Tackling Love - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,45
it out. Call me tomorrow, and I’ll arrange everything. I owe you guys big time.” I open the door to get out.
“Wait!” yells Jeanette again.
I quirk an eyebrow at her.
She holds up her cell and clicks away. “No one is going to believe me when I tell them I had Colt Anders in our car… this is proof.”
I lean over and put my arm around the boys. “Quick,” I say as I grin widely. “Got it?”
Jeanette smiles at me. “Thank you, now go get your girl!”
I get out of the car, wave, and run into the terminal, looking a sight in my uniform. Usually, I stand out as I’m tall, but I can blend in if I try, dressed like this there’s no hiding who and what I am.
“Oh my God! That’s Colt Anders,” yells a woman, but I don’t even look as I run toward the flight board.
There’s only one flight leaving for London—it has to be Skye’s. Walking past everyone in line, I go to the front and wait for the next available check-in person. A young man yells “next please,” and I run toward him.
“I need a flight to London.”
He clicks away on his keyboard. “Ahh… I’m sorry, sir, but all flights to London are booked out today.”
“I have to get in there. My girl is leaving, and I have to stop her.”
“You need to get into the terminal? Just buy any international ticket, all I need is your passport.”
My passport.
I don’t even have my wallet on me.
Looking at his name tag, I try for honesty. “Steve, I’ve been a jackass. I let my girl down, and she’s leaving to go to the UK to be with her dad. I can’t let her go without first telling her how I feel. The problem is, Steve, I don’t have any ID. Nothing. I came straight from the stadium. Steve… can you help me?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s nothing I can do.”
Turning around, there’s a sea of people behind me, and it feels like everyone is staring—which of course, they are.
“You’re Colt Anders,” gasps a middle-aged man with glasses and thinning hair.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, automatically holding out my hand.
“Bill Watts,” he practically yells as he pumps my hand up and down, grinning like a maniac.
“Nice to meet you.”
The grin falls off his face. “What’s wrong, Colt?”
“My girl is leaving, and I haven’t told her how I felt. I might lose her for good.”
Bill’s jaw drops, he scrambles under the barrier and bangs on Steve’s desk. “This is Colt Anders. You heard what he said, he’s gotta get to his girl.”
“Sir, I’m aware of his predicament, but rules are rules.”
“Colt. Anders,” repeats Bill more forcefully.
“Sir, you said that already. I don’t care if he’s the President of the United States, he’s not getting in there without a passport.”
Bill looks horrified and turns to me. “What can I do?”
“I need to stop her from getting on that plane.”
Bill turns back around and thrusts his passport at Steve. “I’m going to Paris. Give me my ticket.”
Steve does his job, and Bill turns back around with both arms in the air. “Everyone! This is Colt Anders, quarterback for the New England Warriors. We need to help him get his girl. Who’s with me?” yells Bill.
The crowd behind me erupts with many shouting, “I will!”
Holding up my hands, I shake my head. “That’s okay, you don’t—”
“Nonsense! It’s the least we can do after you won the game. What’s your girl’s name, and where’s she going?”
“Skye Hadley, and she’s going to the UK. London to be exact.”
“Everyone… her name is Skye Hadley, she’s going to London. Let’s go get her.”
Bill hugs me, and with his fist in the air runs toward border security. He looks like a mad man. To my surprise, many other people are doing the same thing, and I hear chants of Skye Hadley ringing throughout the terminal.
I look back at Steve, his mouth is open and his eyebrows are raised. “Are you famous?”
“Only if you like football.” I smile, then get out of the way.
Many people are shaking my hand and wishing me luck.
Steve stands and walks briskly away. I can see him talking to a female employee, and then they both approach me through the thickening crowd.
“Mr. Anders, I’m Daisy Small. Could you come this way, please?”
As I follow Daisy through the crowd, many people take photographs, and a paparazzi camera crew pushes through for a better shot.
“Colt! Is it true you’re here to get your girl?”
“No comment,” I