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I’m going to be sick.
Was it the kind of kiss that soaked through every inch of my panties?
Yes.
Did I want him to split the fabric of my dress and take me right there on the cliff’s edge, the night sky watching as stars erupted in my eyes?
Most definitely. I pocket the idea for an upcoming novella.
But was the entire thing a Godzilla-sized mistake?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
No more tequila for me. Not a single other drink will touch my lips. This body is atemple.A horny, stressed-out, occasionally achy temple, but it’s mine, nonetheless.
Ugh!
The entire moment could’ve been scripted for a film. Falling stars and perfect words. He wanted to kiss me, and I let him because it feltalmostromantic.
I can’t recall the last time I had a first kiss that good.
Unlike a movie, however, Nico and I will not get a happy ending, just a few awkward moments pretending the drunken mistake didn’t happen. Plus, he’s traveling this summer, and I’m going back to New York. This was a blip in our friendship, and we’ll go back to normal in no time.
I roll the credits on the memory.
My alarm blares again.
“I know.I know,” I yell, scavenging my room for a pair of socks.
There’s no more time to waste. I need to get out of here.
I slip on my shoes, sockless, throw my tote over my shoulder, and drag my carry-on out of the room.
Four hours and some three hundred miles later, I’m in the security line at the San Francisco International Airport begging people to let me go ahead of them so I don’t miss my flight.
After having stern words with an elderly couple on their third honeymoon, I’m only a few steps away from passing through TSA. I throw my items into a bin, pull my laptop out of my tote, and lug my carry-on onto the conveyor belt heading into the scanner.
“Ma’am, no shoes,” the TSA agent yaps behind me.
No shoes?You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. The last minute decision to skip out on socks was a colossal mistake.
I slip out of my sneakers, and the soles of my bare feet meet the cold, sticky ground. Acid burns the back of my throat. This is horrible. I tiptoe to the scanner, counting down the seconds for the people ahead of me to finish getting patted down.
Looks of disgust roll off people’s faces.Geez.
Little do they know I could make thousands selling pictures of these nicely pedicured toes online.
You’re all getting a free show, and I’ll need a tetanus shot when I get home.
After passing security, I sprint through the terminal, searching for the flight information display system to confirm my gate. Hopefully, I can buy a bottle of hand sanitizer to douse my feet before I get on the five-hour flight back to New York.
I scan the board of departures until I see my flight.
San Francisco to John F. Kennedy New York: Canceled
This can’t be right.
I palm at my eyes.
