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Liam examines my face a second longer before apparently deciding to believe me. He releases his (actually quite nice) grip—quick enough that I stumble as I hit the ground but, thankfully, don’t fall again.
He takes a step back, putting distance between us, and affixes his grip to the handle of the rogue suitcase. He glowers in my direction. “Why were you walking backwards?”
“Why did you leave your suitcase unattended for someone to trip over?” I retort.
He raises a dark eyebrow. His expression is flat, but his eyes are deep, dark wells of intensity. What’s with this guy? And why can’t I look away? “You’re completely right. I should’ve anticipated that someone would be moonwalking through the lobby and not see it. My mistake.”
I think he’s being sarcastic. I can never tell with sarcasm. They say it’s the lowest form of wit, but I would argue that it’s actually quite advanced.
“Well.” I clear my throat, even as my skin tingles all over. “You can’t just leave your bags scattered around all willy-nilly. Especially not at the airport. It’s a rule. Ask the TSA.”
For a moment, something like amusement flashes in his eyes. Only, it can’t be amusement—his mouth is still set in a grim line and he seems about as cheery as you would after a root canal. “And what do the TSA have to say about bags being left unattended at ahotelnear the airport?”
Oh, yeah. We’re not actually at the airport anymore, are we?
Shoot.
“They report it to the… Boston Hotel Association!” I throw out haphazardly, my heart beginning to throb.
Did I make up a company to justify my argument? Yes, yes I did.
I just hate altercations like this. I get way too flustered and can’t think straight and say the wrong thing and spend hours in the shower later dissecting the incident and thinking of all the wittier things I could’ve said.
Besides. There probablyisa Boston Hotel Association. And they probablydohave a rule about leaving bags unattended.
“Better report myself, then,” Liam says as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Tell them I’m guilty of leaving my possessions unattended for moonwalking women to trip over. I’m sure they’ll be along to arrest me any second now.”
He opens his phone screen and starts typing. My heart leaps into my throat.
“Well, you know, you might not be able to find them!” I squawk. “They’re an ancient company. Old as the city itself. Your best bet is to find a phone book and call them.”
Liam’s dark eyes meet mine again. “That explains why there are zero Google results for this legendary BHA.”
My cheeks are aching hot again.
Dang it. He got me.
I scramble for any shred of dignity. “When they arrest you, I hope you have a lovely time in jail. I hear the food’s great.”
Ooh, that was a good one. Mental high-five!
My rush lasts all of point one of a millisecond because I’m suddenly aware of how loudly I shouted that. My voice is literally echoing through the lobby in waves, and Liam is no longer looking at me, but behind me. With horrifying clarity, I remember where I am. What I was trying to do via moonwalking in the first place.
And a ninja escape is no longer a possibility. The entire lobby is watching our suitcase-shuffle-scuffle.
Even the little pug Mildred was petting is now staring, tongue lolling dumbly out of the side of its mouth.
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no.
My only hope now is for a lightning strike or falling meteor to put me out of my misery.
Unfortunately, neither comes.
“Annie Bananie?” Justin calls from across the room, voice tinged with incredulity. I automatically wince at the nickname. “What are you doing here?”
* * *
