by Daisy Allen
“I’ll buy you FIVE!” He says, holding up his fingers and wiggling them.
“No, there’s stuff on that one I need.”
“Like, right now. You, me, nearest phone store, I’ll buy up their whole stock! I’m serious.” And I believe him.
“Nope. I want that one.” I point to my phone.
He sighs, “You’re really going to make me do this?”
“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[R3] 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.”
He just grins that shit eating grin in response. Before I can wipe it off his face with my next comment, the door swings open and two very drunk guys stagger in.
“Hey!” one slurs, pointing at me. “What’s that doing in here?”
“Oi. Who you calling ‘that?’” I ask, insulted.
“This is for dicks only!” drunk number two adds, pointing to his groin and both of them lurch towards us.
“Well, you’re certainly that,” I snicker.
Sir Elbow Jerk facepalms and mumbles something like, “crazy woman,” under his breath and grabs my hand.
“Er, no problem, our sincerest apologies, gentlemen. We were just leaving,” he says, pulling me toward the door.
“Hey! I know you!” drunk number one says, pointing a sweaty finger at Elbow Jerk. “You’re…um…”
Elbow Jerk stops and pulls a twenty from his pocket and shoves it into the guy’s shirt pocket. “I am… very grateful to you for not telling anyone about this. Have a goodnight!”
He waves to the drunk guys and pulls me out of the restroom and back into the bar.
It’s so dark and hot and loud and crowded compared to the bathroom. The sudden change make it feel like the walls are closing in around me.
My heart lurches right into my throat and I feel every inch of my skin burst into sweat. I freeze, even as I feel his hand pulling on mine. I take a deep breath and still feel like no oxygen is entering my lungs. My legs buckle under me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. And the last thing I see, is a blonde fringe and green eyes filled with worry looking at me, just before the world goes black.
CHAPTER THREE
Jez
Her eyeballs are flickering under her eyelids, so at least I know she’s alive.
I lift her over my shoulder, and search for the nearest exit. Mike, our body guard, is next to me in an instant.
“Over to the left,” he growls into my ear and clears a path for us to the door at the side of the bar. There’s a guy stationed there, and Mike talks to him for a moment, before waving me through.
He pushes the door open and suddenly we’re outside. The cool air fresh against the back of my neck.
“Can you find a bottle of water?” I say to Mike, and he nods and goes back inside. I lay her down, propped up against the wall.
“Hey, Toilet Girl,” I say, patting her gently on the cheek. “You okay?”
She stirs and her eyelids flutter for a moment. “Stop calling me that,” she murmurs, her voice groggy and barely audible. She takes another br
eath and her eyes open wider, looking around. “What happened?”
I breathe a sigh of relief to hear her speak, “I don’t know. You just kinda decided you didn’t want to stand up any more.”
“Damn. How embarrassing.” She shuffles back so she’s sitting upright, her back flush against the wall.
“Nah, it’s okay. You knighted me, so it’s only right I fulfil my duty of saving a damsel in distress.”
“I was not in distress,” she glares at me, seemingly regaining full strength.
“What about the phone in the urinal part?” I say, pointedly.
She scrunches up her face, and it’s hard not to note how cute she looks when she does that. “Yeah, okay, that was kind of distressing.” She pulls her sweater tighter around her body. “Sorry. And thanks.”
“No problem. Are you cold?”
She shakes her head and takes a deep breath, slow and steady, then exhales, the color fast returning to her face. “I get claustrophobic sometimes. It was just so loud and crowded in there. Guess I found it a bit overwhelming.
I wave her explanations away. “It’s fine. My friend’s just gone back inside to get some water. He won’t be long.”
“Oh. That’s okay. I should get back inside, anyway. My friend is waiting for me.”
“Your boyfriend?” I ask. Hoping she’ll vigorously deny having one.
“What?”
“Before, when I came out of the restroom, you asked if your boyfriend was in there.” And he was also there basically dry humping you at the bar, I think to myself and somehow managing to keep quiet. Try not to sound like a stalker, Jez.
“Oh, yeah. I, er, I better get back inside.” She pulls her legs under her and gets ready to push herself up. I know I should offer her my hand but I don’t really want her to go. I’m not sure what’s drawing me to this woman, but I don’t want our interaction to end just yet. As bizarre as it’s been so far.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound as cool as I can. “I’ve had a pretty crazy night. Do you mind keeping me company out here for a few minutes? My friend will be back soon with some water. You should have a drink, it will help refresh you.”
She thinks about it for moment, and relaxes back against the wall. “I guess I can sit for a few minutes. I could use the air.”
I slide down to sit next to her, stretching my legs out in front of me, running my damp hands over my jeans. Why are they so sweaty? What the hell’s wrong with me? It can’t be because of this woman. I haven’t felt nervous talking to a woman since… fuck. Since never is the right answer. So, that can’t be it. But something tells me, I’m lying to myself.
The wall is vibrating from the music inside the building, humming against my back. And we sit there listening to the night’s mélange of thumping beats and car horns for a minute. The band and I don’t spend that much time in L.A., being mostly based in London. And just like the spoken language, each city has its own dialect of city sounds. I could be blindfolded in London and know exactly where I was. Here in L.A., the rhythm of the city is only now becoming slightly familiar.
Out of nowhere, she says, “It’s my birthday today.”
“Oh, happy birthday,” I say, facing her.
“Thanks.” It’s one word. And flat. Not how one is meant to react to birthdays.
“Are you here celebrating tonight?”
“No,” she snorts a little, then covers her mouth with her cupped hand, seemingly embarrassed. I’d be lying if I don’t admit I’m finding it utterly adorable. And strangely sexy. “Do I look like I’m dressed to be out celebrating?” She holds her arms up, as if showing off her outfit.
