6. Juno
CHAPTER 6
JUNO
Holy saguaro.
His strong fingers only touched my skin for a fraction of a second, yet I’m on the verge of turning into a pathetic puddle of need. I blame the scent of the jacket enveloping me—clean, with a hint of almonds, plus something ineffably male.
Needless to say, I feel instantly warm, and not just because the jacket covers me to my knees. Some of this warmth is a side effect of the heat furnace that’s come to life between my legs for some reason.
He steps away from me, and my shoulders miss his touch already.
Wait. What the hell am I thinking? The cold must’ve really scrambled my brains.
Speaking of brain scramble—the way his white shirt clings to his powerful chest doesn’t help matters.
Sliding my arms into the jacket sleeves—because I might as well—I clear my throat. “Thank you, Lucius.” As soon as I overheard his name, I couldn’t believe I didn’t guess it.
He totally looks like a Lucius.
He narrows his eyes at me. “And what’s your name?”
“Juno,” I say, and brace myself for the usual movie connection.
For the first time since we met—and maybe in his life—his lips quirk in a smile, revealing a dimple. “Ah. Like Juno Sospita.”
Wow. I want to live in that dimple. I blink up at him, dazzled, and blurt, “Who?”
The smile is gone without a trace, making me think that I imagined it. In its place is a condescending frown. “Juno the Savior? Queen of the Gods, daughter of Saturn, wife of Jupiter, mother of Vulcan, Mars?—”
“Oh, you mean the Roman goddess,” I interject, feeling dumb. “Yeah, I know all about her. That’s who my parents named me after—her and the month of June, which is when I was born.”
Ugh, why am I babbling? He doesn’t care when I was born. He probably wishes I’d never been born, judging by the glower on his face.
“For someone named after her, you don’t know much,” he says. “Like the fact that the month was named after the goddess, so you weren’t named after Juno and June, just Juno.”
My hands ball into fists inside the sleeves of his enormous jacket. “I knew that.”
“Sure,” he says with an eyeroll. “Let’s pretend that you did.”
“I have a better idea.” I put on my headphones. “I’m going to pretend you’re not here.”
With that, I resume my audiobook and my pacing. I also pretend not to notice him standing there—a difficult task.
He rubs his eyes like they’re bothering him, then puts on his headphones as well.
The call of my bladder is getting harder to ignore, but ignore it I must. Because what’s the alternative? Ask him to turn away and lift my leg in a corner, like a dog?
He sneezes, startling me.
We lock eyes for a second. Hmm. His steel-gray orbs are red and watery. Is he about to cry over the meeting he’s missing?
He pointedly ups the volume on his phone.
Fine.
I up my volume as well, and the indignation helps me pace a while longer. That is, until my bladder is on the verge of bursting like a balloon in the presence of a five-year-old boy with an ice pick. No. Make that like real estate prices circa 2006.
A few minutes later, I’m positive my body doesn’t know how to utilize the water in my bladder. I’m so thirsty I’m fantasizing about snatching Lucius’s water bottle and making a run for it. Which wouldn’t work at all inside this tiny elevator.
As if to taunt me, he opens said bottle and takes a big swig.
Ugh. I have to cross my legs to stop myself from peeing with envy.
He takes his headphones off with visible irritation. “Why are you looking at my bottle like that?”
I angrily pause my audiobook. “Like what?”
He gestures at my purse. “Don’t you have your own water in that giant bag?”
“No,” I say defensively. The thing is heavy thanks to the cat, so I figured I’d get a drink after the interview. I didn’t know I’d be stuck here.
He glowers harder, then holds out the water bottle.
I hop from foot to foot and shake my head.
“It’s fine,” he says, a bit more cordially. “Have a drink.”
“I’m okay,” I lie.
“Look, if they haven’t gotten us already, that means something very serious happened to the elevator, so we might be here a while.” He thrusts the bottle my way.
I back away, dancing from foot to foot as I go. “I don’t think I should.”
He fingers the collar of his shirt. “Are you afraid of my cooties?”
Afraid, no. More like I want to fertilize and water his cooties, until they get big and strong, and then I’d lick them.
“No.” My voice breaks, and I clear my parched throat. “Thank you.”
He raises one bushy eyebrow. “Why the hell not?”
I clench my thighs together. “None of your business.”
He narrows his eyes. “Wait a second.” It looks like a giant lightbulb’s just exploded into a supernova above his head. “Does it have anything to do with all that dancing around?” He lowers his voice. “Do you need to go?”
My ears, neck, and face feel like someone’s rubbed them with pepper spray. “I’m not discussing my bladder with you .”
He frowns and looks around.
What’s he looking for? Is he expecting a ladies’ room to magically manifest in the middle of the elevator?
He returns his attention to me, his expression dark. “Okay. So we kill off this bottle, and then you can use it to relieve yourself.”
No. No fucking way. Not in front of him.
