look at a face on the street, which never turned out
to be him.
I found myself standing outside the girls’ bathroom, so I
pushed open the door and went inside, smiling slightly when it made exactly the
same squeaky groan that I remembered. The lights were off, as the reunion
guests were all using the toilets off the hall, but I remembered where the
switch was. I went into the end cubicle for a pee—I had always chosen this one.
Our graffiti was gone, covered by coats of new paint, but I could remember
exactly where I had scratched a heart with Simon’s name in it and a big jagged
cross over it— I hate Simon Pierce .
But did I? Or did I still? I’d always overreacted to him one
way or another, but tonight was…different from when we were back in school.
It was amazing how much more clearly I could think now that
I was away from him. I pulled up my stockings and smoothed down my short black
skirt, checking that my blouse was tucked in neatly. All the while I was
rationalizing to myself. Obviously the emotions from seeing him again so
unexpectedly had overwhelmed me and caused me to have some strange physical
reaction, no doubt enhanced by the two glasses of champagne that I had consumed
on an empty stomach. I had never been keen on surprises and I didn’t usually
react well to them. Justin always teased me about being a control freak, which
I thought was a bit harsh, but I did like to be organized. He’d even bought me
that corny little sign, A Tidy Desk Is a Sign of a Sick Mind , which was
hidden in the bottom drawer of my scrupulously neat desk at work.
I’d had serious misgivings about coming to my high school
reunion but curiosity had won out in the end. More rationalizing. Just because
I found this grown-up version of Simon enormously attractive didn’t mean that I liked him. Just because no boyfriend who I’d ever had had measured up to
him didn’t mean that I wanted him . I took another deep breath and
smoothed down my outfit one more time. I had dressed to say “successful,
no-nonsense businesswoman” and I knew that I looked good. I would go back to
the hall, spend a little more time talking to some of my old friends who I had
actually wanted to see, collect Justin and leave. I had no need to go anywhere
near Simon again.
I flushed the toilet, took my purse off the door hook and
fumbled with the lock for a moment before remembering that it had always turned
the wrong way.
I stepped out of the cubicle and froze in shock.
Simon stood at the end of the row of basins, his shoulder
propping up the wall, a flute of champagne held lightly in one strong and
elegant hand.
“What are you doing here?” I croaked, distressed by the
broken sound of my voice. I hadn’t even heard the door squeak when he came in.
“This is the girls’ bathroom!”
Even as I said it I knew how ridiculous it sounded.
He was smiling again, the corners of his mouth tipping
downward as he moved toward me, putting his glass down on the side of a basin.
“I always wanted to get into the girls’ bathroom when we
were in school,” he murmured, stopping just a little too close to me.
I refused to back away and brushed past him to wash my hands
at the basin. He moved up close behind me and we looked at each other in the
mirror. I could feel heat radiating from his body, seeping into my back, and my
own internal heat rose in response, spreading outward from my suddenly aching
pussy. I was overcome with an urgent desire for him to touch me, anywhere, just
so that I could feel his heat, skin on skin. Where was the calm deliberation
that I thought I had achieved just a few short moments ago? I could smell his
cologne, carried on the heat of his body, something expensive and a little
intoxicating, which did not quite mask the smell of his skin, his hair, his
breath, the maleness of him. My senses were so heightened in my hot, agitated
state, almost animalistic in their intensity. I wondered if he was affected in
the same way but
to be him.
I found myself standing outside the girls’ bathroom, so I
pushed open the door and went inside, smiling slightly when it made exactly the
same squeaky groan that I remembered. The lights were off, as the reunion
guests were all using the toilets off the hall, but I remembered where the
switch was. I went into the end cubicle for a pee—I had always chosen this one.
Our graffiti was gone, covered by coats of new paint, but I could remember
exactly where I had scratched a heart with Simon’s name in it and a big jagged
cross over it— I hate Simon Pierce .
But did I? Or did I still? I’d always overreacted to him one
way or another, but tonight was…different from when we were back in school.
It was amazing how much more clearly I could think now that
I was away from him. I pulled up my stockings and smoothed down my short black
skirt, checking that my blouse was tucked in neatly. All the while I was
rationalizing to myself. Obviously the emotions from seeing him again so
unexpectedly had overwhelmed me and caused me to have some strange physical
reaction, no doubt enhanced by the two glasses of champagne that I had consumed
on an empty stomach. I had never been keen on surprises and I didn’t usually
react well to them. Justin always teased me about being a control freak, which
I thought was a bit harsh, but I did like to be organized. He’d even bought me
that corny little sign, A Tidy Desk Is a Sign of a Sick Mind , which was
hidden in the bottom drawer of my scrupulously neat desk at work.
I’d had serious misgivings about coming to my high school
reunion but curiosity had won out in the end. More rationalizing. Just because
I found this grown-up version of Simon enormously attractive didn’t mean that I liked him. Just because no boyfriend who I’d ever had had measured up to
him didn’t mean that I wanted him . I took another deep breath and
smoothed down my outfit one more time. I had dressed to say “successful,
no-nonsense businesswoman” and I knew that I looked good. I would go back to
the hall, spend a little more time talking to some of my old friends who I had
actually wanted to see, collect Justin and leave. I had no need to go anywhere
near Simon again.
I flushed the toilet, took my purse off the door hook and
fumbled with the lock for a moment before remembering that it had always turned
the wrong way.
I stepped out of the cubicle and froze in shock.
Simon stood at the end of the row of basins, his shoulder
propping up the wall, a flute of champagne held lightly in one strong and
elegant hand.
“What are you doing here?” I croaked, distressed by the
broken sound of my voice. I hadn’t even heard the door squeak when he came in.
“This is the girls’ bathroom!”
Even as I said it I knew how ridiculous it sounded.
He was smiling again, the corners of his mouth tipping
downward as he moved toward me, putting his glass down on the side of a basin.
“I always wanted to get into the girls’ bathroom when we
were in school,” he murmured, stopping just a little too close to me.
I refused to back away and brushed past him to wash my hands
at the basin. He moved up close behind me and we looked at each other in the
mirror. I could feel heat radiating from his body, seeping into my back, and my
own internal heat rose in response, spreading outward from my suddenly aching
pussy. I was overcome with an urgent desire for him to touch me, anywhere, just
so that I could feel his heat, skin on skin. Where was the calm deliberation
that I thought I had achieved just a few short moments ago? I could smell his
cologne, carried on the heat of his body, something expensive and a little
intoxicating, which did not quite mask the smell of his skin, his hair, his
breath, the maleness of him. My senses were so heightened in my hot, agitated
state, almost animalistic in their intensity. I wondered if he was affected in
the same way but
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