Page 83 of A Bucket List Birthday

Griffin

Nothing makes you more irritated at humanity than trying to deboard a plane. I’m convinced that if you can get from the airplane to baggage claim without hoping that at least oneperson sleeps with a hot and incredibly uncomfortable pillow, then you’ve been created using AI.

There is no other explanation.

As the woman in the aisle shuffles through her purse, looking for who the fuck knows, I stare at her hoping that my blinking communicates my displeasure without being an asshole.

When the woman pulls out an inhaler, and takes a dose, I regret everything I thought in the moments leading up to this realization.

She finally gets moving, and I’m free to grab my bag from the overhead bin and make my way down the tiny space between the seats.

I dig my phone out of my pocket as soon as I’m officially off the plane, stepping to the side because I like my pillows to be nice and cool when I sleep. Flipping airplane mode off, I get texts from both Lennon and Ellie, and one from Noah, too.

Ellie:We’re waiting at baggage claim.

Lennon:I plan on filming you two and posting it on the internet. Please pretend you’re in the military, and you’ve been gone for months. I was thinking about writing a book, and a viral video will really help with any future sales.

I snort a laugh, flicking to the message from Noah.

Noah:Do you have Lennon’s number?

My brow furrows, and I type out a quick response.

Me:Why?

Three dots appear in the bubble at the bottom of the screen, but I don’t bother waiting for his answer. I’ll get to it later. Besides, Lennon will be at baggage claim, anyway, and I need to make sure she actuallywantsNoah to have her number.

I like my dick firmly attached to my body, and based on their scuffle at the art show, the odds of her wanting him to have her number are slim to absolutely fucking not.

Walking up the ramp, I listen to the slide of my suitcase, moving my jaw in an effort to get my ears to pop.

Once they do, the murmurs become less muffled, and I quicken my pace toward the baggage claim.

The walk seems to stretch on forever.

When I finally move down the escalator, I’m shocked to find that I have what feels like another mile to go.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out.

Lennon:Hurry up or we’re leaving you here.

I snort again, quickening my pace.

When she finally comes into view, my smile splits so wide I’m sure I’ve injured every muscle in my face.

She looks good, tired, but certainly alive and well.

I don’t run–if only to ruin Lennon’s stupid viral video, but when I’m standing in front of her, and she whispers, “hi,” I drop my bag and wrap my arms around her. Lifting Ellie off the ground and breathing her in.

“I fucking love you.” My voice is low, meant only for her, but when Lennon makes a gagging noise from where she stands with her phone held out, I know that Ellie wasn’t the only one who heard.

“Hurry it up, you two!” she says, and I carefully lower Ellie to the floor.

Picking up my suitcase, I tuck her beneath my arm, refusing to let her go. “For someone who was trying to make a sweet video, you sure ruined it with your complaining,” I say.

Lennon chuckles. “I’ll put sappy music over it. It’ll be fine.”

She adjusts her backpack straps and starts walking to the conveyor belt that is slowly beginning to spit out larger luggage.

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