Page 4 of A Quarterback for Christmas

“I don’t get it. We’re in Indiana. There’s always snow in December. How can the airport not be prepared for it? That’s like saying Orlando isn’t prepared for the heat.” I try to tone down the sarcasm in my voice, but with my fixed grin fading and her eyes narrowing, I know I’ve failed.

The attendant clears her throat and adjusts her little red neckerchief. “Because, Ma’am, it’s not just snow. It’s forecasted to develop into a blizzard by this evening. It would be life-threatening to take off and land in these conditions.” Her voice doesn’t hide how stupid she thinks I am for asking, but I’m desperate. I need to get home to see my family. It’s the first time my dad will be home since he became head coach for the St. Michael’s football program, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity to spend time with him without the football team present.

“So, what am I supposed to do?”

She closes her eyes, and her jaw flexes the tiniest bit. I get it. I’ve been standing here for thirty minutes, begging for a flight, and even though the line behind me is growing, I won’t leave. My tenacity is the worst trait I inherited from my father, my straight teeth being the best.

“The only thing I can suggest is that you watch the weather reports, and once the blizzard has cleared, you can call us to book the next available flight.”

“But I have been watching them, and they’re saying it could take at least five days to pass.”

“That’s correct.” At this point, she’s stopped being nice, glancing above my head and giving the people behind me a visible eye roll.

“But that means I won’t get to Tampa until the dayafterChristmas.” Oh, how I miss Tampa right now. With its warm weather and beautiful beaches, we never have these issues.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s the best I can do. I can always process a refund if that option doesn't work.”

Well, I guess I should just stick a red and white fuzzy hat on my head because what’s more Christmassy than getting stuck in a snowstorm? No, wait, disappointing my dad would be more akin to my festive traditions.Every Christmas, I’ve always found a way to inadvertently ruin it, but my ditching the entire affair takes the proverbial Yule Log.

What the hell am I supposed to do in Hope, Indiana, for the next week? With the blizzard coming through, the malls will be closed, and I don’t have running shoes to tolerate this kind of weather. I’ll be staring at my dorm room ceiling all day, eating my way through my roommate Marissa’s incessantly large Flamin’ Hot Doritos stock.

Pulling out my credit card, I accept the inevitable and slide it across the desk. “I guess I’ll take that refund then.” I sigh. At least getting one thousand dollars back means I can put that money toward another trip to London.

The attendant smiles, attempting to hold back the delight of finally dealing with me, and when she hands my driver’s license and credit card back, I mumble out a reluctant ‘thank you’ as I drag my suitcase away.

I can feel the eyes of other passengers on me, and there are a few grumbles as I walk past because I kept them waiting, but I barely acknowledge them. I’m too busy clutching my phone and thinking about the repercussions of the day. Wondering how I’m going to break it to my parents that I’ll miss their annual town Christmas party. The one they haven’t been able to throw the last few years because St. Michael’s has always made it to the playoffs, and my dad has needed to be at the college prepping the team for a potential Championship game.

Shaking my head, I try to put that thought aside because the most important thing right now is figuring out how I will get to my dorm. Pulling out my phone, I swipe away the sweaty strands of blonde hair that have fallen out of my waterfall braid and order an Uber.

Walking with intent, I make my way to the airport entrance.

Buzz.

UBER CANCELLED.

What the hell, Dave?

I stare at my screen, thinking this can’t be right. There must be something wrong. Granted, this isn’t the first time Dave, the only Uber driver in Hope, has let me down, but I thought we’d gotten over that whole freshman year fiasco when I threw up after one too many shots. He’s always been happy to charge me extra since, so I can’t figure out why he’s being elusive now.

As I’m writing my angry text to Dave, someone knocks against my shoulder, pushing me back with so much force that I lose balance on my heels.

“Watch it,” I grumble as a hand grabs my side to hold me steady. A small bolt of electricity runs through my arm, straight to my chest.

I can hardly breathe and sweat prickles at my brows. Am I having a heart attack?

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

That voice: smooth as butter, deep as the Pacific Ocean, cuts through me like an obsidian knife. I know that velvety tone anywhere, and I bristle my hand away before whipping my head to meet his eyes.

“Drew?” I had intended it to come out with malice, but it sounded breathier and more seductive than anticipated. “What are you doing here?” That’s better.

With beautiful Roman features and dimples that could light up a room, his face cracks into an easy smile as if my spiky attitude doesn’t affect him. I suppose he’s used to it by now. His eyes track my outfit, and I cross my arms over my chest, making it harder for him to judge my clothes. He’s always had a bee in his bonnet about how I dress and has never been afraid to tell me. “I’d say I’m here for the same reason as you, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone wear something like that to travel on a plane.”

I huff out an annoyed breath, standing straighter in my heeled booties because I refuse to let him think that his words affect my confidence. “I planned on meeting some friends for drinks when I landed.”

Drew narrows his deep brown eyes, focusing on the black and white pleated skirt that pokes out from under my white jacket. “Ah, which ones?” He purses his lips, mulling over his question. “Haydee, Kaylee, and Bailey?” There’s no hiding the amusement in his voice at the mere mention of my best friends from our high school. “You know, it’s funny. I never thought you fit in with those girls.”

I jut my chin forward. “And why’s that?”

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