Chapter Fifteen #2
That makes my gaze collide with his. "Is that the only reason you came? Eager for some kind of giant orgy?"
The corner of his mouth twitches. "I think I'd find that a bit overwhelming."
I laugh. "You think?"
"Too many people."
"Why does everyone keep acting like the football boy who's going to be playing in front of a crowd every week is a recluse?"
"Ninety minutes on a pitch is easier than five minutes in a room full of strangers. Especially if those strangers are banging."
"Are you talking from experience or...?"
He deadpans. "Yes, Ruby. I've been to one big giant orgy called Glow Jobs. Met a girl there, actually. She required glow-stick bunny ears before she'd give anyone a blowjob. Ring any bells?"
"I might have heard something about that."
Josh grins right at me. "I thought you might."
"CAM!" Oscar roars.
We both spin around just in time to see Cam trying to get back on the table.
"Fucking hell," Ewan mutters, shaking his head.
Josh lets out a resigned sigh before exchanging a look with him. "Come on, we should go help."
"Should we?" Cam lets out a howl and Oscar screams his name again. "Yeah, alright." Ewan throws a look at Brooke. "I'll be back in a bit."
The pair of them disappear into the crowd without another word, weaving between bodies until they're swallowed by the sea of football shirts, my eyes glued to Josh’s muscular back.
It would be so much easier if he were arrogant.
If every compliment sounded rehearsed or there was something smug behind every smile, I’d know exactly what to do with him.
I could decide he was a prick, I’d sling him in with all the other boys I’ve met who know they’re attractive and behave accordingly, and that would be the end of it.
Instead, Josh seems almost completely unaware of himself. And it’s becoming a problem for me because I notice him all the time.
Abi crashes into my shoulder before I can get any further with it, shouting something about wanting another drink while Brooke tries to drag her back towards the dancefloor.
I laugh, let them pull me in for another song, and manage another ten minutes before the combination of wine, the heat and somebody repeatedly standing on my foot makes me realise I desperately need the loo.
“I’m going to find the toilet,” I shout to Brooke.
She nods, already half distracted by Abi, who catches her by both wrists and drags her back into the middle of the dancefloor.
The corridor outside the toilets is a lot better. It’s quieter, cooler and I can finally hear my own thoughts. I push into the bathroom, head straight for the sinks and wash the sticky residue of somebody else’s drink from the back of my hand before checking myself in the mirror.
My bunny ears are sitting wonky, my lipstick has mostly survived, and my tight curls haven’t gone super frizzy. I straighten the ears, wipe beneath one eye with my little finger and head into one of the empty stalls.
I use the toilet, fix my skirt and reach for the lock.
It doesn’t move.
Frowning, I try again, sliding it back and forth the way you have to with old locks, except it doesn’t slide. It just... sticks. “Oh, don’t even start.” I try again, harder this time, but still nothing happens.
The lock is jammed completely. I press my thumb against the latch, wiggle it, then give the door a hopeful shove
Fuck all happens.
The door doesn't move; the lock doesn't budge. The metal stays stubbornly in place, as if the cubicle has decided I should remain in here until I sort myself out.
You've got to be joking.
"Hello?" I call out, but no one answers. I left my phone in Brooke's bag, I've got no way to contact anyone, and this toilet is at the back of the club. It's the toilet no one really uses. "Is anyone out there?"
Crickets.
I give it one more try, putting actual force into it. The latch makes a horrible grinding noise, but still doesn't move. Whatever happened, this door is not opening from the inside. A small, ridiculous laugh escapes me. "Oh brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant."
I look around the stall, hopeful it might offer me a solution, but it's a cubicle---toilet, walls, a door. And the window. A tiny one. Low on the tiled wall. I stare at it for a long moment as a plan starts to form but quickly shake my head to get rid of it.
No way.
There is no universe in which I'm climbing out of a bathroom window in jeans and heels.
The lock rattles again under my hand, refusing to move.
I close my eyes, resigning myself to my fate.
"Fine. I guess we're doing this." With all the bravado I can muster, I step onto the toilet seat, and shove my fingers under the window frame.
It sticks at first, then gives a few centimetres, enough for a sliver of the cold night air to slip in.
I brace both hands against the wall, lift one leg, and start to manoeuvre myself through horribly aware of how stupid this is.
I get one leg out. Then my hips. Then I stop moving.
Because I can't.
I'm wedged. I'm stuck. I'm completely jammed. Half in the bathroom, half hanging outside. "Oh my God," I shout into the cold night air. "I'm actually fucking stuck!"
And as if the night couldn't get worse, I hear footsteps crunch in the alley below. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Please don't be someone I know. Please don't be anyone I know. Please---
"Ruby?"
I nearly die. Because of course it's someone I know.
Of course it's fucking Josh.