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Sometimes, it’s hard not to hate men.
But I really have to pee, so I put my bathroom grievances aside, enter the stall, and get down to business.
Just as I flush, the bathroom door opens.
Footsteps enter.
I freeze. My heart leaps into my throat, and for a long moment, I stare blankly at the beige metal wall because I have no idea what to do. I didn’t think this far ahead. I didn’t think ahead at all, thanks to the Smurf’s Vacation.
It didn’t even occur to me that I might get caught.
So I do nothing. I stand stock-still in the bathroom stall, staring wide-eyed at the back of the metal door, and hold my breath.
The footsteps enter. They come right up to the stall, then pause.
He can’t be more than a foot away from me.
My palms start sweating, all my alcohol-induced bravado gone.
What if it’s a cop? I think.
Can I get arrested for this?
I think I can get arrested for this. I’ve never been arrested before. They’ll send me to jail, and I can’t go to jail, I can’t handle those social dynamics —
I, Thalia Lopez, am many things.
A daughter. A sister. A college senior. A Madison Scholar.
I am not a rule breaker.
I’m a rule follower, neatly and to the letter. I love toeing a good line. I love staying within boundaries. I delight in abiding by the law, and right now, I wish with every ounce of my being that I were outside, in the hallway, standing in heels with a full bladder.
Finally, the steps move again. A moment later, there’s the sound of a urinal being used, then flushed. The water in the sink goes on. Paper towels crinkle.
At last, the bathroom door opens and swings shut.
I exhale and, without thinking, lean my forehead against the cool metal door.
Then I remember where I am and jerk upright again, because I’m sure this door is crawling with germs.
Thank you, Jesus, I think. I promise not to commit any bathroom crimes ever again.
I slide back the lock on the door, double-check that my skirt is pulled down properly and covering everything it’s supposed to cover, and then push the door open and stride forward confidently.
I nearly walk into him.
“Aughfwoo!” I yelp, and stop suddenly, and the sudden stop makes my heel catch on a piece of broken tile and have I mentioned that I am, technically, somewhat inebriated? And anyway, now I’m flailing in the general direction of the urinal.
“Whoa,” he says, and catches me, one hand on my upper arm, holding me until I’ve properly found my footing again.
“You left,” I gasp, the only thing I can think of because I’m medium-drunk and also medium-stunned and more-than-medium confused.
“Really? Seems like I’m still here,” he says, one eyebrow slightly raised, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face.
His very, very handsome face.
For a second, my brain simply switches off because this bathroom stranger might be the most handsome man I’ve seen in my life. He’s probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in person, and absolutely the most handsome one I’ve seen in a men’s bathroom.
Tall. Wide. Green eyes. Brown hair, tending to gold in spots. Slight stubble. Square jaw. Forest-green t-shirt stretched over thick shoulders and biceps that must be Photoshopped or something.
I feel like someone must be playing a trick on me. Did my roommates somehow hire someone to come flirt with me in the bathroom? Is this some kind of setup?
Am I being catfished? Are they the ones catfishing me, or do they think they’re doing something nice by hiring an excessively attractive man to follow me in here?
I stop gawping, clear my throat, and look directly into a sea of green.
“This is the women’s restroom, right?” I ask.Chapter TwoThaliaSingle eyebrow still raised, he casually looks to his left, then his right, as if he’s searching for something, and even that is attractive.
Good Lord, what is in a Smurf’s Vacation?
“It’s not,” he says, his smile widening a few millimeters and giving me heart palpitations. “And I have to say, I was under the impression that women’s restrooms didn’t have urinals.”
I rub my hands together, palms slightly sweaty, and glance over at the urinal.
“Though since I’ve never been in a women’s restroom, I can’t say I know for sure,” he goes on. “If there’s a line for the men’s, I just wait.”
“I’m sure you also only cross the street at crosswalks and never exceed the speed limit,” I say, my mouth running ahead of my brain. “Since you love following rules so much.”
I press my lips together, because I need to stop talking. I’m nervous and slightly drunk, and that’s making me be an asshole to this very handsome man who’s clearly just teasing me.
Flirting? Is he flirting?
Oh no. Oh crap. Oh no.
How do people flirt?!
“If you opened the door and then shut it just so I’d come out and you could bust me, that’s entrapment,” I inform him, heart hammering away in my chest, mouth still several steps ahead of brain. “And entrapment is unconstitutional and also illegal.”
