Page 2 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

As it rolled across the floor and my stomach dropped along with it.

The Kindle I’d been digging for inside my backpack fell into the plastic bin with a clatter. On the move already, the tray scooted down the conveyor belt toward the X-ray machine.

I hardly noticed.

Because my soul was too busy evacuating my body.

I bent over fast enough my spine cracked. When I lunged forward, my fingers whistled through open air, missing Neil by a scant few inches. The dildo continued to roll. And because life wasn’t fair, the damn thing rolled straight into the very expensive-looking Italian leather loafer of the man standing in line behind me—before I could catch it.

He made a sound. Half laugh, half cough. His foot moved, blocking the dildo from view of the row of people at the conveyor belt to our right.

And I wanted. To. Die.

Slowly, I looked up, cheeks burning, and what I saw only made everything worse. Way way worse. Because the expensive shoes were connected to muscular calves and thick thighs.

OhJesus.

And the man himself? Yes. Fuck my life.

He was objectively hot as hell.

Broad shoulders. A square jaw. Full lips. An air about him that screamed mischief—and an almost overwhelming confidence—even with a dildo currently pressed to his foot—as though this were his world and the rest of us were borrowing space within it.

Like mine, his hair had been affected by the rain. Lightly curled, a single ebony-colored lock fell across his forehead, escaping what I was sure had previously been an artful style. Everything about him looked like carefully manufactured effortlessness. Dressed in a charcoal gray Armani suit, but with the collar undone, like he was too cool to make proper use of the buttons provided.

His pale blue eyes were ringed by lashes so dark they smudged like eyeliner. They flickered with wicked understanding, making it obvious that he knewexactlywhose dildo had tapped his toe. He’d probably observed the whole goddamn thing, spine-snapping and all. His almost domineering vibe was softened only by the smirk on his lips and the dimples that framed said smirk, twin companions to his chaos.

Deliberately, he met my gaze as he squatted, thick thighs flexing, tanned fingers reaching for?—

Oh Jesus.

No, no, no, no.

Why was he touching it?!

When he stood, I stood too, heart pounding, hands clenched into fists at my sides.

“You dropped this.” His voice was slightly higher than my own and buttery warm. His obvious mirth at my expense made my hair stand on end.

What sort of asshole witnesses the apocalypse and smirks?

Did he think this wasfunny?

This was the antithesis of funny.

I was so offended by his blasé attitude, it took me a second to realize that myNeil—my nine-inch Neil—was still in his hand. Snatching the dildo right out of Armani-man’s grip, I wasted no time shoving it into my backpack, germs and all. It wasn’t until the sex toy was zipped back up and out of sight that I could breathe.

I triple-checked the zipper was shut. Shakily, I shoved the plastic tray that the backpack sat inside onto the conveyor belt. My Kindle had already rattled down to the end, passing through the airport security’s X-ray machine with zero problem.

Relax, George.

It’s over.

Just get through security.

You never have to see this man again.

You’re fine.

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