Surviving Us Read Free Page B

not the ring.
    “I hope you two have a great time doing all those adult things,” I snicker, unable to hold in my inner-smartass any longer. “Don’t forget sunscreen if you’re gonna run around topless.” I wink at her as I step out into the aisle and begin to move towards the exit.
    Stefania’s high-pitched giggles fade quickly as I hurriedly step through the hatch door, only to find myself outside, walking down a portable flight of stairs pulled up to the side of the plane. Where in the world are we ?
    As my feet find the solid ground, my eyes dart around the unfamiliar area, trying to figure out where to go, but all I see is a big-ass parking lot and a grass-roofed shack the rest of the passengers are walking towards. There isn’t another aircraft in sight, and the airport—if that’s what you want to call it—looks like the cabana bar in Lyv’s dad’s backyard.
    “Just be happy they didn’t kill all of us,” a gruff voice from behind me mutters.
    “Huh?” I spin around to find him standing behind me, his face expressionless, hiding in the shadow of his brim.
    He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, then walks past me, softly nudging my shoulder with his arm. “Come on. Let’s get our bags and find a ride; you don’t need to be left alone.”
    I stand there dumbfounded for a moment, wondering how in the hell this trip can continue to get weirder by the minute. “What?!” I finally squawk, taking brisk steps to catch up. “What did you say to me? Who do you think you are? And why can’t I be left alone?” My feet have to work just as fast as my mouth to keep up with him, his long legs striding dead ahead across the pavement.
    We reach the open-air structure—no doors or windows, just a wide-open space—and he still hasn’t answered my questions or even looked back to make sure I’m still with him. There’s a guy in a red t-shirt and jeans directing us where to go to retrieve our luggage, and as we step into the makeshift airport, emo-boy abruptly grabs my hand, jerking me close to his side.
    “Don’t fight me on this,” he insists, speaking low under his breath. “This place isn’t safe for a girl like you. I’ll help you find your bags and get us to the resort. Then, you never have to speak to me again,” he leans down to whisper suggestively in my ear, “or you can thank me later, if you’d like.”
    I attempt to yank my hand from his, but he holds on tight, laughing heartily at my reaction. “Calm down. Jesus, I was only joking. For some crazy reason, I’m trying to help you, not hit on you.”
    Lifting my eyes up to meet his striking light brown ones, I hiss in a jagged breath—he’s so much more than good-looking. Panty-dropping gorgeous is probably a better description, but having already been exposed to his self-proclaimed dickishness, and then seeing his juvenile outburst on the plane, my brain is sending messages as quickly as possible to my panties to hold-on tight.
    “I didn’t think you were trying to hit on me,” I retort, turning my nose up in the air. “According to your shirt, your taste in women is much more refined and experienced .”
    Another deep laugh emanates from him, resulting in a grin that shows off two perfectly-placed dimples, one on each side of his pearly-white smile. “Come on.” He tugs me into an area to the left, where apparently our entire plane’s luggage has been dumped in the corner of the room. “You’re funny, Mets girl. And yeah, your mom is probably more my style. Now, what does your luggage look like?”
    I flinch at the mention of my mom, my face heating up. “I’ve got two bags, both zebra-print with hot pink tags, and unless you’re into necrophilia, Yankees boy , she’s probably not your type either.”
    This time when I release his hand, he lets me go.
    I shuffle over to the mess, immediately locating both of my suitcases, already feeling bad for what I said. I’ve never been one to throw my parents’ deaths in