Broken Carts ✔️

Aisle 22: Shatters

We sprinted back to the warehouse holding our clothes, half-naked bodies covered in towels monogrammed with golden "R"s— a souvenir from our pool-hopping experience. We didn't pause to catch our breath until we'd infiltrated the building through the open window and locked ourselves in a bathroom.

"Fuuuck," Ezra drew out between inhalations. "I've never run so fast in my entire life— were we going at, like, warp speed? Shit!"

"Dude! Right! It was like— oh my God—" I was giggling so hard, I could barely get words out, which made Ezra laugh, then I couldn't stop laughing because he was laughing. I couldn't breathe at all, but I didn't care. I figured if I died in that moment, it wouldn't be a bad way to go.

As our laughter waned, I noticed that Ezra was still dripping wet. Though I still had my soaked pants on— which was just as uncomfortable as you'd imagine— Ezra was just in his boxers, stolen towel wrapped around his waist, shivering slightly. When he saw me eyeing him up, he put a hand on his hip.

"What? Did I grow abs from that two-minute sprint?"

"Yeah. A whole fuckin' six pack." I hit the button on the hand dryer and opened my towel, warming my stomach with the air. "Nah, you just look cold. Come to the fire."

"Or I could just use another towel." Jokingly, Ezra reached out and tugged at the towel around my shoulders. Since my balance was already out of wack, his tug caused me to tumble toward him; in response, his hand shot out to my chest to steady my body. When I straightened up, my bare midsection rubbed against his. His gaze, suddenly filled with hunger, met mine.

The dryer clicked off. Hand still on my chest, Ezra pushed my back against the button, turning it on again. With tantalizing slowness, he pressed his body to mine. I could feel his erratic heartbeat as he licked his lips. My eyes widened.

Then he whispered, "'Scuse me," and stepped to the side to monopolize the hand dryer to warm his lower half.

"What— I— you—" I stammered as he laughed maniacally.

Not satisfied with losing to that cheap trick, I dropped my weight and used my shoulders to nudge him away from the dryer. He was more solid than I thought (either that, or I'd lost major rugby muscle) and we battled it out, shoving each other over and over in a vicious coked-up play-fight, until he grabbed my wrists and used my unsteady balance to wrestle me to the ground.

"Truce?" Ezra said through gritted teeth as he struggled to pin me.

"Truce," I agreed. He loosened his grip and sat up. "Shit, man. I don't remember why we were fighting in the first place."

"Me neither." Ezra peered up at the dryer, conveniently located right above us. "Oh, yeah..." He slapped the button. Warm air poured out.

I sighed in relief and unzipped my soggy pants, hoping to pry them off my legs so I could fully feel the warmth; however, it proved to be a difficult task. Ezra noticed my struggle and offered his assistance. "Not exactly how I envisioned getting in your pants," he quipped as he pulled them.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

We froze in place.

"Uh, occupied," I said in my best high-pitched girl voice. Ezra stifled giggles.

"Look, can you just let me in?" Ezra and I looked at each other, wordlessly screaming: No way, is that...? "I had a super shitty night and I broke a heel and I just need to curl up in a ball away from people—"

"Lynette!" Ezra jumped to his feet.

When he opened the door, Lynette flinched. "Oh, thank God," she sighed after a moment. She limped into the bathroom, trying to balance on her in-tact stiletto while holding the broken one in her hand. The harsh overhead light revealed how much of a mess she was: Puffy eyes, makeup running down her face, strands of hair jutting out of her up-do.