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I greet the washroom attendant as I enter the bathroom.
He offers me antibacterial towelettes and asks if I need anything else from his assortment of toiletries sitting on the counter.
“No, thanks, man. I don’t need anything,” I say as I head to the stalls.What I need isn’t in his basket; I need my Les.
I hear the bathroom door open and close seconds later. I drain my main vessel and shake off the excess into the toilet. Leslie crosses my mind as I look at the toilet seat. It’s clean enough in here. I could have used these towelettes to clean up some more, then sat on that stool with her in my lap and given her the best five minutes of her life. Speaking of Leslie, I need to get back to her. I miss her already.
I step out of the stall to find the bathroom attendant is gone, and Ambrosia, the woman whose red lipstick has already caused enough problems in my life, is standing over by the sink.She’s wearing a skimpy white two-piece skirt ensemble. Her oval face, painted with the same red lipstick as the last time, holds a hopeful smile. The woman is gorgeous by every man’s standards, but I’m not interested.
Frowning, I go to the sink to wash my hands. "What are you doing in the men's restroom?" I inquire, a bit surprised by her presence.
"I came in to see you," she replies with a mischievous smile.
I look at her reflection in the mirror, a hint of disbelief in my eyes. "Me? Why?"
"Yeah, you," she confirms. "I paid the attendant a few dollars to give us a little privacy."
"You shouldn't have done that," I say sternly.
“Well, when we met, you were such a gentleman that you walked me out of the bar and made sure I got into my Uber. I kept thinking about you all night that night. And you’ve been on my mind since then. I kept thinking there’s got a be a better way I can pay you back for such kindness. A better way than just saying thank you, you know?” She sits on the bathroom counter beside me and slowly starts to open her legs. “After the news you shared tonight, I knew I had to get a little more aggressive with letting you know how I feel.”
“Lady, following me into the bathroom without an invitation is just awkward.” I know what Ambrosia is alluding to. I will take no part in it, though. I turn on the water, get some soap from the dispenser, and wash my hands quickly. I grab a few napkins and dry them, then turn to walk out of the bathroom.
She tugs at my arm. “Wait.” She rushes around to stand in front of me. “No one has to know about us. I can keep a secret.”
I let out a long, troubled breath. Leslie finding me in the bathroom with this woman is the last thing I need. “Look, woman, there is nothing to keep a secret. I have to go.” I shrug her off and turn around to walk out.
As soon as I open the door, I see Leslie standing on the other side. I’m both happy and mortified to see her.
"I thought I was really going to have to come in there and get you," she says with a coy grin.
"Uh, hi... Les," I stammer, feeling a mix of surprise and anxiety. I don’t want her to see Ambrosia and get the wrong impression.
Leslie seems curious about my tense expression. "Why are you looking like that? Are you okay?" she asks, showing genuine concern.
"Excuse me," Ambrosia interjects, strolling past me and adjusting her skirt. With Ambrosia now standing between Leslie and me, she turns to face me. "It's been a pleasure seeing you again, Wayne. We have to meet up like this again, very soon. Maybe a repeat next week after the game?" Ambrosia suggests with a sultry smile before spinning around and heading up the hallway toward the front of the bar.
Left standing there with Leslie, we stare at each other intensely, each processing what just transpired.
Chapter Seventeen
WAYNE
Did We Make a Mistake?
After discussing what happened in the bathroom with Ambrosia, Leslie says she understands, and we go back into the VIP room to enjoy the rest of the night. At least, that’s what I try to do. Except Leslie’s mood has changed. She tenses whenever I touch her and rarely makes eye contact with me. When she does, it’s brief, as if I’m a stranger she’s trying to avoid seeing. Our carefree vibe never returns. Her mood has deflated.
I hate that our first night out on the town, happily and openly sharing our love with others, gets tainted by a woman I did a good deed for, the same woman who overstepped her boundaries and followed me into the men’s bathroom.
Even though Leslie engages in small talk with her sister and me, now she’s most comfortable sitting on the couch next to Jasmine. To get closer to her, I pull up a chair next to the couch and attempt to hold her hand. She fidgets and then brings her hand to her hair to push a twist behind her ear, successfully avoiding my attempt at physical contact. I sigh and watch my woman’s every movement. I want pre-bathroom Leslie back. That Leslie had pure joy mixed with naughty intentions.
The heat between us could have started a fire before I went to the bathroom. The way she moved her body against mine on the dance floor and how I held her and became fluid with her movements are just a few of the things passion and desire are made of. Now, the sparks have died, and it feels like we’re two people nervously trying to get to know one another again.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask when the smooth sound of Wizkid’sEssencebegins to flow through the room.
She shoots the idea down. “No, maybe later.”
“C’mon, that’s your song, babe.” I offer her my hand. Dancing always lightens her mood.
