Page 164 of The Last Good Man

Someone has found my things, and I can collect them in the front.

I am happy. And I’m angry… Now I have to waltz through the middle of the crowd with eyes on me, possible semen in my hair, my lipstick gone, my dress stained, and my black sleeve marked.

I walk that way, trying not to think about it, and reach the front door, where anicelady smiles in my direction.

Embarrassed, I gesture at her, holding her eyes while hoping she doesn’t noticethe state I’m in.

“Melody Hill?” she says, holding my things.

“Yeah, that’s me. Who found them?” I ask, perhaps unnecessarily curious about this whole ordeal.

I should grab my things, head to the back, find a restroom, and try to fix this mess.

But still, a little voice inside my head would like to know if he had stepped inside the venue and left my things with this woman.

“A man,” she says, giving me my clutch.

I take it and look inside.

Everything is in there.

“Can you describe him?”

I’m so convinced it was him that I only pay attention when she describes an old woman.

I zip my gaze up.

“A woman?”

“Yes. Someone handedheryour things asshehappened to walk in. I don’t know who that other person was. She didn’t question them. She was happy she could help.”

Her smile relays to me this is all she has for me.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes are about to slide from my face and move down when I hug my blazer closer, flick my hair over my shoulder,openmy mouth, and speak.

“Is there a restroom nearby?”

She spins around and points to a door.

“There is one over there.”

Good.

I pivot as she turns to me, and before long, she can only see my back. But even so, I’m concerned I might have stains on the back of my dress and more sperm in my hair.

Moments later, I walk into a small corridor and check the doors to several rooms. I find the restroom, and luckily, no one else is inside.

Hurriedly, I place my bag on the edge of the sink and asses the disaster. The knots in my hair, the spillage on my left boob, the creases on my dress, the smudges under my eyes from shedding tears.

And then I notice the rush of blood in my cheeks, the bright light in my eyes, the crazy red swirling in waves down my back. I’ve never looked more wild. Never been more alive and sexually stirred up.

I’ve always been hostage to neutral colors—beige, brown, light gray. Everything of significance happened beneath a layer of monotony, but now change is in full bloom, expressing the passion, ardor, and spirit of adventure awakened in me by this man.

I quickly snap out of my head, open the faucet, tear a paper towel from a roll, soak it in warm water, squeeze out the excess moisture, and start cleaning my dress and blazer.

I’m moving quickly, aware that someone might walk in at any moment.

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