Loveseat Nights

2

tuesday, feb 2

The thing about making out with your voluptuous, blonde, volleyball-playing girlfriend is that she can sense when you’re not in the game. After all, she’s had years of passionate kisses with guys that are tall, short, fat, skinny, black, white, and even some who aren’t guys at all.

“Adrien?” she murmurs. We’re in the girls’ bathroom at the National History Museum (romantic, eh?). While the rest of our Geology II class is enjoying a lecture on the Earth’s formation through accretion, Ally is so very desperately trying to get my shirt off.

“Maybe we should get back to the group,” I suggest, but it comes out too quiet to be taken seriously. Hey, I’m all for these kinky makeout sessions, but there’s something about getting it on in a public restroom that seems unsanitary.

“Come on, you’ve never done it in a bathroom before?” She laughs. “You are so inexperienced, it’s cute.”

The main door to the bathroom swings open and we both freeze. The sound of high heels echo across the room as the lady goes into the stall next to us.

I mouth to Ally, What now?

Just wait and be still, she mouths back. I’ve done this before.

I’m wondering to myself how many times she’s done this before when the door swings open again and I hear the voice of Paul Rigardo hiss, “Psst. Adrien. Adrien? Come on, man. Mr. Querella is looking for you, and he is pissed off.”

The stall next to us flushes — what the hell, have they been here the entire time? — and the door bangs open. Immediately, I hear a flustered Paul stammer, “Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am, I’m sorry, I thought my friend, he, he gets lost and — “

“Get out, Mr. Rigardo,” a familiar voice barks. “Tell Mr. Finkwell and Ms. Brookes to leave as well.”

Ally mouths a curse — or rather, ten — and starts putting her shoes and cardigan back on. I’m trying to find my belt when Mrs. Tercer opens the stall door and gives us her stink eye.

“You two should know that the school’s policy on inappropriate affectionis prohibited even on field trips,” Mrs. Tercer snaps. “Especially you, Ms. Brookes. I believe this our fifth time in this situation?”

Staring incredulously at the open door, I ask, “Wait, how did you...the stall door...Ally, did you not lock it?”

“I close it halfway.” She shrugs quickly while adjusting her locket necklace. “It’s a habit.”

“Out of the stall,” Mrs. Tercer reminds us. “Now. And take Mr. Rigardo, he’s looking much too embarrassed right now.”

After much stammering, clothes-fixing, and people-shoving, all three of us manage to get out of the bathroom without having our heads bitten up.

“Christ, that was close,” Paul says.

Ally flips her hair over her shoulder, hitting me in the face with a wallop of silky smooth blondeness. “I’ll say. That Tercer grandma is a real bitch.”

Paul laughs loudly, a little too forcibly. “Ha ha, yeah, you’re so right, Ally.”

“Stop hitting on my girlfriend, Paulie.” I scowl at him as I put my arm around her waist. “Or maybe I should tell her about that incident with the towel in the toilet — “

“See you, lovebirds!” Paul bellows, running down the hall after the tour group. “Don’t get caught having sex again!”

I almost yell that we weren’t having sex, and then I want to yell at him to stop yelling at us, but Ally takes my chin and tilts it toward her. Slowly, she goes halfway on her tiptoes and kisses me sweetly. Even with her infamous reputation, Alyssa Brookes knows how to make a guy feel good inside.