Page 4 of The Disasters of Dating
I close my eyes, giving myself a mental pep talk to go talk to her, when a voice sounds beside me. I open my eyes and smile when I see it’s her.
“Are you going to pay for that?” She asks with her hand on her hip that’s jutted out.
I blink at her. What is she talking about? “Am I going to pay for what?”
She dips her head toward the shelf in front of me. “For the gum you shoved in your backpack.”
I look at her, completely confused. What gum? I didn’t shove any gum in my backpack. “Uh, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I put my lip balm in my backpack. Not gum.”
She gives me a bland look. “I know I look like I’m gullible and naïve, but I’m really not. I watched you do it. You’re going to play the lip balm card?”
I frown. “There’s a lip balm card? I never knew that before.”
She doesn’t look amused. “Is it worth having a criminal record for a two-dollar pack of gum?”
I need to defuse this situation. She looks mad. “The gum is two bucks? Who is the real criminal in this situation?” I tip my head to the side and give her a grimace/pity look. She doesn’t look amused.
“Unfortunately for you, we can set our prices. You don’t have to buy the gum for two dollars if you don’t want to. You can wait until you leave the airport and find it somewhere else cheaper. But if you want any of that gum,” she points to the rows of gum I was looking at, “you’ll have to pay two dollars for it.”
I shake my head. “I’d gladly pay for the gum,” I sigh. Not that I needit. I still have four packs that I purchased on my last two trips—one each on arrival and then departure. Don’t ask me why I haven’t taken them out of my backpack. Probably because unpacking everything when I get home is the last thing I want to do. But still, gum is literally the last thing I need right now. “If I had picked up any gum. But I didn’t.”
She holds out her hand, and I notice she’s wearing a ring with a medium-sized pink stone in it. It’s pretty in an odd way. “Either give me the gum or the two dollars, and I’ll not have you arrested.”
My brows shoot up. It’s suddenly gotten much more serious. “Arrested? For what? I didn’t take any gum.”
Her head shakes slowly. “I have video of it.” She points to the shiny, black dome on the ceiling and then at a cellphone perched on the checkout counter. “Multiple videos of it.”
“You’re videoing me?” I’m not sure whether to be flattered or offended.
“I want to have plenty of proof. Sometimes that camera doesn’t get the best angle.” She nods to the ceiling dome. “Listen, if you can’t afford the two dollars, I will give it to you. But I can’t just let you take it. It goes against all of my principles.”
I feel my irritation rising. This girl is cute, but I’m not sure anyone is hot enough to go through this. People have stopped and are staring at us. And that is definitely not on my bucket list. Maybe I should give her the two dollars so I can leave. But if I give her the two dollars, that’s like admitting I stole the gum. And I didn’t. Why should I confess—in theory—to something I didn’t do? “I can afford two dollars.” Can she not see that my jeans and shirt are name brand? Granted, my sister-in-law bought them for me as a graduation present, but she doesn’t know that. “But I’m not paying for gum that I didn’t take.”
She reaches forward and grabs hold of my backpack. “Prove it.”
I jerk away, hitching my backpack further up on my shoulder. “Hey, you can’t take my backpack. You’re not a cop or TSA or anything. You have no authority.” I’m totally over this conversation. Why didn’t I just grab an Uber and head to Lehi? “You know what? I’m out of here.” I turn on my heel, but I’m jerked back into place, and my backpack falls off my shoulder.
I turn to see her hand white-knuckling the handle on the top. “I don’t think so. Security is on its way.”
I sigh. I’m not worried about security. The gum I previously purchased is in a zipper pocket inside one of the zippered pouches. Ifthey find it and then watch the videos, they will see that there is no way that gum could be the gum she claims I stole. But I don’t have time to deal with the whole security thing right now. I pull out my money clip—also from my dad—and pull off two dollar bills. “You know what? I didn’t steal the gum, but I’m late for my Uber. So here, take the money.”
She folds her arms over her chest and snort/guffaws. “Oh, we are way past that now, sir. You had your chance. Now we are waiting for security.”
I roll my eyes and drop my head back, looking at the ceiling. This can’t be happening. But I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t try to pick up girls in the airport news shops anymore—no matter how attracted I am to them. No matter how cute they are.
I throw the bills on the end of the counter and shove my wallet in my pocket. “I’m leaving.”
Poppy—which doesn’t seem like such an adorable name anymore—moves in front of me and puts her hands out to her side, like she is blocking my exit. Is she for real?
“No!” she hollers. “You can’t leave.” Then she starts moving from side to side, like she’s doing some boxing move.
I just stare at her. I truly have no idea what is going on. Is she supposed to look threatening? And does she really think she can stop me? I may have ridden the bench in high school, but that doesn’t mean I’m not fit. I could totally mow her over. Not that I would. I’m not that kind of guy. Even so, she isn’t the one keeping me here.
Okay, that’s not completely true. Her strange behavioriskeeping me here. But only out of curiosity and confusion. I move to fake her out, going to one side and then quickly moving to the other side. I get past her human barricade with ridiculous ease and start toward the security exit. But a weight on my backpack brings me to a halt after only four steps, nearly pulling me to the ground.
“No,” she cries, and I look back to see her clutching my backpack. And it looks as if she has gone…boneless. She is just dead weight hanging off my backpack. Oh. My. Crap. I can barely stand upright. “Security will be here momentarily,” she calls from her place almost on the floor.
As if they heard her pleas, a man in a uniform strides toward us, a determined look on his face. He’s taller than I am and probably twice my size in girth also. I wouldn’t say he is fat, but I’m pretty sure I could outrun him. Not that I plan to. I don’t need to be on the No Fly List.
