I pack my bags and order a rideshare while simultaneously checking the various times for outbound flights to Oklahoma City. I suppose Renleigh could fly into the small airport outside Sweetwater, too, but those routes are hit or miss. Unless she’s so pissed she bribes a private pilot to take her home. Which honestly? I can see her doing. Her fire is what attracts me to her. And yeah, maybe the chase. Notthischase, though, because this one feels bad. She came here to get away from chaos, only to have it show up unexpectedly.
My flight app opens as I rush out of my room. There are three options before her flight, and two of them have already taken off, so I push all my chips in and bank on this last flight being the one she’s trying for. I have thirty minutes to get to the airport before she boards, so when my rideshare pulls up, I toss my bags in the back seat with me and toss the guy an extra hundred bucks on the side to break a few speeding laws and get me there fast.
David in the black Toyota Camry drops me off at departures with ten minutes to spare, and I sprint to the ticket counter to plead my case. Apparently, arriving a full twenty-four hours early for a flight isn’t a thing, and also, I’m not as well-known as I sometimes think I am. At least, not among the employees of Nashville International Airport.
I beg Casey, the kind, patient, but sticking-to-the-rules ticket worker, to ask her boss to make an exception, and soon a man named Thomas with hot pink wings pinned to his pocket and a mustache that twists up on the ends is also telling me the onlyway I can get to the gates is to purchase a ticket or apply for a special pass online. That process typically takes three to five days, so . . .
I drop my head to the counter and laugh softly. I could move my flight up a day and bail on the team, but there’s no way to do that without raising a whole lot of suspicion. The only reason guys leave early are the personal kind, reserved for family emergencies and such, or possibly an injury. I’ve got none of that going on, but I suppose I could lie about the family issue. I hate lying. I’m loathe to do it. But I keep hearing Roddy’s voice in my head.
I cheated with the game, when I probably should have picked a person.
“Can you bump me up to the next flight, then?” I pull up my ticket info that the team travel administrator sent to my phone, and Thomas punches in my confirmation number.
“Oh, you’re here with the Mavericks. How fun. Did you enjoy our stadium?” he asks.
I blink slowly, my face tight with what I’m sure is a stupefied expression.
“I did. The right field wall is a little shallow for my taste, though.”
I give him a crooked smile, but my clue zooms right over his head as he replies, “Ah,” and continues to punch in things on the keyboard.
“I’m a pitcher. With the Mavericks,” I lean forward and whisper.
Thomas glances up but keeps typing.
“Yeah, I gathered. Good for you.” His smug smile shuts me up after that, and it will be a good long while before I exploit my perceived fame to cash in favors.
“Here you go, Mr. Reddick. You’ll be in a middle seat, as that’s all we have available. Head to gate six once you get through security, and enjoy your flight.”
I slide my new boarding pass from the counter and eyeball the details. If there was room for me on this flight, then there was probably room for Renleigh too, unless she got on an earlier one.
Or . . . I’m way off on everything, and she either took herself to a movie or went for a long walk to blow off steam—in which case I am throwing darts at my career for no good reason at all.
Though, that’s also not the case. Because, despite knowing this girl for only two weeks, something in my gut tells me going the distance for her is worth it. Even if I get it wrong.
I fly through security, and sprint through the concourse until I spot the giant six lit up on the other side of the McDonald’s storefront. I slip in at the end of the boarding line, and shuffle forward with my carry-on over one shoulder, a thick sheen of sweat pasting my T-shirt to my back, and sweatpants rolled to my knees because I got hot on the ride here and had no time to swap my sweats for shorts.
Once I’m on the plane, I glance at my boarding pass and note row seventeen, then pop my gaze up to manically scan the passengers ahead of me for Renleigh. I’m starting to doubt this crazy scheme I’ve embarked on when a familiar voice hits my ears.
“Let me move my bag for you.”
Renleigh steps into the aisle a few passengers ahead of me, moving her bag so an older woman can slip into her row and take the window seat. It looks like Renleigh is stuck with a middle, too, and if my counting skills are on point, it looks as if she’s assigned the opposite side of row seventeen.My opposite. How appropriate.
The dude in the Coors hat in front of me plops down in the aisle seat next to her, and since I’ve come this far, I decide there’s no risk in enduring one more humiliating experience. I tap his shoulder as he hunts at his side for his seat belt, and I’m met with not only his eyes, but a pair of perfect blue ones, too.
“Excuse me, but would you possibly be willing to trade me seats?” I ask him.
Renleigh’s gaze narrows and her lips pucker with what I’m going to say might be a touch of rage.
“Uh . . . what’s your seat?” the man asks.
I gesture to the middle one behind me, and he bellows laughter.
“Yeah, fat chance, buddy. Thanks, though.” He clicks his safety belt in place and glances to his right to commiserate with the woman next to him whose face has morphed from angry to rather smug.
“We need to talk,” I say, sliding into my middle seat just ahead of the guy sitting next to me.
“I can’t hear you,” Renleigh says, pointing to her ear as if we’re standing outside the plane next to the engine.
