Page 4 of Checking Mr. Wrong
Of course he has the power to make me think twice about looking the gift horse in the mouth. I also wish I knew what that phrase really meant. “You have a point. Now, let me go find my ride out of here so I can get to work.”
I hang up and tuck my phone back into my pocket when I realize I’ve got a serious case of dry mouth. I make my way to a fast food counter and order a soda with lots of extra ice I can chew on, then scan the terminal again. This time, over by the automatic exit doors, a sign catches my eye:McCluskey. Bingo.
Sipping my drink, I gleefully push the trolley toward the man holding the sign. Look, I’m not thrilled to be here, but I am looking forward to getting home and taking a long hot shower. This gal is getting pungent after a day of travel in the cramped quarters of economy.
The man in question is older, gray-haired, and wearing a crisp black suit that screams “airport driver.” As I approach, I clear my throat. “Hi. McCluskey. That’s me.”
Before the man can respond, a familiar voice cuts in from behind me.
“Okay, Joe. I got what I came for.”
I whip around, and there he is with his blue eyes sparkling with glee—the cart thief. He stands there, clutching some odd-looking baggage and towering over me with that stupidly carefree grin plastered across his face, as if fate finds this whole situation hilarious.
“Oh, no,” I mutter under my breath.
“Oh, yes,” he says, clearly having overheard me.
“I mean, oh no. This isn’t a cab,” I say, pointing at the driver with my thumb. “He’s a friend of my stepdad’s and he’s my ride.”
“Your stepdad,” the trolley thief says, “Murray?”
“Yes,” I growl.
Big eyes look back at me as he points to his trolley. “I had a couple of bags that didn’t land with me when I arrived a few days ago that I needed to pick up. Murray offered for me to share your car today so I could get my things.”
That good relationship I have with Murray may be officially tested today. “He did what now?”
“I’ve got an SUV, it’s big enough.” The driver’s gaze rocks back and forth between us, his expression impassive but his eyebrows creeping upward just slightly. “This way.”
The jolly giant gestures for me to go first, his grin widening. “After you.”
Grabbing my trolley, I follow the driver toward the sleek black SUV parked at the curb while my new friend strolls behind me, whistling a jaunty tune like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The driver, who introduces himself as Joe, throws my bags and the trolley thief’s into the trunk while I slide into the back seat, scooting over as far as humanly possible without plastering myself to the door.
Of course, my new buddy plops down right next to me, his long legs invading what little personal space I have left. Consideringhow large the back seat of an SUV is, this is some feat on his part.
“Cozy,” he says with a wink.
I turn my attention to the window, willing the car to start moving. It does, smoothly pulling away from the curb and into the endless flow of airport traffic. I dig into my bag, pulling out my travel folder. The bold labelAthletic Edgeglares back at me, a stark reminder of the to-do list I’m already dreading.
“Athletic Edge?” he asks, leaning slightly toward me. “Are you a sports fan?”
I snap the folder shut and shove it back into my bag. “Something like that.”
He doesn’t seem deterred. “What sport?”
“Lots of them,” I say vaguely, pulling out my phone as if I have an urgent text to answer.
He chuckles, sitting back and giving me a look like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Are you always this chatty?”
I ignore him, pretending the scenery outside is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
Thankfully, he gets bored of me pretty fast, because in an instant he’s leaning forward and tapping Joe on his shoulder.
“How long have you been doing this?” he asks, launching into easy small talk.
Joe’s voice softens as he starts talking about his job, his years driving for various clients, and his favorite stories from the road. My seatmate keeps the conversation going with the kind of warmth and enthusiasm that makes me wonder if he’s running for governor of the state or maybe he’s naturally this annoying. Me, I say a silent thank you to the gods of airline flights that he wasn’t sitting next to me for the flight across the country. I am not a travel talker, no thank you and no way.
I try to tune them out, scrolling aimlessly through my phone until it beeps with a new email notification. It’s from Frank.
