BookCon Carry-On

Chapter 1

ONE

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and checked the speedometer for the fifth time in sixty seconds. Happy as I was that my nineteen-year-old son would never drive over the speed limit, his need to uphold the laws of the road, no matter how late his mother was for her flight, was killing me.

We’d left early for the airport, too. But there was no way I could have predicted a big rig carrying sex toys would burst open on the freeway, sending cargo tumbling onto traffic.

That made for an awkward few minutes, with my son carefully weaving around boxes of blow-up dolls and butt plugs.

Little did he know what his own mother had planned during her big weekend trip.

My son Carlos scoffed in disgust. “As soon as you leave, I’m changing this thing back to its factory default.”

“Don’t you dare. I won’t know how to turn him back on again.” One of my best friends, Yazmine, uploaded Ramón the last time she came to visit—just after I signed my divorce papers. She said I needed to be reminded that I was a baddie every day, even if it was from a bot.

“Hey, Victoria, you sexy thang, take this exit.”

Carlos grumbled to himself but flicked the blinker on. He looked over his shoulder twice before entering the off-ramp.

My knees started to bob. I gripped the worn paperback of Warrior Lovers to ease the building tension.

I planned to reread it on the flight but didn’t have the time to stuff it into my carry-on.

The rational part of my mind told me stressing over my flight would do me no good.

But I was worried about missing the only departure offered that day from my tiny airport in Northern California to Atlanta where I was meeting my best friends at Flirty Flings BookCon.

Like many bookstagrammers, Yazmine, Katie, and I had met online during the pandemic when we kept commenting on the same book review posts.

We loved most of the same romances—hated several of the same ones, too.

Eventually, our comment section banter turned into a group chat.

Our conversations morphed into subjects beyond books.

A deep and beautiful friendship was born, and at some point, we became like family.

“Mom,” Carlos said.

He glanced at me like he was gauging the temperature of my mood based on how I answered back. He always did that.

“Yes?” I replied evenly. I didn’t want him to feel my anxiety.

“Did Dad tell you what’s going on this weekend?” he asked.

My stomach dropped. Not because I cared that my ex-husband, Alanzo, and his fiancée were having an engagement party, but because Carlos thought I cared.

“He did. And I’m happy for him.” I wasn’t.

Why should this new woman, pleasant and good with the kids as she was, get the best version of Alanzo?

The version I built. The version I carried through sleepless nights with newborns, and raising three active boys, and job offers, and layoffs, and the loss of his parents, and so much more.

I was Alanzo’s support system for so long—since high school. But that wasn’t all I was.

I had somehow let myself become whatever he wanted me to be. I became his lover. His wife. His whatever he needed at that moment. He was never mine. We were never a we. Everything had been about him and his needs, and I’d been too caught up in believing that lie to see the truth.

When our marriage ended, I was devastated. I thought my world was ending. But it wasn’t because I loved him; it was because I would miss him in my life. I didn’t know who I was without him. I didn’t know what I wanted for myself because he had given me those answers for so long.

“Have you thought about dating again?” Carlos asked.

“Or like, talking to an actual man? Not Ramón.” When I shot him a look, he rolled his eyes.

“We all know you named the GPS Ramón. Aren’t you tired of reading about people in love?

” He nodded toward the book I was clutching.

“Don’t you want a real man in your life? ”

“Hell no. I had one for twenty-four years . . .” and he ruined me—was what I almost said. But I would never. I was a child of divorce. I knew the sinking feeling you got when your parents spoke poorly about each other. Beyond our shit, Alanzo had been a good father to our three children.

I understood why my son was asking me about finding someone new, someone real. Of my three boys, Carlos had always been the most sensitive, the one who saw everything for what it truly was. He tipped the scales when it came to empathy.

I changed the subject by pointing at a spot in the departure drop-off lane that he could pull into. “There.”

“I know, Mom.”

We slid to a smooth stop, and I hopped out at once. I grabbed my suitcase and carry-on from the backseat. As I stuffed my book inside my bag, I met my eldest son’s expectant gaze.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me leaving?” I asked. “You’re only in town from school so often.”

He shook his head and smiled, the gesture so like his dad. All three of my boys inherited Alanzo’s handsome face and stocky builds, but they had my light brown skin and brown, wavy hair. “I see you like every other weekend,” he said. “And we’re staying at Dad’s anyway.”

“Right. Of course.” I offered a tight smile.

“Have fun. Use those dating apps me and Katie loaded while you’re there. I bet there’s some nice old dudes where you’re going.”

“Old dudes? I’m forty-five!”

“Exactly.”

I shut the door on his laughter.

“Love you!” I shouted through the window. “Don’t forget your brothers have lacrosse in the morning!” His dad would be busy with preparations for his engagement party. We’d already made sure my mom and Carlos were okay with taking the twins to their game.

My son nodded and waved before putting on his blinker, checking his blind spots, and driving off.

My phone buzzed. I dug into my pants and winced at the message on my screen.

Hello, Happy Skies customer. Please make your way to Gate 15B. Your flight will be boarding in 30 minutes.

“Shit!” I grabbed my bags and sprinted inside.