Slinging my heavy duffel bag onto my shoulder, I followed the group of people in front of me down the carpeted tunnel and onto the waiting airplane. I was suddenly happy that I hadn't gone to sleep yet because I absolutely hate flying and taking a nap would not only keep me from being afraid during the trip but would also assure that I wouldn't be travel-tired like everyone else when we landed. I wasn't able to sleep the night before because I was so excited about finally being able to compete in the Olympics. I had been playing soccer since I was a kid and snagging a spot on the US Olympic women's team was a dream come true. I packed my bags the day I got the call, then spent the next three weeks going back and forth to my suitcases to retrieve things I'd packed too early. While I stayed up the night before our flight to Rio de Janeiro, giddy with excitement, I used my time to upend every bag into my bedroom floor and completely repack. After hours of carefully debating each and every non-essential item, (Why am I bringing a hairdryer? Since when do I even own a hairdryer?) I finally had it all narrowed down to a moderate pile of stuff that could fit into the biggest duffel bag I owned. Bonus points for cramming everything into the carry on and not having to check luggage!
I picked a window seat near the middle of the plane and stuffed my bag into the overhead compartment. Turning to sit down, a conversation behind me caught my attention.
"Wait, what do we have to do?" a male voice asked.
"It's just like Bingo," a second male voice replied. "Just keep the card on you all the time and whenever you nail a chick from another country, mark it off on the card,"
"The country," a third man added.
"Right," the second man confirmed. "If you get five countries in a row, it's Bingo."
I twisted around in my seat and scowled at the trio behind me.
"You're not seriously going to play Bingo with the names of countries of people you hook up with?" I asked, frowning.
The guy by the window nodded with a grin, flashing brilliant white teeth. He had very light brown hair that was short and spiked on top and buzzed almost to the bare scalp around the back and sides. His bright blue eyes beamed at me and the muscles in his chiseled jaw flexed as he chewed something. "Yep. It was my idea," he said proudly. "We call it 'International Panty Bingo.'" His had been the second voice. I spotted a wad of red gum in his mouth as he spoke.
"What do you get for getting Bingo?" the guy in the middle asked. He looked younger than the other two, about eighteen or nineteen while the other two looked to be in their mid to late twenties. I recognized his voice as the first one. The guy by the aisle, Mr. Third Voice I presume, held his hands palms up and shrugged.
"Bragging rights?" he suggested. Window Guy shook his head.
"No way," he said. "A hundred bucks."
Turning fully around, I held out a hand to Window Guy.
"Give me a card," I said.
He scowled. "Why?"
I shrugged. "I want in. Guys can't be the only ones who get to have fun."
He grinned and nodded approvingly. Reaching into the bag by his feet, he withdrew a half sheet of paper and handed it to me over the top of the seat.
"Make sure you don't show this to anyone," he said. "Or tell anyone about it. Can't have this getting all over the media."
I folded the paper as small as I could get it and stuffed it into the pocket of my windbreaker, zipping the pocket closed for good measure.
"Who are you, by the way?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.
"Yea, and what do you do?" Aisle Guy chimed in.
"Rebecca Hunter," I said, holding out a hand. "Soccer."
Window Guy gave me a slow nod. "Cool. I'm Taylor Cole, swimming." He shook my hand.
Middle guy gave me a wide, warm smile. "Scott Allen." He reached up to shake my hand. "I'm on the swim team too."
Aisle Guy jerked his chin up at me. "Sup I'm Dave Grier," he said as he also shook my hand. "Swim team captain."
"Nice to meet you boys," I said, turning around and taking my seat. Taylor leaned forward and stuck his head between the seats.
"Are you really gonna play with us?" he asked very close to my face in a low voice. His breath smelled like cinnamon.
I nodded. "Hell yes. This should be fun."
He chuckled. "Too bad 'USA' isn't on my card."
I retrieved mine from my pocket and glanced at it.
"It's not on mine either."