“You want to take off?” I could hear the disbelief in his voice. “Fellas!” he called to the background. “Hart wants to take off.” I shook my head as laughter erupted on the other end of the phone. It was a running joke down at the station that I had perfect attendance. I was never sick, never absent, always working overtime.
“A whole seven days?” he asked.
“Yeah. Taking a last-minute vacation to help a friend.”
“You picked a hell of a time, Jacobs.” He whistled. “The one time of year everybody in Azalea sets shit on fire trying to be romantic.”
“Can you just approve the days, old man?” I rubbed a hand over my face. I knew it was a busy weekend, but I also knew I was going on this trip regardless of his approval. I wasn’t calling to ask permission. I was calling to let him know I wouldn’t be there.
“For anybody else, I would say hell no,” he grumbled. “But you don’t ever ask for nothing, and you’re sitting on time anyway.”
“Appreciate you, Chief.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He laughed. “See you bright and early Thursday morning. Enjoy your little getaway.”
“See you, Chief.” I ended the call and dropped the phone into the cup holder before starting the car and pulling off. I had a vacation to pack for, even if this trip had “bad decisions” written all over it.
“Harlowe,”Hasheem called behind me as we pushed through the crowd at the Addis Ababa airport on our layover to Zanzibar.
“They could start boarding any second!” I kept walking, looking between my boarding ticket and the signs plastered around the airport. To say I was frantic was an understatement. Our first flight had taken off late, which meant our layover time had been cut in half. I didn’t care how fast I had to zip through this airport. I wasn’t missing that flight. How unprofessional would that make me look?
“We already cleared security, so chill,” Hasheem said as he grabbed my arm and forced my stride to slow down. I glanced back at him with a side eye, ready to go off, but the words died in my throat. He was right beside me now, gazing down at me withhis broad shoulders, gray sweats, and perfectly lined up beard and fresh fade. The gold chain he always wore around his neck had the nerve to be glistening effortlessly as he juggled both our carry-on suitcases and my ring light bag like it was nothing.
“You know they don’t wait for anybody. We can’t miss this flight,” I reminded him.
“They ain’t leavin’ without us. Shit, if we miss this flight, I’ll charter us a private jet out of this bitch.” He put his palm on the small of my back and steered me closer to his side. “Chill. You’re walking through this motherfucker looking like you’re trying to find somebody’s manager or something. I’ma start calling yo’ ass Karen.”
I snorted. “Fuck you. You know that?”
“I’m aware… Look, we got plenty of time,” he said, chin jerking toward the screens. “See? Gate 17. Departs at 11:55 a.m.”
I sucked my teeth but followed his gaze anyway. There we were, Gate 17 to Zanzibar, boarding at 11:55 a.m. I looked down at my phone. It was currently 11:10 a.m. We had about forty minutes.
“It’s not going to take us forty minutes to get to Gate 17,” he said. “You running through this motherfucker like TSA on your ass.”
I smirked, and a breath I didn’t even know I was holding slipped from my lips. Maybe I was being ridiculous.
“I’m sorry. I’m just—” My voice lowered. “I don’t want to fumble this. There’s so much riding on it.”
“I get it, and you’re not going to fumble it. You got this. So chill out before you pass out, and I have to carry you to the hospital ER.”
“Let me chill then. ’Cause you’re not even strong enough for all that. Gon’ have us both on the floor.”
“Girl, please,” he muttered. “I carry water hoses heavier than you.”
“I doubt it.”
“Fuck around and find out. Come on.”
Hasheem grabbed my hand and led me through the airport. Suddenly, I felt like a child who had just gotten in trouble for running off in the grocery store. My feet were moving at a calmer pace, but my head was still spinning. I was really doing this—flying across the world with Hasheem as my fake boyfriend. There were so many things that could go wrong and so much at stake. I legit didn’t know if I could pull this off.
“You still in yo’ head,” Hasheem said without even looking in my direction.
“Mind yo’ business.”
“You’ve been my business since freshman year.” He squeezed my hand, and my heart did that little flutter thing it always did when Hasheem was around. I would usually say something slick that helped me push that flutter to the side, but before I could respond, we turned the corner, and our gate came into view.
The monitor over the gate said Boarding at 11:55 a.m. Nobody was lined up yet, just a few couples scattered in their seats, most either scrolling or asleep.
