1
“Can you move?” a voice behind me growls.
Startled, I turn toward the man behind me in the line. “I’m sorry?” I say in a fluster. “Did you want to get past?”
“No. I want these f*****g idiots at the desk to hurry up. I’m going to miss my damn plane.” He sneers, and I smell the alcohol wafting off him.
“They make me sick.”
I turn back to the front. Great, a drunk in the check-in line. Just what I need.
Heathrow Airport is bustling. Bad weather has delayed most of the flights, and to be honest, I wish they would delay mine. Then I could turn around and go back to the hotel and sleep for a week.
I am not in the mood for this s**t.
I hear the man turn and complain to the people behind him, and I roll my eyes. Why are people so damn rude?
For another ten minutes, I listen to him b***h, sigh, and moan until I can take it no longer. I turn to him. “They are working as fast as they can.
There’s no need to be rude,” I snap.
“What?” he yells as he turns his anger on me.
“Manners are free,” I mutter under my breath.
“Manners are free?” he cries. “What are you, a schoolteacher? Or just a raving b***h?”
I glare at him. Oh, I dare all right. I’ve just spent the last forty-eight hours in hell. I flew across the world to go to a wedding, only to watch my ex-boyfriend drape himself over his new girlfriend. I’m in the mood to cut somebody today.
Don’t mess with me.
I turn back to the front as my fury begins to boil.
He kicks my suitcase at my feet, and I turn. “Stop it,” I snap.
He gets right up in my face, and I wince at the smell of his breath. “I’ll do whatever I f*****g like.”
I see security come through the lounge as they watch him. The staff have seen what’s going on here and called for backup. I fake a smile.
“Please don’t kick my bag, sir,” I say sweetly.
“I’ll kick whatever I f*****g like.” He picks up my suitcase and throws it across the airport.
“What the hell?” I screech.
“Hey,” the man behind us cries. “Don’t touch her stuff. Security!” he says.
Mr. Drunk and Disorderly throws a punch at my savior, and a scuffle breaks out.
Security comes running in from everywhere, and I am pushed back as he throws punches and screams obscenities. Oh hell, I do not need this today.
Eventually they get him under control, and he is taken away in handcuffs. The kind security guard picks up my bag. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes. “Come with me,” he says as he unhooks the rope on the line.
“Thank you.” I smile awkwardly at everyone else in the line. I hate jumping the queue, but at this point, I just don’t care. “Great.” I sheepishly follow him, and he takes me to a young man’s counter. He looks up and smiles broadly. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
“Are you okay?” he asks.
