Page 11 of The Billionaires

“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.

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