Page 3 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

For the first time since Mom had sent me my plane ticket home, I wasecstaticto go. I couldn’t wait to get as far, far away from this wholesituationas I possibly could.

I hadn’t said a single word to Mr. Armani, and I didn’t intend to.

No.

He’d seen too much.

For a brief, unhinged moment, I debated whether or not I needed to kill him.

But…that felt extreme.

Even given the circumstances.

Besides, the only pointy item I had on me was a ballpoint pen—which would be an ineffective murder weapon, even in a pinch.

It was better for everyone if I pretended he didn’t exist.

Unfortunately, he was making that very difficult. The weight of his gaze made the hair on my nape stand on end. An electric fizzle of something—fear, maybe?—tempted me to acknowledge him, but I didn’t.

Through sheer force of will, I maintained what I hoped was an air of unbotheredness as I waited for my turn at the body scanner. There was a bit of rustling, no doubt him taking his shoes off.

“Hey,” he tried. I pretended I didn’t hear. If he’d been anything other than an asshole he would’ve let me slowly implode in peace. On a good day, I abhorred the idea of being seen as less than perfect. Today wasnota good day.

Therefore, I refused to acknowledge what had happened.

There was a balding man in front of me wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khakis. I studied the shiny spot on the back of his head to distract myself, relieved when he finished his turn inside the body scanner, and I was next. Immediately after he’d passed through to the other side, the TSA attendant waved me over.

Which was excellent.

Wonderful, even.

I’d officially survived a whole thirty seconds without having to speak to the man behind me.

If I were lucky, I might get through security before Armani-guy managed another word. When I stepped forward, so did he—far closer to my back than he needed to be.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” his voice dropped low, quiet enough only I could hear. There was no denying the mirth that danced in his tone, though. The asshole really did think this was funny.

No need to be embarrassed? Ha!

Don’t respond.

Ignore him, George.

The weight of his gaze remained as I strode away from him and into the machine. The whole time it whirred, my hands held high above my head, my back vulnerable, I willed a hole to open up in the floor and swallow me. But it didn’t. Anxious to escape, I stepped free when directed. It took a lot of effort to waddle-walk in damp-socked feet while attempting an air of nonchalance.

Like I wasn’t running.

When I so clearly was.

Bald-guy was taking forever. As I waited for him to finish putting his shoes on, I glanced over my shoulder. Fuck. Armani-man was nearly through the body scanner.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Nervous sweat beaded at my temple. Just then, the balding man finally stopped blocking my access. He moved out of the way, and as quickly as I could, I jerked my shoes and backpack on.

Move, George. If you speed-walk, he won’t be able to catch up.

Speed-walking was my specialty. I often ran half-marathons to catch the subway, or to avoid Brendon when he tried to terrorize me at work.

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