Right.
The fact that he was concerned and attentive and even let me drool on his shoulder means nothing. It doesn’t change a goddamn thing. Itcan’tchange anything.
Uteruses before duderuses.
He’s still an ass. He broke my bestie’s heart. My loyalty remains with Molly, no matter how nice he was to me on the plane. No matter how much I wanted him to lean just a little bit closer until our lips met.
I don’t need to kiss Justin Ass, no matter what my tingling girl parts said. Or continue to say.
I need to have sex, that’s all it is. The fact I was so drawn to Justin just confirms that it’s been too long since I’ve enjoyed the company of a member of the opposite sex. I am so starved of human touch that I contemplated kissing Molly’s cheating-ass ex.
Damn. That’s bad. I definitely need to get myself laid. It’s going on the to-do list for when I get back to UCR, right next to cleaning my sheets and booking a waxing appointment.
The door opens, a gust of cold air blows up the jet bridge, and I shiver involuntarily. Jesus. I can’t risk another shiver. No unplanned movement or my bladder might just give up on me. The baggage handler lines up the bags. Of course mine isn’t one of the first out.
I’m whispering prayers to any God who will get me to the bathroom without leaking when my case finally appears. Popping the handle up, I drag it behind me as I walk as fast as I dare without risking spreading my legs too much with each stride.
Oh God. I’m not sure I’m going to make it.
I shuffle-run through the airport cursing the fact not every airport in the country is small and quaint like Cedar Rapids, and burst through the door of the restrooms with mere seconds to spare.
I don’t even take an extra beat to lock the door to the stall. I slide my case in front of it, and hold it in place with my foot while I take a moment to enjoy my blissful relief.
Is there anything more satisfying in life than making it to the bathroom in the nick of time? I flush and leave the stall, only to come face-to-ass with Justin. He’s standing to my left at a urinal I didn’t notice in my haste to empty my bladder. His trouser snake is on full display. His not-at-all-tiny trouser snake.
I swallow and fight the urge to lick my lips. I’m not sure I have any moisture left in my mouth, it seems to have dried up at the sight of him with his hand on his dick.
His eyes widen, and his cheeks turn pink. I consider fleeing to the ladies room to wash my hands but then he might think I don’t wash them at all. And that’s almost worse than standing in the men’s bathroom trying not to make eye contact with his still-on-display cock.
I clear my throat and look at anything that isn’t…thatas I tug my case toward the sinks. Embarrassment sears every inch of my body. Going back to the jet bridge where I was praying not to pee in front of him and just pissing my pants right there would be better than this.
He tucks away his junk and pulls up his zipper before joining me at the sinks.
“Don’t say anything.” My voice is almost a growl as I lather up my hands and rinse them under the water.
From the corner of my eye I can see him roll his lips between his teeth as though trying not to smile which only fuels my embarrassment and anger even more.
I don’t dry my hands. Instead, I spin on my heel and grab my case, making a beeline for the exit, passing three very confused-looking guys on my way. They’ll figure out that they’re in the right bathroom when they see the urinals I power-walked right by.
Maybe I can get through baggage claim and to the exit before he’s done in the bathroom, especially now that I don’t have a full bladder weighing me down.
Shit. I stumble to a halt. Mom’s going to be waiting for me in baggage claim. In all the flight panic and the pee-fiasco, I’d almost forgotten that I’m not really ready to see my parents.
I rub my hands on my pants, back and front to soak up some of the beads of water before making a decision.
I’ll take Mom discomfort over having to face the guy whose peen I just saw. So I take off like an Olympian at the starting line. The end is in sight, I canseethe glowing exit signs above the doors. All I have to do is find Mo—nooooooooooooooo. No, no, no, no.
Mom isn’t alone. She’s chatting animatedly to a woman a few inches taller than her. The stranger has blonde wavy hair, and the closer I get to them, the more familiar she looks. She’s a female version of Justin.
My stomach sinks. They’re smiling and laughing as they talk, comfortable, like they’ve known each other for years. There’s no way I can grab-and-go Mom, and Justin can’t be too far behind me.
This is a disaster.
Another disaster.
“Mom?”
“Savannah!” Mom abandons her conversation and launches herself at me like she half expected me not to show up at all. Her hug is bone-crunching, all consuming, and warm despite the chill to the air. Tears well in my eyes as I scold myself. I won’t cry, not here, not now. I’m still mad at my parents for lying to me, for not giving me the chance to meet my birth mom, even if Mom’s hug feels pretty damn good.
