The Locker Room(32)

From down the hall, we hear the door click open.

Shit.

Both of our eyes connect.

Lindsay.

I want to shout NOOO in slow motion, hurl my body down the hall and lock the door, but it’s too late, as Lindsay’s voice travels down the hallway along with a very familiar masculine one.

“What a surprise, Knox. Was Emory expecting you?”

No, no, she wasn’t.

Eyes wide, I run to my door, slam it right in front of Dottie, and run around my room, trying to figure out what to do. He can’t see me like this. Holey sweatpants are one thing, but avocado face and roller head is an entirely different image that should only be shared after marriage, when there is no escaping. From the back of my door, I snag my towel and start scraping my face with the dry fabric while simultaneously pulling out my rollers and dancing around my room to remove the toe separators.

“She’s in here.” I pause, eyes locked on the door, body still.

Holy shit.

I scrub even faster as my fingers get tangled in my hair. I step on my foot wrong while trying to remove the toe separators and lose my balance. I skid across the floor, one leg flying up just in time for Lindsay to open my door to Knox, who catches me flying, and then I fall straight on my ass.

There I am, lying on the floor, legs spread as an open invitation for God knows what reason—clearly not a graceful faller—hand tangled in the rat’s nest that is now my hair, and half my face scraped off from the lack of water used while trying to get rid of my mask.

In a word. Disaster.

I’ve had my fair share of embarrassing moments before, but I would have to say, this is a low point for me.

The only thing that would make this worse was if I farted as I fell.

Thank God for small miracles.

From the doorway, three heads stare down at me, two of which I’m going to murder once the third leaves. Unlike me, Lindsay and Dottie don’t have curlers in their hair or masks on their faces. Instead, they look like perfectly normal college girls, completely opposite to the beast they’re staring at.

“Hey, Em,” Knox says, so casually, as if I’m not a rabid gargoyle snarling on the floor. He walks into my room, gives it a courtesy perusal, and then lends his hand to help me up.

I’m tempted to army crawl away from the scene and slither under my bed with my towel tucked close to my side as my only remaining friend, but I think otherwise and take Knox’s hand in mine, the one that isn’t stuck in my hair.

He sets a box to the side and reaches up to my hair where he carefully frees my hand. He then bends down and picks up my towel and smiles when he brings it to my face. I stand there, perplexed and embarrassed that he’s seeing me like this.

“You have something on your face.” He wraps the towel around his index finger and then lightly makes one small swipe across my nose. “There, perfect.”

I glance in the mirror and come face to face with a patchy green monster.

Oh my God.

Attempting to take a step back, he grips me by the waist and studies me, both Lindsay and Dottie still hanging out by my door. “You look mortified,” he says, observation and surprise in his voice.

That would be correct. He’s a smart one.

“That’s because I am. Don’t look at me. Close your eyes.” I try to cover his face with my hand but he’s too quick and too strong.

“No way in hell.” He looks down my bodice and then back up. “I like this little number. I think my grandma wore something like it back in her day.”

“Oh my God, things not to say to a girl.”

He chuckles. “And the hair, it’s different but it’s doing all kind of things for me.”

“Stahp,” I groan, trying to push him away. His grip on me only grows tighter. “You realize this is the last time you’re ever going to see me, right? There is no coming back from this.”

“The hell it is.” He glances down at his watch and grimaces. “I’d happily stay here and enjoy this visual feast, but I have to get to late-night weights.” Letting go of me, he grabs the box he carried in and hands it to me. “Cookies . . . for my cookie.”

Dottie and Lindsay both snort as my face flushes once again.

“I am not your . . . cookie,” I say, the word so vile coming off my tongue.

He laughs some more and pats the top of the box. “These are the best in Brentwood. I’m sure your girls can vouch for me. Fresh from the oven, just for you. Go ahead, lift the lid, you know you want to.”

I really do, they smell so good.

Giving in, I lift the lid and find one dozen of the thickest, most delicious-smelling cookies I’ve ever seen in my life.

Holy crap.

Cookies for his cookie indeed.

“Are those from Mr. Tom’s?”

“The only place to get cookies in town,” Knox answers Dottie, whose nose is sniffing the air. “And if Em’s a good friend, she’ll share with you two.”

“I’m not.” I slam the lid and place the box on my desk, eyeing my friends at the door with daggers. They could have avoided this entire embarrassment by remembering what I look like during power hour. But noooo, they had to let Knox in without even giving me a second to at least change out of my apparent grandma garb.

“I’ll leave you guys to settle this.” He takes a step forward and reaches for me, pulling me into a hug before I can retreat to the other side of the room. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He kisses the top of my head and then once again lowers his mouth to my ear where he whispers, “Remember this, Em. I’ll take you any way I can have you.”