"He never did write," I whisper sadly to myself, three days later sitting in the baggage terminal at the airport. I shake my head, wondering why the hell I should care. It was a long time ago, and we were kids. I wasn't good at keeping up with people either then."
I check the displays, and see that I've got a few minutes until Tyler's flight is supposed to land. I double check my little soft briefcase, making sure I have all the paperwork that I'm supposed to have. Car contract? Check. Initial apartment listings? Check. Welcome packet including the emergency numbers? Check.
I wish Mr. Larroquette had given me Tyler's phone number, some of this could have been much more easily handled that way, but he didn't. Ah well, it wasn't on the paperwork either, so maybe Tyler didn't give it to the team. I make a note to get that as soon as I can as well.
"Air Canada Flight 784 from Los Angeles now arriving," the PA system announces, and I put my stuff away. Tyler's going to be arriving soon.
I wonder if he remembers me?
Chapter 3
Tyler
The plane circles Toronto in a holding pattern, and I'm excited. Sure, I'm missing graduation, but the Dean still gave me my diploma in a private ceremony yesterday, so I guess I can still say I did graduation. Cross that off my bucket list of things to do.
More exciting though is looking down on the city. It's beautiful, and I've spent a decent part of the past few weeks looking up Toronto.
It's high tech but without the craziness of California, I read. I can check out music, sports, and it's not that far from the US, so it's not like I'll be in the boonies either.
But best of all, at least according to the things I read, is the girls. Without all the cultural hang-ups of the US, Canadian girls are supposedly more laid back and freaky, and Toronto's the freakiest of them all.
And, I hate to put it bluntly, but I’ve grown bored of fake bottle blond California girls. I know I sound like a dumbass, and not all the girls in California are like that, but for some reason that’s what I attract. I could use a change of scenery.
If the stewardess on the Air Canada flight is any example of what I can expect, I’m going to love it. She makes eyes with me as the plane descends. "Please make sure your seatbelt is fastened, sir," she says, a little purr on her use of the word sir. "I'd hate to chastise you again."
"I doubt that," I reply in a low voice, just enough she can hear. "I bet you'd like to chastise me more."
"Maybe," she says with a naughty glint to her eye telling me that I guessed right. Not my normal scene, but I'm up for some adventures. "But my Master would have issues."
I grew up in California, and while San Diego and Los Angeles are no San Fran, I've run into this scene before. "Well, we wouldn't want that. You serve well, you should be proud."
She blushes a little, her smile growing a fraction past professional and into personal. "Thank you Sir. Now, please keep your seatbelt fastened."
The plane starts to descend, and I hate as my stomach rises into my chest with the speed. I hate this part of air travel. Goes with being a football player I guess, but I've never liked takeoffs or landings. I always feel like my guts are about two seconds behind the rest of my body in any big change of direction.
Thankfully, the flight gets down quickly and we taxi to the gate. My seat was business class, which sucks, but I guess it's better than the poor schmucks in economy. I get off the plane and go to the immigration line, where the customs officer looks over my passport. "Work visa, huh?"
"Yep."
He eyes me for a second. “Wrestler?"
I laugh and shake my head. "Sorry, that I leave to you guys. Football. For the Fighters."
The customs officer nods, and stamps my passport. "Good luck. Hope you enjoy Toronto."
"Thanks. Uh, which way to the baggage terminal?”
I'm surprised when the guy actually turns around and points instead of mumbling or just dismissing me. Maybe there is something to this reputation of Canadians being nicer than Americans. "Turn right at the end of the hall, that'll get you there. The signs are overhead."
"Thanks," I reply, tucking my passport back into my bag and heading off. Looking around, I'm feeling good. I'm a bit rushed on my schedule, I've only got two days to settle in before practice starts on Monday, but I’m excited. Friday afternoon, Saturday, and Sunday. Not a bad time to get the hang of a party town.