Page 4 of A Mutually Beneficial Proposal

Ella

Oh my God,what have I done?

Kenzie and Piper dropped me off at the Charlotte terminals five minutes ago, but instead of going straight to security with my carry-on bag like I should have, I dart for the bathroom, trying to avoid hyperventilating in the largest airport in North Carolina.

Now, I’m staring in the mirror, trying to ignore the red blotches appearing on my normally sun-kissed skin or the section of wavy umber hair I missed earlier that morning when I was straightening the sometimes-unruly strands.

My green eyes look back at me, almost mockingly. I shouldn’t go on this trip. I should take a taxi home and hide away for the next six days, but the harder I stare at myself, the stronger I try to feel. The waves of post break-up emotions are moving through me like a tsunami, and I refuse to drown.

“Fuck that. Fuck Gavin. Fuck the coffee stain on my new white shirt,” I say, then I hear a giggle from the stall behind me.

Could this get any worse?

It absolutely could. I need to keep my thoughts positive and get through security before I officially chicken out.

I grab the handle of my suitcase, packed only with swimsuits, shorts, tank tops, sandals, and underwear. I didn’t even bring makeup. I have no one to impress. Men will mean nothing to me while I’m gone.

I exit the bathroom, and a dark-haired man bumps into me, plowing through to security without even offering an apologetic glance back. He goes up to pre-check like he owns the place.

“And this is further proof as to why I don’t need a man in my life,” I say to myself before heading toward the back of the long security line for those of us who didn’t pay extra to skip steps.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, I get to the front of the line, and the uniformed woman sighs at me. “Identification and boarding pass.”

I hand over my passport and hold my phone with my flight information over the scanner. “You’re not the name on the ticket, miss. You’ll have to go check with the airline on your flight.”

Shit. I scanned Gavin’s ticket.

“I’m sorry. My phone was on…someone else’s ticket. I have mine.” I swipe on the screen and show her.

She grunts, clearly suspicious of me. “Scan it again.”

I do as I’m told, worried she’s about to tell me I can’t go. Though, would that really be the worst thing? Probably not.

The longer I’m standing here, the more my stomach fills with concrete.

“Okay, go on through,” she says and shoves my driver’s license back at me.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding and move forward. I’m grateful my carry-on isn’t heavy when I lift it onto the conveyor belt before putting my purse and tennis shoes into the provided plastic tub.

The next TSA agent doesn’t appear to hate his job as much as the previous one when he guides me forward. I stand in the x-ray machine with my legs spread and arms up like I’m a criminal. The machine does its swoosh-y thing around me, then beeps, and I step out.

Another woman agent points at me. “Please, step to the side, ma’am.”

I glance around in case there’s anyone else she could possibly be speaking to. “Uh, why?”

“Random security check. You’re the lucky winner this round. Please stand with your legs apart and hold your arms out to the side,” she says.

This is incredibly embarrassing, but I comply, hoping it’s over before too many people can gawk.

She begins at my ankles, checking my socks, then moves to my shorts. She teeters a little from where she’s kneeling, and her hands accidentally press a little too hard over my recently waxed and still-sensitive vagina. I make a noise not at all appropriate for the situation.

She raises her brow at me, and I shrug. “Normally, I get dinner before letting anyone get that close.”

This agent cracks a smile and I realize this is as uncomfortable for her as it is me. She hurries to finish, only patting my boobs for a half-second.

I try to find some amusement in the feel-up, given I don’t plan on it happening again anytime soon.

“Whose bag is this?” a man’s voice booms over the crowd.

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