Given the permission, I take my time looking her over. For the first time, I really notice her clothes. She’s dressed in a short black skirt, black tights, a white shirt under her unzipped red hoodie. I can just make out a logo on the sweater. A clumsy pony tail hangs loose mid-way up her head and a smudged brown ring lines her tired eyes. But it doesn’t hide how beautiful she is. Her cheeks are high and pronounced, drawing your eyes to hers. Her large, round, hazel eyes. Wisps of her ash blonde hair frame her face, like a tousled halo, catching the light, luminescent.
“You look like you could be doing anything you want to,” I say, and I cringe at the clumsy line. Smooth, J.
“Pfft, no, I was working,” she sighs.
“Here?”
“No, at the falafel place a few blocks from here,” she gestures to the right of us.
“Let me guess, free falafels for life.”
“Dear lord, have mercy. I hope I never see another falafel for the rest of my life,” she groans, her palm slapping against her forehead.
“I’m going to change your name to Falafel Girl. That’s better than Toilet Girl, right?”
“Sure, Urinal Fingers Guy,” she snaps back.
“Never mind,” I concede.
“That’s what I thought.” She gigglesnorts[R4] again, and I find myself trying to embed the sound into my brain. I don’t know if I’ll remember her voice later, but there’s such honesty in that laugh of hers, something that’s hard to find in my world, that I find myself clinging to it. To what it says about her.
There’s a tempo change to the music inside the bar, and the bass thumps slow, four beats to the measure. Steady. Driving. Hypnotic in its monotony. I listen as the other sounds weave in and out around the beat, composing a soundtrack to this weird night.
“Hey. Tell me something about you,” she suddenly says, now facing me. “Something no one else knows.”
I’m a little taken aback. The request is a little out of nowhere. “Oh. Weird. Why?”
“Because I’ve spent the last sixteen hours having 30-second conversations with people about whether they want garlic sauce on their falafels or not. I need the start of my 25th year to not be about that. I need some real interaction.”
“And I’m real?” I ask, because suddenly it feels like it’s been a long time since I’ve been more than just a pretty face on a magazine cover.
“Well,” she looks at my face for a moment and shrugs, “you’re a little too good looking to be completely real, but I guess you’ll have to do.”
“Lady, I waded around in sludge for you. Surely that buys me some real points!”
“Damn. You’re gonna keep playing that toilet card, aren’t you?”
“Hell yeah. Until it’s faded and crumpled and you can’t see the word ‘you owe me’ on it anymore,” I wink at her, playfully.
“Fine. But spill a secret, already. Consider it my birthday gift.”
“You’re tough. You sure you don’t want those five brand new iPhones I offered before?” The look on her face tells me to just hurry the hell up. “Well, I don’t know if there is anything about me that no one else knows.”
“Nobody tells everybody everything. You don’t have any secrets?”
Of course, I do. But who divulges them to a stranger? No matter how cute and sexy they are. “I don’t think so…”
“You’ve never murdered anyone?”
“I’m not saying that I haven’t, just that it’s not a secret.” She looks at me with that unwavering glare again. How does she make her eyes do that? Look right through my bullshit?
“Okay, let me think.” I rifle through my brain and try to think of something I can tell a complete stranger. One who I don’t want to hate me. “Okay, I have one.”
“I’m ready.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her sweater and settles back, her eyes still on me.
“One time, my sister made a beautiful cake for my grandmother’s birthday. Like stunning, she worked on it for months, practicing and testing out recipes. It had tiers and perfect little sugar figurines and real berries she’d picked herself. Anyway, I was coming to visit from London after a pretty long night… let’s say, celebrating. And when I came home, I went into the fridge for a teeny, tiny bite to eat and…”
“Oh my god, please don’t say it.”
“Hey, you wanted to hear it. Y
es, I ate the cake. Like… more cake than a human should ever, EVER consume in one sitting. And not like, just the top tier and left the bottom intact for a grand reveal at the party later. No, I went full face first diving in cake mode.”
She covers her ears and shakes her head, like she’s trying to forget she heard it. “This is worse than murder. So, what happened?”
“I did what any self-respecting older brother and loving grandson would do.”
“Confess and then go out and replace the cake?”
“Hell no, this is something no one else knows, remember? No, I propped the fridge door open, let the dog in and went to bed.”
“Oh no.”
“Yup, I’m pretty sure it was my sister’s scream that woke me up the next day,” I try to bite back the grin, remembering my sister Anca’s screech and me just pulling the pillow over my head and falling back to sleep.
“Did they suspect you?”
“I’m sure my sister did. She gave me daggers all day. My grandma was just happy to see me and my too good-looking face. The dog was literally in the doghouse for a while though.”
“You’re Satan,” she tells me, jaw dropped.
“I don’t deny it,” I shrug, and then unsuccessfully swallow another chuckle.
“You’re not supposed to laugh at that!”
“I’m sorry! My sister was soooo mad. It was torture trying to pretend I didn’t know what they were talking about.” I wait until I can keep a straight face again before I say, “Okay, now your turn.”
“What?” she asks, eyebrows shooting up. ““That wasn’t the deal. Nuh uh!” Her face is so expressive, I can’t stop looking at it. I suddenly have the urge to take her through the gamut of emotions and just watch them play out on her face. Happiness, surprise, sadness, shock… arousal, desire, lust… especially those last three. I imagine she wouldn’t hold back on showing just how she was feeling if someone evoked those feelings in her.
I clear my throat, and try to clear my brain of the images popping up in my head uninvited. “Um, it is the deal now. Tell me a secret.”
“I don’t have anything, I’m boring. No secrets.” She stares straight ahead, her mouth clamped shut.
