“Melanie Kincaid, and I’d shake your hand, but my stupidly expensive thong is exploring places I didn’t give it permission to, and every time I move, I feel myself losing another layer of flesh. For what it’s worth, I don’t really like it here, either. But I’m here to support my dad who likes the FDNY—not in the way I like the FDNY, but still. The snooty-tooties aren’t real keen on our being here, and I can kind of see why since I’m about to use the men’s room to pull satin out of my butt, and please tell me we get to be friends, because any chick who rambles like you do and puts my rambling to shame is someone I want keep knowing.”
“If I don’t pee my pretty dress, I’d love to be friends. Otherwise the shame is going to totally overtake me and we’ll never see each other again.”
“Deal,” I say. “So, bathroom.” The elevator doors open, and I dart out and to the right where the men’s room door appears totally unattended and breathe a sigh of relief. The foul thong twists again, and I slow my pace. The last thing I need is some kind of medical intervention from this event.
We make it to the bathroom and inside without issue. Royal—and what the hell kind of name is that?—leads the way. She doesn’t slow down to ensure that an attendant isn’t on site, but really, it wouldn’t matter anyway. This chick is my kind of people, and I highly doubt she gives a crap if she has to plow over some dude to take care of business or not. I follow behind and offer to take charge of keeping watch as she uses the facilities first.
“Oh, thank God!” she cries out from the first stall as she relieves herself. I’m tucked in between the partially open bathroom door and the frame in order to make sure no one enters but still able to keep talking to my new bestie. Because that’s what she is—girls who pee together bond in a way dudes just never seem to understand. I look over my shoulder to see that she didn’t even bother to close the stall door. Thankfully there’s no visibility into the stall, because while we’re bonding, I’m not sure we’re at that level yet.
When I look back through the doorway, I see a man coming toward me, and he’s so gorgeous that before I fall asleep tonight, I’m going to be coming to the image of him in my mind. Did I mention that he’s gorgeous? I flush from the thoughts running through my head. Him, naked. Me, underneath him. Him, doing devilish things as his large, muscular arms hold him above me, and he totally has muscular arms. I can see that even through his dress blues, which means he’s one of New York’s bravest.
Score.
I let my imagination run wild with thoughts of being underneath him—panting and unfolding with every passing moment as he touches me. Large hands—check. Long legs—check. I’d like to say I’m never like this, but that’s a lie. I still have a few celeb crushes that turn me into a panting ho. But this guy isn’t a celeb crush. He’s a real person, so that kind of makes this a bit unprecedented.
“Run a marathon, did ya?” he asks. He’s got to be around six feet tall, and he’s got these sexy gray-blue eyes with light brown hair and a complexion that’s almost a light peach color.
“No,” I stutter. Why he would think I’d been running a marathon, God only knows. I place a hand to the base of my neck only to find that I’m perspiring. Shit. I really need to get myself under control. It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone, and it’s showing. I’ve always been that woman who sees what she likes and goes for it. Not that such tactics have worked out well for me in the past.
“Why?” I try to cover up the mess I’m making of myself. I just… like him. I like the way he’s standing here in the doorway and the way he’s studying me. His eyes linger as he drags them up my body, spending more time than appropriate on my breasts that peek out the top of my dark red dress, and finally rest on my face. I just hope my makeup isn’t fucked-up. I made sure that both my dress and the makeup met with my mom’s approval before we arrived. Classy not trashy, that’s the motto. These things matter to her—so, that means they matter to me even if I don’t want them to.