Page 115 of I’m The Worst

I’ve never seen him look like that before. Almost…human.

The car jerks, snapping my eyes open. Through the darkness, I see bright lights up ahead—big, glowing signs, shipping containers stacked high in the distance. I can’t read the signs, but the military presence is noticeable.

“We’re here.” His grip on my hip tightens just slightly.

The car slows, weaving through trucks and metal structures, engines rumbling around us.

“We go through customs. Then we board. Stay near me the whole time.”

He parks in a shadowed corner and cuts the engine. For a moment, neither of us moves. My chest tightens, fear slipping back in, my heart racing.

“Wolff…what are— How do we pretend to be married?”

“I’ll do the talking. Once we’re on the ship, we don’t leave the cabin.”

I nod, even though nothing about that makes me feel better. His hand slides from my hip, brushing my thigh as he reaches for the door. I let go of his shirt and sit up, and the loss of him hits instantly.

“Wolff…I—” I stare up at him as his green eyes scan my face. “I’m really fucking scared. I just— I don’t know how we’re⁠—”

His thumb drags across my cheek, catching a tear I didn’t even realize fell. Tilting my chin, he crashes his mouth into mine, stealing the air from my lungs. His other hand tangles in my hair, pulling me closer, his tongue pushing past my lips, owning my mouth.

For half a second, I freeze.

Then I’m kissing him back just as hard. My hands grab his jacket, fists clenching, pulling him in like I’m trying to anchor myself to something real.

Everything spins.

My head. My chest. When he pulls back, it’s abrupt. Like he forced himself to. His forehead presses to mine, both of us breathing harshly.

“I thought you don’t kiss…” I whisper as our lips graze, his beard rough against my skin.

His eyes move over my face, and for a second, something slips. I’ve never seen him look like this… Softer…

“I don’t…” He kisses me again, slower, deeper, his thumb stroking my jaw. “But husbands kiss their wives.”

My heart pounds against my ribs.

“I’m getting you home, AJ. I promise.”

He pulls back, his eyes holding mine for a second longer. Then he releases me, opening the door and guiding us out into the cold night. He rummages through the duffel bags he packed, removing the guns.

“What are you going to do if we need those?” I watch him stash them under the back seat. “If you can’t bring⁠—”

“I don’t need a gun to kill someone.”

The cold saltwater air bites at my skin, the sound of waves slapping against the ships and shore echoing in the distance. My body thrums with anxiety as we get closer to the terminal. His hand rests on the small of my back, guiding me as we weave through the crowd.

The customs area comes into view all at once, brightly lit. Rows of officers are stationed behind booths, checking passports, while armed Russian soldiers patrol the lines. I drop my gaze immediately, forcing myself not to look too long at anyone, not to draw attention, not to give myself away.

Joining a line, Wolff’s arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me into his side in one smooth motion that feels natural, but I know it’s just for show.

Acting like a married couple.

“Relax, solnyshko. Keep your head on my chest.”

I hesitate for half a second before doing what he says, letting my forehead rest against his chest, my fingers curling lightly into his coat as I breathe him in—leather, pine soap, and something darker underneath that clings to him, no matter how much time passes.

The line inches forward.