Page 8 of Rock Me

“I really am.”

“Okay. I can do this. I’ve proven tonight, I can do anything,” he mumbles to himself. And if my phone weren’t bobbing around in toilet gunk, I might be inclined to ask what he’s talking about. “Okay, Toilet Girl, stand back.” I don’t know why I need to, but I obey. I don’t really have much interest in standing close to that reeking metal trough anyway. He looks around for a moment and then digs his hand into his pocket. He pulls out three condoms and throws me a grin.

“Gross,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Says the girl who’s going to be putting her face up against a urinal phone,” he shoots back. Can’t argue with that one. I watch as he tears open the condom packets.

“Here, hold this.” He says, handing one to me. The hell?

“Yeah, no thanks, I’m not really in the mood.” Seriously, what is wrong with this guy?

“Do you want your phone or not?” he says, shoving the now open condom into my hand. It’s a strange sensation, standing here in a dingy men’s’ toilet holding an unwrapped condom. I keep watching as he slides one over his thumb and the other over his index finger.

“I’m a genius,” he says, wiggling them at me and grinning proudly. I don’t respond, I’m not quite sure how to. “Sheesh, tough room,” he complains.

“Stinky room!” I shout.

“Agreed. Okay, I’m going in,” he announces, like he’s the first man exploring an undiscovered cave.

He bends at the knee and reaches into the metal trough, grimacing as he pinches my phone between his fingers and stands up, holding it as far away from his body as his arm will allow. It’s dripping and he makes a move as if to shake it.

“No!” I yell, shielding myself with my hands, “Don’t fucking shake it!”

“Argh! Open the rubber! OPEN THE RUBBER!” He yells, and I have no idea what he means. “Blow up the condom! Blow it up!” he yells, gesturing wildly with his other hand at me.

He’s got to be kidding me. But he’s holding my pee drenched phone in his hand so for once I do as he says. I blow into the condom, watching it inflate like a balloon.

“Now, hold it out to me!!” he orders me, a little too excited. I stretch the opening of the condom as far as I can and he shoves my phone into the rubber casing and then takes it from me and twists the neck into a knot before turning it around, inspecting it. “Mission: accomplished, Toilet Girl. I’m a fucking genius,” he says again, holding out my now condom sealed phone to me.

I can’t help but laugh at his excitement over the achievement. I take the phone from him and rinse the outer rubber casing under the tap.

“What? No, thanks?” He says, freeing his fingers from their makeshift gloves and throwing them into the trash, and joining me at the sink.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welc-…” he starts.

“Thank you,” I continue, cutting him off, “for doing such a bad job of guarding the toilet door, that you let a minotaur come charging in here, scaring me and making me drop my phone into a public urinal.”

It doesn’t faze him. He just grins even more widely and holds out his hand as if to shake mine. “Like I said, you’re welcome.”

I bite my tongue, trying not to get caught up in his charm. For the first time I really notice him. Tall. Slim waist but broad shoulders. His grey t-shirt hugging him tight around his firm stomach. Square, strong jaw, and green eyes. And blonde. Dirty, sexy, blonde. I wonder how many women he’s gotten into bed, just by smiling at them like he’s smiling at me right now, with one gorgeous green eye coyly hidden behind his long, flick[R1] fringe.

I ignore his hand and head toward the door, fully aware that I need to get out of here before that smile is going to do some damage to me.

“Well, Mr Elbow Jerk. It was nice to meet you, again. My drowned phone and I will be off now.”

He moves in front of me, blocking me from leaving. “Whoa, not so fast. Don’t I at least get a name?”

“Your parents didn’t give you one? That’s terribly negligent. Okay, then I shall dub thee – Sir Elbow Jerk of Condom Fingered County.” I tap him lightly on each shoulder, as if knighting him. His very strong, broad shoulders. That stretch down over that iron hard chest. Damn.

He sighs, the corner of his mouth twitching. “What? You don’t kneel before royalty? Treason!”

“Dude, I knighted you. I out royal you, you should be kneeling before me,” I throw back at him, surprising myself. That Scotch must’ve really gone to my head, I don’t usually feel this comfortable bantering with a complete stranger. It could also be the effect of the location, making equals of us all. Lentil scooper and drop-dead heart throb.

“Sweetheart, I’d be on my knees in front of you, in a second.” He drawls, running his hand through his hair, flicking his fringe up, so both his eyes are locked on mine.

Something low in my stomach flickers to life and I swallow hard, trying to snuff it out. I give him a slow, drawn out eye roll. “I assume you’re used to women saying the same thing to you.”