Thanks, Cortney. But I could have already called the fact that this would be a bumpy ride.
3
Nikki
Four hours later,I finally unclench my ass cheeks.
It felt as though we flew through a hurricane, not the light turbulence Cortney warned us of. If this is any indication of how this week is going to go, I should probably go ahead and book myself a one-way on a cruise ship to start slowly sailing back home.
“We’ve landed. You can stop white-knuckling the armrests. I’m sure you’ve left a dent in the fabric,” Antonio says smugly.
I release my death grip and run my hands up and down the fabric. Don’t need Evan to threaten me with an upholstery bill.
“How were you able to sleep through that? I thought we were going down at least three times.” I huff as the flight attendants start the deplaning process.
Antonio shrugs. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Okay, sociopath.
A man decked out in Dominican customs gear walks onto the plane and makes a beeline for us.
Whoa, holy hot balls. This guy looks like he could be related to Antonio. What is in the water here? And can I drink it without being chained to a toilet?
“Pasaportes?” the customs hottie asks with a wink in my direction.
Fanny flutters: Activated.
As I openly check out Officer Ortega, Antonio makes quick work of handing over our passports and the documentation we had to fill out. During the flight, he took my passport from my bag and filled out my customs paperwork when I was unable to open my eyes due to paralyzing fear.
Officer Ortega opens my passport first and smiles. “Nicolette McClane.” He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, comoDie Hard.” He laughs.
Fanny flutters: Deactivated.
I hate my legal name.
I hate how it’s just another part of a life based on lies.
And I especially hate theDie Hardreferences. Which is why Officer Ortega can go ahead and wrap up this process and get a move on.
Antonio seems to notice my shift in mood and quirks a questioning eyebrow in my direction.
My cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. In my attempt to hide my physical reaction, I roll my eyes with extra flair and hope that he’ll ignore me.
Like he usually does.
After we’ve completed the process, Officer Ortega tries to make small talk with me while I politely nod and smile. I’m dying to stand and stretch since I spent the last four hours wound tighter than a spring, but he’s currently blocking my exit path.
As if Antonio can read my thoughts, he unfolds himself and stands at his full height, then moves to stand next to my new chatty sidekick. With a firm pat on his shoulder and a few words exchanged in Spanish, Officer Ortega nods at us, welcomes us to the Dominican Republic, and hightails it off the plane.
That’s odd.
“What did you tell him?” I ask as I stand to stretch.God, that feels good.
Antonio ignores my question and wiggles my passport in front of my face. “Just remember to keep one thing in mind. You have an American passport, and you have that Malibu Barbie thing going on, so the men here will be like white on rice for you.”
I scrunch up my face. “Huh?”
Antonio sighs deeply as he drops my documents back into my open purse. “Your passport, your all-American look, they’re like beacons to the working-class men here.” He brushes past me to walk toward the plane exit. “You’re their golden ticket out of this country. A fast-track to a green card. So remember that the next time you turn into putty with a simple wink.”
