Page 1 of Game Plan

CHAPTER

ONE

Poppy

“It’s way too people-y in here,” I mutter, practically strangling my carry-on bag.

A man in a business suit plows his way through the thick crowd. On a good day, I’d plant my feet and take up all the space I need. If I loathe one thing in life, it’s a man who thinks having a penis makes him superior. But today is not a good day, nor has it been a delightful week, and I fear that if I don’t get out of his way, I might trip the suit on purpose.

Or worse.

“Attention passengers traveling on Flight 1104 to Chicago,” a voice says overhead. It’s practiced and professional—void of any emotion. Somehow, I can still hear the bad news coming. “Unfortunately, our departure time has been pushed back again. We expect to begin boarding at five twenty with a departure time of six o’clock this evening. We apologize for the inconvenience and appreciate your continued patience as we wait for Mother Nature to cooperate.”

You have to be kidding me.

I make my way to the windows, where there are arguably fewer people, which reduces my chance of being arrested. Rain comes down in sheets, rendering the tarmac nearly invisible as it pelts the glass sideways. The sky is so dark that it looks more like three in the morning than the afternoon, with occasional bolts of lightning illuminating the airport long enough to see the wind ripping across and through everything in its path.

The past few days have been a lot, and every muscle in my body bears the consequences. It’s been one thing after another—seven days packed with a class reunion, an alumni banquet, and a hometown carnival. And when I wasn’t doing any of those things, I was spending time hanging out and reminiscing with my mom and grandma.

A lot of tequila was consumed in the past week, and I’m paying the piper for it now. Oof.

I need a dark, quiet space where I can hide with my Kindle for a while.

“Is this seat taken?” I ask an older gentleman resembling a modern-day Santa Claus, hoping he’s not as jolly as St. Nick. I love a positive, optimistic personality. But sometimes, you just want to rot with your own kind.

He looks up from a crossword puzzle. “No. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

I sit, groaning, and drop my bag at my feet. It hits the ground with a thud.

“Are you waiting on the flight to Chicago?” Santa asks.

“Aren’t we all?”

He chuckles. “I think so. I’m Sam, by the way.”

“I’m Poppy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, young lady.”

You, too, but I really just wish I was home already.

I shift in my seat, thinking about the laundry that’ll need to be washed because I didn’t get to it at Mom’s, and how there’s nothing to eat in my refrigerator. That does nothing for my twitchiness.

Sam watches me out of the corner of his eye before placing his crossword puzzle on his lap. “Is everything okay? Forgive me if I’m intruding, but apparently, it’s become a grandfather’s trait.”

“Yeah, everything is okay. I just had a few too many encounters with a man named Jose Cuervo, if you catch my drift.”

He chuckles. “He’s an old friend of mine. Very old. I don’t play with him anymore.”

“I think we’re on the outs, too.” I hold my stomach as it churns. “Sitting isn’t agreeing with me. If you’re going to be here for a while, would you mind watching my things if I put them on my chair? Seats are going like hotcakes with all the delays, and I don’t want to lose mine.”

“Sure thing. I’m not going anywhere until we board the plane.”

“Great. Thanks, Sam.”

I haul my bag onto the chair and head toward the wall of windows again.