Page 2 of Cookout Carnage
‘No idea,’ he said cheerfully, before extending his arm to Bigfoot. ‘I’m Jonathan.’ There was a pause that nearly became embarrassing, before Bigfoot grasped the concept of etiquette, closely followed by Jonathan’s hand.
‘I’m Rory,’ he replied. ‘And I don’t drink.’
Tabi gave Rory a round of applause and he scowled at her. She winked, opened the first bottle of wine, then waved a wheel of cheese and a bar of chocolate in his face. He growled.
‘Right then, Jonathan, Sabrina, Tristan and Ben. Let’s get drunk and spill all our secrets. Kilt, you’re just going to have to do it high on fermented milk products and cocoa.’
Rory raised an eyebrow. ‘Kilt?’
Tabi shrugged. ‘You’re flying to Edinburgh. Scottish: grumpy, bagpipes, kilt.’
Rory held up his massive hand, counting on his fingers. ‘American: loud, fanny pack, cheeseburgers.’
Tabi high-fived him. ‘Fuck, yeah!’ she yelled.
Ben grinned. Suddenly the delay didn’t seem so bad.
*Abbreviated Prologue from Animal Attraction,the first novella in Cupid Calamity. If you want to read Cupid Calamity before Cookout Carnage, grab your copy here. Or you can continue reading this book. You won’t be lost, we promise!
I
UP IN SMOKE
By
Kelly Kay
PROLOGUE
February 12 – Chicago, IL
United Lounge, O’Hare Airport
1:23 p.m. CST
JONATHAN
The stale air is stifling. I feel like my shirt is sticking to me. The tick of my watch has now synced to my heartbeat. I hold my fingers on my throat and check to see if I’m in need of cardiac care. I toss my head back. We’ve been stuck for a couple of hours since the airport transformer blew. There are only six of us in this lounge and two attendants, floating in and out since they locked down the airport and lounge. Occasionally a flight crew crew drifts in to use the bathroom or grab a sandwich. But mostly, it’s the six of us hanging out in the corner of the lounge together.
Our master of ceremonies is a winemaker from California, Tabi Aganos. I’m also surrounded by Rory, the giant scowly Scotsman; a super funny dude who looks like the guy who died in a car accident on Downton Abbey named Tristan; Ben, who gives off a Prince William kind of vibe. Nice and polite, but you know he’s deeper than that; and Sabrina, the Midwest cheerleader, who’s not holding her liquor well. We’re all headed home, but she’s headed to New York for Valentine’s Day.
Tabi keeps pouring delicious wine, but I’m so over being here. I like these people, but I have a large meeting with a buyer for my gamble and I don’t want to roll in late. I planted a crop that only has one real purpose for me. I want to have a different farm than what’s expected of me. If I can sell my new soft winter wheat crop to Maker’s Mark, I’ll be on my way to turning my parents’ farm around. I put things in motion two years ago to become a different type of farmer. One I can be proud of. My parents, well, they think I might be batshit crazy, but support me anyway from Florida.
They’re happy harvesting shells and shucking oysters instead of corn and peas these days. That’s my father’s favorite joke. He tells it constantly.
I mortgaged a lot of the land on a hunch. I rotated crops and changed the pH of the soil. The other half of my plan is already starting to turn a profit. I just need this bourbon thing to pop into place.
When I was in Amsterdam on leave from the Navy, I did the normal things one does in Amsterdam, fucking and smoking, but then I took a bike ride and saw the fields. Vibrant color as far as my eyes could focus, and not only did I want to do that, but I also knew how to turn a profit. Now I get to look at the colors all year round out my back gate, in the industrial greenhouses I built on the property, and currently sell blossoms to several florists and grocery store chains.
Tristan comes back from the bathroom and says, “Jonathan,” and gestures to me.
I stand and walk over to the bar, away from everyone’s phones.
“What can I do you for?”
He grins. “You alright?”
“Yeah, why? Do I have a tell?” I say trying to make a lame joke and brush him off. I spin around a bit. I can’t brush anyone off. That would be dickish. And I’m already anxious enough I don’t need to feel badly for being rude to this new friend.
