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She pulls Greer away and I start liking Sophie Callahan less and less. Every time she’s around, she hoards my girl.
My girl?
God, I’m so fucking gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
GREER
“Didyou ever imagine you’d be on a plane headed to Phoenix to cover an away game for the Revelers?” Brian asks as we find our seats. The team left last night after their second win in this series, but Brian and I didn’t get a flight out until this morning.
That’s the difference between flying private and commercial.
With private flights, you tell them when you’re going to travel. With commercial flights, they tell you. They also tell you your flight has been canceled and you have to scurry around to find a new one.
“No,” I tell him honestly, stuffing my carry-on into the overhead compartment while a man takes up the bulk of the aisle behind me, crushing me into the seats.
“Excuse you,” I say, pushing back with my ass. He doesn’t seem to notice and continues bulldozing his way down the aisle.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath before finally squeezing past the lady who is already sitting in the aisle seat on the row we’ve been assigned.
Today couldn’t have had more problems. “I’m just glad we made it onto this freaking plane,” I tell Brian, when he plops down beside me.
“You want the window?” he asks, pointing beside him.
“No, I just want to sleep until we get to Phoenix.”
He laughs. “Sorry you’ve had such a bad day already, but I just wanted to say thanks for insisting I’m the one who gets to accompany you on this trip.”
“I wouldn’t do this without you,” I assure him. “We’re a team now. You’re stuck with me.”
I close my eyes and Brian takes that as my sign that our conversation is over. He’s good like that. The past week has been like a rollercoaster and I’m in desperate need of a nap.
This morning, I scheduled a car service, but when they were ten minutes late, I checked my app to see they had canceled my ride. When I tried to quickly schedule a new one with a different app, I realized there was no way I’d make it to the airport in time, so I quickly loaded up my luggage and drove myself.
The bright spot at the end of all this is I’m on a plane, headed to Phoenix to cover what could be the final game of this season and my fake boyfriend will be there.
I didn’t have that on my bingo card for the year, but here we are and I’m not mad about it.
Flight time from New Orleans to Phoenix is less than four hours, wheels up to wheels down, so we’re landing before I know it. The jolt of the plane coming in contact with the tarmac wakes me up and I glance over out of squinted eyes to see Brian is still sound asleep.
Giving him a nudge with my elbow, I lean across and open the window shade. “Wake up, sleepy head. We’re here.”
Even though I’m only two years older than Brian, he often feels like a younger brother. His dad worked for WDSU Brian’s whole life, so when he went to school for photography and communications, he was a shoe-in for his current position. Even before he graduated, he was already interning at the station. We haven’t always worked together, but we’ve always gotten along well and I enjoy working with him, which is why I insisted he’d be my cameraman on this assignment.
There’s nothing worse than being stuck with someone you don’t gel with.
“My dream was just getting good,” he grumbles. “And that sun is too bright.”
“Suck it up, buttercup. We’re in Phoenix and the sun is always hot and bright. Just wait until we step off the plane.”
New Orleans is hot, don’t get me wrong, but we have a humid heat.
Phoenix is like an oven—stifling and dry.
Today’s high is one-hundred-and-one. It’s the third week of September and that should be a crime.
All of our equipment wouldn’t fit in our carry-on luggage, so once we deboard the plane we have to go down to baggage claim and wait. On our way there, I turn my phone on and a dozen alerts light up my screen.