To which my bladder replies, Please? For the love of saguaro?
Ugh. No.
I turn away and try to think of something, anything else. Sand. Death Valley. Saltines. Wait, this is making me even more thirsty.
Damn it.
“It’ll be worse if you go in your pants,” Lucius says dryly.
Yes, so much worse , my bladder screams. And it’s on the verge of happening!
No, it’s not. I can hold it. I’m not five.
“Alternatively, you could go in your bag,” Lucius says helpfully. “Might be easier with your plumbing.”
I round on him. “Excuse me? My plumbing?”
He blinks. “What else would you call it?”
Arrgh! Would a jury convict me if I murdered this man? After first waterboarding him with my pee?
“Do not talk about my plumbing,” I say through gritted teeth. “Ever.”
If only because it’s making me think of toilets, thus worsening my bladder’s desperate situation.
“Fine.” He swishes the water inside the bottle. “If you don’t want this, I’m going to finish it myself.”
Ouch. Was that a bladder spasm?
I watch through slitted eyes as Lucius tauntingly takes a sip. And another.
“Okay, you win.” I stomp over to him and snatch the water bottle from his grasp. My fingers brush his hand in the process, and I almost pee my pants from the zing that travels down my arm. Ignoring it, I clarify, “I mean I’ll have some water, not the other thing.”
“Sure.” He smirks. “Go ahead and finish the rest of it.”
I take a greedy swig, and for some reason, he watches my lips intently.
I swallow, and wow. What a relief.
I must’ve been thirstier than I thought.
When I thrust the empty bottle back at him, he raises his hands. “You keep that. You’ll need it.”
I roll my eyes and place the bottle on the floor next to my bag.
Okay, no more bending. I almost lost the fight against my bladder just then. The pressure of the water hitting my stomach is worsening my already-dire situation.
A few more minutes and I’m toast. Maybe even seconds.
Lucius arches his eyebrows and looks at me, then at the bottle.
“Stop,” I hiss at him. “It’s not happening.”
“Something is happening. One way or another, nature will win—and you’ll either do the unspeakable or have an accident.”
I cross my legs and squeeze them, hard. “No way.” What sucks is how possible that accident is beginning to sound.
“Just so you know,” he says. “Overstretching your bladder can lead to bladder weakness. Not to mention, it’s bad for your kidneys. Oh, and I think it can cause cystitis or a UTI, as well as?—”
“Do you have a kink or something? You’re not getting a golden shower no matter how many urological facts you list.”
He flashes his white teeth in a startling grin. “Then I guess you’d better pray to Cloacina, the Roman toilet goddess.” With that pearl of wisdom, he puts on his headphones and turns away.
Fuck. Now that the distraction of the annoying conversation is gone, the urge becomes my whole world. My whole universe.
I don’t think I can take it much longer.
Desperate, I put on my audiobook as a last resort and then practice Lamaze breathing with crossed legs.
I also pray in case it helps.
It doesn’t.
This is it.
The turning point.
It’s either the bottle or my pants.
I eye the bottle.
Can I sneak-pee into it right now?
No. What if he turns?
I clear my throat.
He doesn’t hear me.
That’s actually good for what’s to come, but annoying for now.
I poke him in the shoulder.
He turns and removes one earcup. “What?”
I suck in a breath. “You win.”
“I ‘win?’” He gestures at the soon-to-be toilet. “That’s my favorite water bottle, and I do not have a golden shower kink. If anything?—”
“Okay, fine,” I grit out. “I lose. You lose. We both lose. Is that better?”
He shrugs.
“I have rules,” I say.
Those thick eyebrows of his go up.
“First, I need you to turn away. Then crank up your music as loud as it goes.”
His jaw muscle twitches. “You realize that’s exactly what I was doing before you interrupted me?”
I clench and unclench my fists, but he can’t see it thanks to the giant sleeves of his jacket. “I was afraid you’d turn back before I was done.”
He sighs, pointedly turns away, and puts the headphones back on. “There. Tap my shoulder when it’s safe to turn.”
I roll up my/his jacket’s sleeves all the way up to my elbows and make sure the wall he’s facing isn’t reflective.
It isn’t.
I reach into the pocket of my bag and pull out a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer for afterward, being careful not to disturb the cat.
As I drag my feet over to the bottle, I feel like I’m walking the plank.
Is this really about to happen?
If the elevator floor were to collapse or the cables to snap right now, I wouldn’t mind all that much.
I unscrew the bottle’s lid. Thankfully, it’s one of those with a wide mouth, not a sports bottle with a tiny opening.
Seriously, am I doing this?
Seems so.
I turn my back to Lucius, squat, pull down my panties, and position the bottle the best I can.
Wait. When was the last time I ate asparagus?
Nope.
Too late.
The dam breaks, and you could probably power this elevator for a year with the hydroelectric energy produced by the resulting stream.
I will never live this down.