Page 9 of Snowed In
“…seven? I’m grand,” I add quickly. “Honestly. I’ll just go hang out in the bathroom and— Or okay, you can come too.”
I don’t protest as he takes me by the elbow, helping me stand. Mostly because I do actually need the help, and I’m feeling too shitty to be embarrassed about it. Embarrassment is future Megan’s problem. Now Megan just wants her bed.
Christian leads me over to the unisex bathrooms at the back of the pub, which are…not great. But they’re empty, and there’s a small basket of free tampons next to the sink, so, you know, bonus points. Or at leastIthink so. They don’t seem to impress Christian, who’s looking around the room like he’s getting a disease just by standing in it.
“I’ll get you some water,” he says, and lets me go.
“You really don’t—”
Yeah, he’s gone.
Christian Fitzpatrick. Huh.
I don’t move as the door swings shut, testing my stomach to make sure everything stays in place. When it does, I check my messages to see David’s still left me on read.
Maybe he died.
Or gotarrested.Or— Yeah, he bailed. Well, screw him if he thinks I’m going to hang around and wait for him.
This has been a shitty day, and I would like a nice end to it.
Which means pizza, facemask, and movies.
I swipe David’s profile away and text my roommate instead. Maybe Frankie can tear herself away from the lab for one evening and keep me company.
I almost fainted in the pub.
She messages back immediately.
Attention seeker.
I’m serious,I send, and start to type out an explanation when she calls me.
“The fact that you answered me right away makes me think you’re not working as hard as you should be,” I tell her.
“I’m not working at all,” she says bluntly. “I’m with Claudio.”
“What? Why?”
“For an orgasm, Megan. Why else?” Frankie’s a good roommate. But a bad dater. Or maybe just a serial one. She flits from one guy to the next like she’s trying them on for size, and in the two years I’ve been living with her, I’ve never seen her be with someone for more than a few weeks. She says she’s not going to settle for anything other than her soulmate. But I just think she’s picky.
“I thought you said he blinked weird,” I say, organizing the tampons into little rows.
“He did. But it’s grown on me. Did you know he plays the horn in an orchestra?”
“No.”
“Well, he does. Do you know what that means?”
“No, and if this is connected to your future orgasm, I don’t think I want to.”
“What happened?” she asks, and I sigh, feeling sorry for myself.
“Nothing. I’m just dumb. I gave blood after work, and then I was rushing and got all light-headed.”
“You said you fainted.”
“Almostfainted,” I correct. “Big difference.”
