I’m not sure what I was anticipating from a truck stop bathroom, but it’s somehow more grim than I would have thought. The space resembles a single-occupancy gas station bathroom (the kind where you’re careful not to touchanything) with an avocado-green shower curtain drooping in the far corner. The dingy tile floor slopes inward to a drain at its center that’s guarded by a particularly vigilant spider. There’s no tiny bottle of shampoo. There’s no shelf for clothes. There’s not even a towel hook. Aside from the disconcertingly scorched toilet seat, there are no surfaces to speak of.
I can already feel the bile creeping back up my throat. I pop my head out the bathroom door, and the key clanks againstthe metal handle. I spot Ethan immediately and am flooded with relief.
He’s leaning over the counter, all charming smiles, chatting up the woman behind the glass, who’s been roused from her literary coma by his attention. She’s twirling her hair, for god’s sake. When she spoke to me, her entire body was an eye roll, but with Ethan, she exudes the small-town, effortlessly gorgeous energy of an undiscovered starlet. The scene makes my already sensitive stomach twist a bit more violently.
It’s not as though I’m surprised. I’ve seen the effect he has on women. And men for that matter. Everyone is drawn to him and the way he moves through the world with an easy confidence. That, paired with his whole floppy-haired, eager-to-please Labrador retriever thing, is kryptonite to almost everyone. I’m only immune to its potency because I’ve known him since he had a buzz cut, gapped teeth, and a passing interest in close-up magic. Nothing can dampen an objectively gorgeous man’s sex appeal quite like the memory of his thirteen-year-old self dousing my arm in lighter fluid while attempting to set a playing card on fire.
I’d be lying if I said that, from time to time, I haven’t noticed my platonic best friend in ways that are undoubtedlynon-platonic, but it always passes. Attraction might spark for a millisecond when he whispers into my ear during a movie, his hot breath kissing the spot on my neck that is biologically hardwired to send tingles down my spine, but then he immediately neutralizes it. He does or says something that reminds me that, at his core, he’s still Ethan: allergic to preparation, monotony, and monogamy. The exact opposite of my type, which can be best categorized as a man who has strongopinions on German appliance manufacturers and always splurges on the extended warranty.
I clear my throat, hoping to get Ethan’s attention without capturing the notice of the entire rest stop.
I’m only partially successful. Ethan swivels his head in my direction, and I watch Casually Stunning Counter Girl’s face fall in the absence of his shine.
He jogs over to me, the aforementioned floppy brown hair flopping floppily. The whole maneuver is surely making Counter Girl weak in the knees. “What do you need, Beek?”
I flutter my lashes. “Could I possibly tear you away from luring that poor girl into your van? We have a situation.”
“Don’tlovethat insinuation, but you’re in a fragile state, so we’re gonna breeze right past it…”
I jerk my head toward the set inspiration for the movieSawbehind me.“I need your help in there.”
“There, as in the bathroom?”
“No.There, as in the Portuguese consulate. Yes,the bathroom! There’s no shelf. I need you to hold my bag and pass me my stuff while I shower.”
He leans against the door frame to tilt his head through the opening. He peers around the room and comes up as empty as I did. He looks between me and the eerie room, the flickering fluorescent light catching on the edges of his jawline. “Can you set it on the floor?”
I have the patience of an absolute saint. “It’s already been claimed by the largest spider I’ve ever seen. This is his house, and I’m gonna respect that.”
His lips quirk. “You’re so cute when you’re petrified. Your nose gets all twitchy like a cartoon bunny rabbit’s…” Hetakes my bag from my hands and strides into the bathroom, our arms brushing in a way that is surely raising his counter friend’s eyebrows. “Never fear. I’ll be your towel rack.”
“Did I ever tell you that you’re my favorite person in the whole wide world?” I’m practically bouncing with relief.
“Less talking. More showering. You still want to get to Petey and Laurel’s campsite before sundown, right?”
“One thousand percent,” I answer, slinking into the shower fully clothed, strategically avoiding contact with the mildewy curtain as though it’s a red laser beam and I am the seductive art thief in anOcean’smovie. “I’m not taking any risks.” I couldn’t live with myself if Laurel married Petey.
“I think you’re going to regret this attitude toward your own sister’s happily ever after.”
“When their divorce goes through this time next year, I definitely won’t.”
“Come on, Chuck. I know you’re not actually that cynical.”
“Oh, but I am. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old divorcée whose mom forwards her relationship advice from a Twin Flames Facebook group. Life has hardened me.”
The way he pushes air through his nostrils spells out his thoughts.Oof, Charley, it says.
I peel off my T-shirt and pass it through the sliver of light between the curtain and the shower wall. It plops to the floor.
“Powell! The spider!”
“I’m not holding your vomit in my hands.”
“I carried you on my back for three blocks after you stepped on glass walking through Zeta Kappa’s foam party barefoot, and you can’t hold a dirty shirt?”
“It was thirty feet, tops. And that party was basically a giant bathtub.”
I shake my head even though he can’t see it. “I can’t have this argument with you again.”
