Page 121 of I’m The Worst

We need to get on that fucking ship.

And all I can smell is her.

My grip tightens around the handle hard enough that the metal creaks.

Focus.

Routes. Cameras. Guards at customs. Passenger flow. Exit points.

Not her. Not the way she sounded when she came. And definitely not the fact that I nearly lost my fucking mind when I bit her.

I stare into the dark hallway, forcing air into my lungs.

I have never wanted to mark someone before. Never wanted to put my mouth on someone and keep it there.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I flex my hand, trying to bleed the tension out before I snap something in half. My eyes cut back to her before I can stop myself.

She’s still leaning against the wall, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, trying to steady her breathing while looking at me with something in her eyes I don’t have the fucking room for right now.

I crack the door open farther, scanning the corridor again. Two guards pass the far intersection without looking our way. The terminal is shifting toward boarding traffic. More movement. More noise. Easier to disappear in if I can get us through the next checkpoint without someone recognizing a face or flagging the passports.

I reach back without looking and grab AJ’s arm, pulling her toward me.

“Stay close. And stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t fucking know.

We move fast, slipping out of the utility closet and into the flow of travelers, keeping our heads low, blending with a group of people heading toward the main boarding hall.

AJ stays pressed against my side the entire time. Close enough, I should feel it. Should want space. Distance. Less fucking contact.

Instead, all I can feel is the ghost of her pulse against my mouth and the way she sounded when I covered her lips to keep her quiet.

My eyes keep moving, tracking every armed guard stationed along the terminal, every security checkpoint, every camera rotation sweeping across the crowds. Customs is backed up now, lines spilling into the corridors as boarding calls echo overhead in Russian. Good. More bodies. More confusion. Easier to disappear.

Unless those dead soldiers were enough to lock this place down.

My jaw tightens.

Too many variables.

I steer us toward the far side of the terminal where the smaller docks sit beyond the main passenger lanes. The big civilian ships are the obvious choice.

I need something forgettable.

A smaller boat will add days to the trip. The cabin will be tighter. More time trapped with her.

Still better than getting caught.

I pull us behind a support column near one of the side exits and stop just long enough to reassess the terminal layout in my head.

Three turns.