My legs fall asleep from sitting on the toilet for so long. A bathroom stall is the only place I could think of where I’d have quiet and privacy. No one has come in yet, and I’ve been in here for at least fifteen minutes.
I stand and stretch. Vance has probably seen every sketch by now. Even though I technically didn’t use the bathroom, I still wash my hands. As I round the corner, I smash full force into Jacque Beaufort. I bite my tongue. She squeaks and grabs the metal railing that lines both sides of every hall.
We stand panting for a few seconds. I’m shifting my tongue around in my mouth, trying to make the pain stop. I’m definitely bleeding.
Jacque drops her chin and takes in a few deep breaths through her nose. She stares at the floor and whispers, “Oscar, I’m so sorry about your dad.”
Right away, I wish that she’d looked me in the eye and said that. I wanted to see her face.
Without thinking, without an ounce of hesitation, I reach out and gently lift her chin. Her mouth falls open, and her eyes go wide. It is safe to say that I’ve stunned us both.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’m bleeding.
Maybe it’s because I’m in a grief stupor.
Maybe it’s a residual effect of my brother’s compliment.
I honestly am unsure. But I did it. We are currently staring at each other, and my hand remains underneath her chin. “Could you say that one more time?” I ask.
Her chest rises and falls, and a tear glides down her beautiful face. She nods. “I’m so sorry about your dad.”
I swallow my tinny spit. “My name. You forgot to say my name.” Hearing my name leave her mouth while I’m touching her just might qualify as the most sensual moment of my life to date.
She gently places her hand on my extended forearm. A jolt of God-knows-what goes directly from my arm to my crotch. Every skin cell registers this bombshell touch. Please, not now! I’m afraid to look down.
Jacque draws her bottom lip in before saying, “Oscar, I am incredibly sorry about your dad.”
Why does this overwhelmingly intimate moment have to happen mere hours after the loss of my father? Guilt draws my hand away. I look down. It’s flat. I cross my arms tightly. I fight the urge to pinch underneath my armpits as punishment. The only thing stopping me is the fear of Jacque seeing the ridiculous pain-face I’d make. “Thank you.” I somehow manage a small smile.
Again, I’m rendered speechless at this moment.
Her face wrinkles with concern. “You’re bleeding!”
I swallow and wish I had some water to swish around in my mouth. After swiping my chin, I can see that I’m blood-free. Thank God.
Jacque turns and runs away.
Now this feels like a normal situation to me.