Roman
I sat staring at the wall in front of me. The book I had gotten to read while I waited was this murder mystery thriller title and almost fifty pages in wasn't really doing it for me. I felt like I had to commit to it now, though, since I was already invested. Plus, it was too late to go try to buy another.
I felt like airports were like hospitals, everyone in there was suffering a little bit somehow. I didn't dislike traveling, but it was a hassle sometimes. Today, I was just wishing I had managed to get myself an earlier flight than the one I had.
I thought about talking to Veronica, but I had been texting her all week. I wanted to see her already. We had a date tonight, was the light at the end of the tunnel as the week had dragged on. I didn't like the distance between us, even though it was necessary. Now that this was over, I was looking forward to some time with her. If I ended up hearing back from anyone, it would probably only be in a couple weeks or something.
Leaning back in my seat, I tried to get into the book. A man walking by came up and asked whether the seat I was using for my duffel was taken. I told him it wasn't and moved it to the floor so he could sit. He was in a suit and sat up straight in his seat. He was talking on his phone with one of those earpiece things that made people look crazy, walking around talking out loud on their own.
"Are you here from the regional combine?" I heard him say, then repeat because it turned out he wasn't talking on his phone anymore. I turned to look at him. He looked about late thirties or early forties, trim, normal-looking with short hair.
"Yeah, actually. I am," I said, a little surprised. Either that had been a good guess because so many guys were flying back home after the event so this place was rotten with us, or he recognized me somehow. If he did, that only made one of us.
"I'm Andrew. Andrew Richardson," he said, introducing himself.
"Roman Blake," I said, shaking the man's hand.
"I remember you," he said.
"Yeah?"
"I saw you at the combine. You had the bench press record. 42 reps, right? That was impressive."
"Thanks," I said, not sure why he felt like telling me all this. I knew he wasn't a player. He wasn't really built like one, and he looked like he had probably aged out maybe seven years ago. No offense meant.
"Yeah. I scout for a couple teams around here. How long have you played QB?" he asked. Shit, he really had been paying attention.
"Most of high school. For college, I started for two years."
"Just two?"
"Two years was as long as I was in school. I just got back from Afghanistan." He sat forward a little, impressed.
"So this isn't even you at one hundred percent?"
"I made sure I kept my conditioning up, but I haven't really played, not for about a year."
"I thought you were good, kid, but that changes everything," he said. "Listen, I'm not supposed to tell you this, not this early, but my people have their eye on you."
"They're interested in signing me?"
"You're a real QB. If that's how you look after a year off, what the hell are you gonna pull out after training? I'm not supposed to tell you this, either, but give it a week or so, someone will be calling you and they might be making you an offer," he said grinning.
"That sounds great. What team?"
"That gonna be something that makes you say no?"
"No, I'm just curious," I said quickly.
"Relax. I'm just messing with you. Where are you from?"
"Aberdeen. South Dakota."
"Aberdeen, huh? Well, how does Miami sound?"
Miami? Far. It sounded far. I didn't say that, though. I said it sounded good and that I had never been. He gave me his card, and when I thanked him and said I would call, he insisted on taking my number himself. He ended up boarding before me for another flight, so I was alone again. I tried to get into the book, but it didn't work. I read the same three sentences over and over till I gave up.
Miami?