My hands tremble a little as I hand my passport to the customs agent.
I wish I wasnât still feeling so nervous. I landed. I got my luggage. Iâm on time. Iâll find my coworkers in just a few minutes.
But my body doesnât seem to accept that. And with the amount of sweat trickling down my back, I wonât be surprised if I get detained for suspicious activity.
âWhat brings you to Mexico?â the man behind the desk asks.
âWork,â I croak.
He lifts a brow, holding my passport up so he can look at the photo and then back at me.
He does this for several seconds.
The pressure is too much.
I lift my hands and fan my face, the summer heat permeating the indoors. âSorry.â I keep fanning myself. âI donât like flying alone, and Iâm stressed out and hot, but I promise Iâm just here for work.â
The man stares at me for another beat before he smirks and hands the passport back to me. âYouâre good, Ms. Cantrell. Welcome to Mexico.â
My entire body sags in relief, and the manâs smile grows into a grin.
If I wasnât so obsessed with my growly big-dicked neighbor, I might ask this guy for his number.
âThank you.â I slip the passport into an interior pocket in my backpack, then zip it up, making sure thereâs no way for it to fall out or for someone with skilled fingers to lift it. âThank you,â I say again, then drag my suitcaseâwith my backpack attached to the handleâaway.
It doesnât take long before I spot a group of people I recognize standing next to the sign for transportation. It makes me feel a little better, but thereâs a part of me that wishes Hans couldâve come with me. I still barely know him, but his donât fuck with me attitude just makes me feel safe.
I square my shoulders and plaster a smile on my face.
Iâll see him soon enough. Time to face reality.