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So I held my pee and stayed firmly in my seat.
Closing my eyes now, with my pants around my ankles, I let out an exhale that speaks of exhaustion and stress. Of the constant pang of grief my job leaves me with, and the weight of the murder that bleated from the public screens while I waited for my flight at JFK.
In my back pocket, my phone vibrates against my boot, stealing my moment of reprieve and reminding me I have to get moving. I have to collect my bags and go home, and in three days, it’ll be time to start my new job. My new life.
It’ll be my new beginning.
Finishing up while my phone rings out, I stand again and fix my clothes. I fasten the button of my jeans, and turn with my bag still slung across my chest to flush the toilet. Then, after opening the stall, I make my way across to the sink and wash my hands while I check myself in the mirror.
I’m tired. I’m hungry. The bags under my eyes have bags, and the pallor of my cheeks doesn’t bode well for my blood sugar.
Sighing, I flip off the tap and grab a paper towel, and it’s only now that I look around and discover I’m all alone in the restroom. None of the other stalls are occupied. There are no scuff marks on the tile floors, and no people wandering in and out after a long flight.
Drying my hands, I glance down at the droplets of water I’ve shed, the only marks on the shiny floor. Then I look across the empty space to realize… my carry-on suitcase is gone.
“Dammit.”
I peek under the stall doors and around the separating wall that shields women from the eyes of people walking from one gate to another. No dice.
I mentally catalog what was inside the bag: magazines, toiletries, underwear and a hoodie. My old briefcase, and a few other bits and pieces. Nothing particularly valuable, but its theft is annoying, regardless.
My phone vibrates once more, so while I continue to search the empty restroom, I take the device from my back pocket and blindly accept the call.
“Hello? Doctor Mayet speaking.” Scowling, I cast one last glance around the bathroom and huff at my inconvenience.
Someone stole from me, and that someone is a sneaky little thief with feet quieter than a ninja’s. It’s not like I’m naïve to crime—I come from New York City!—nevertheless, I didn’t expect to be made a fool of so soon. Not after working so hard to get the flight here in the first damn place.
“Hello, Ms. Mayet?” an older gentleman’s voice rumbles in my ear. “This is Steve, your new landlord.”
“Oh, yeah. Hey.”
Stepping out of the bathroom, the breath is stolen from my lungs when I crash into a thick chest. I stumble back from the impact and glance up to find inquisitive green eyes glaring down at mine, like it’s my fault the guy is skulking outside the ladies’ bathroom.
He stands at least six feet and a few inches tall—severalinches more than my five-seven—and crushes me to his chest, his hands wrapping around my biceps so his fingers and thumb touch.
“Shit.” I press the phone to my ear, but my heart thunders because this dude, this guy I don’t even know, holds me tight and glowers like our collision is all my fault.
“Ah… sorry.” I take a step back in an attempt to escape his hold, but all I manage is to crash against the wall. And still, his hands remain on my arms. “Uh…”
“Ms. Mayet?” the voice in my ear chirps. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I’m sorry for bumping into you.” My attacker continues to stare as I swallow down the ball of nerves that lodge in my throat. “I didn’t mean…” I pause and reset. I said sorry once. That’s enough. “Please let me go.”
“Ms. Mayet?” Steve says again. “Are we clear?”
“You oughtta be more careful.” The muscled stranger stares. His voice is deep. Clipped and dangerous. “This is a busy place. You could get hurt if you don’t watch what’s happening around you.”
“I was distracted.” I fake a sugary sweet smile and shake my phone-holding hand to prove my point. “I’ll be more careful.”
“Arch!” Another guy, just as muscular, just as formidable, dashes past and claps the first on the shoulder as he goes. The clap, to ‘Arch’, appears to be nothing more than a tap, though thethudhitting my ears says that same momentum would send me sprawling to the ground.
“Er…” My eyes follow the other guy’s muscular back. “You gotta run, or…?”
Intriguing green eyes follow the direction I look, then his arms drop away from mine, and the stranger who smells of man and musk and something spicy turns his torso and dashes out of my life.
His aftershave lingers in the air, something expensive and seductive that makes my nostrils twitch with the memory, but then a nagging voice hits my ears once more.
“Ms. Mayet? Thank you for understanding. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
