blond hair and turn, expecting to see his smiling face, only to see a guest.

  I’m going crazy.

  “I mean, you haven't been yourself all day. Actually, you haven’t been yourself since I picked you up at the airport. And you keep looking around. Are you expecting someone?” she asks. I shake my head way too quickly and choose to ignore her sly smile as we walk from the front desk to the bar to make sure that Eva has everything she’ll need for the next few days.

  “Ash, come on, you’ve been weird ever since you got back.” I roll my eyes, stopping just in front of the bar and turning to my friend.

  “I have not. And nothing is going on. I just haven't been sleeping well. I’m a little off.” It's not a total lie. I haven't been sleeping. But that’s because I wake up sweaty and turned on from the dreams that Brooks likes to star in night after night.

  “Fine, I’ll accept that horseshit and let you be for now.” Her eyes bore into mine, and her brow furrows. “But just know that I will find out the truth. And when I do, I will hold it over you for the rest of my days on this Earth.” She laughs and then walks away. The scary part is, I know she means every word of what she said, and the idea of her finding out about Brooks causes my stomach to drop.

  I’m not ready for that.

  At all.

  Everything seems to go back to normal, and the rest of the day passes without incident. I try and forget about Brooks while attempting to maintain some semblance of normalcy. All of that goes right out the window when Daisey comes crashing into my office, minutes before I’m set to leave, and shoves her cell at me.

  “Why are you shoving this phone in my face?” I ask, not looking at the four-year-old iPhone that she refuses to get rid of, even though the screen is cracked, and the speaker is broken. I avoid her eyes as I sift through the mounds of paperwork currently overtaking my desk.

  “Because Twitter is blowing up, and I think you should see why.” Her tone is playful, almost as if she has a secret. And even though I’m not
one for social media even on the best of days, I’m curious. So, I take the phone from her hand and start reading. The minute I do, my whole body freezes.

  To the girl who sat next to me on flight 343. I know we only just met, but you definitely made an impression. Twitter, please help me find this amazing brunette that manages a hotel on the coast!

  My hands start shaking as I hand Daisey back her phone, wondering what the hell he had been thinking. Posting on social media? Why in the hell would he think that was a good idea?

  “Is he talking about you? That was your flight, right?” Daisey asks with a hopeful look in her eyes, one I’ve seen before when she tried to set me up on countless blind dates—each one worse than the last.

  “How did you see this anyway?”

  “It's the number one topic trending on Twitter in the US.” She shows her phone to me once more, and I get a glimpse of Brooks’ picture. The second those eyes stare back at me, a shot of arousal shoots through my body. I honestly didn’t expect to ever see his face again. Did I hope I would? Of course! But I never thought the next time I saw that strawberry-blond hair, blue eyes, and those shoulders a girl wants to grab onto, I’d be with my best friend looking at a picture on Twitter of all places.

  “Is he talking about you?” she asks again. From the look in her eyes, she already knows the answer. “Okay, fine. Better question. How did you end up seducing a Seattle football player?” My eyes shoot up to hers. She must notice the look of pure shock crossing my face because she just starts laughing.