Page 118 of Crazy In Love

“Hey, babe!” He catches a woman on the fly—hiswoman—and lays a juicy, noisy, over-the-top kiss on her lips.

Her legs wrap around his hips.

His hands cup her ass.

It’s loud and lovely and a beautiful declaration of love.

But it’s not for me.

My phone trills, music playing through my headphones, so I tap my ear and slump like I’m eighty-five years old and ready to play with my belly button lint. “This is Fox.”

“Oh, good!” Booker exclaims. “You’ve landed.”

“Mmhm. Are you back yet?”

“Yeah. I flew into LaGuardia about an hour ago. I tried to call when I landed, but I figured you must’ve still been in the air.”

“Yep.”Chief Unhappiness Orangutan. That’s me. “Glad you made it back safely. I only just walked out of JFK, so I’m gonna get a cab and head back to my apartment.”

“Actually, I was gonna ask if you wanted to get that dinner with me and Sherry tonight? Things are moving quickly now that you’ve accepted the position in Rome. The next few days are going to kick our butts, and I didn’t want to miss out on one of our last opportunities to?—”

“No, thanks.” I left New York in a skirt suit and heels. Perfect hair.Confidence. But I’ve returned feeling like the hunchback who lives at Notre Dame. “It’s already dinnertime, Booker. I’m starving and cranky and ridiculously tired. I need a shower and someone to punch me in the face. I’d like to feel literally anything except existential dread.”

“Yikes.” He laughs. “Bad flight, huh?”

Bad life. Bad… everything. “I can’t wait another two hours to eat, and not in a million years am I coming to dinner with plane air on my skin and in my hair. I’m heading home, soaking in the tub, and if I’m lucky, I might slip under the surface and addle my brains a little before someone pulls me out.”

“Well…” His laughter falls away. “That doesn’t sound good. Anything you wanna talk about?”

“Can’t.”You’re a guy. And I have to make my choices for me.“I’m good.”

“We’re friends, right? You’ve always been my friend. So if something is wrong, you’d tell me?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just really tired.” I catch a flash of yellow from the corner of my eye, a cab—my prince charming—driving this way. So I bound from my suitcase and snatch up the handle, and despite the ache in my ankle, the throbbing in my squished thumb, the incessantwee-woo-wee-wooof my suitcase, I charge toward the street with one hand in the air. “Taxi!”

“Taxi!” Another guy strides from the airport doors, his shout louder than mine. His eyes swing my way, then back to the cab. Then, like it’s a race and he’s ready, he drops his shoulder and runs. “Mine!”

“That’s my taxi!”Wee-woo-wee-woo! “Jerkoff! You know I saw it first!”

“Sorry, lady.” He’s faster than me by a long shot, swinging the door wide and diving in with an undignifiedfwump. Then they’re moving again, and I’m just… I’m me. All alone. With my dumb broken suitcase.

“Er…” Booker clears his throat. “I feel like I probably shouldn’t ask. That sounded rough.”

“Don’t ask! Don’t tell. Don’t speak at all.” I lower my hands and ignore the dumb trembling in my jaw. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people loiter outside of the airport. But no one sees me. No one gives a single shit about me or my tears. “That wasmycab.”

“It’s like you’ve forgotten how to New York,” he teases. “It’s not the first to see the cab, Fox. It’s the first to have their butt inside.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll send a car. Michael can be there in about thirty minutes, so why don’t you head back inside and get a cup of coffee or something?”

“No.” I walk all the way to the curb and park my suitcase on the very edge, then crossing my ankles, I lower to my butt andharrumph. “I’ve got the next cab, no matter what. I’m ready to fight for it.”

“And… dinner tonight?”

“Absolutely not! I’m gonna go try the drowning thing. I’ll see you at the office at nine o’clock sharp. Until then, forget I exist. Gah!” Overstimulated and frustrated, I whip loose strands of hair off my face andtwist the ends together. But I have no hairclip and I’m not sure I have a hair tie stuffed away in my bag. “I’m hanging up. Leave me alone.”

“Fine.” He grunts. “Sorry I bothered you on personal time.”