Wait, is that a sanitizing case?

I glance at what else is out. Caswell-Massey soap. Philip B. shampoo. Geez. That man is high maintenance.

But I like it. It means when I’m with him we have good service, excellent champagne, and the best of everything. And it’s not like he can’t adjust. He’s doing it right now.

I’m sure a hotel like this is utterly below his standards, but he won’t complain.

He’s amazing, actually.

And he came after me.

I wash all my makeup off and brush my teeth. I need to pee, but the walls are so thin, he’ll be able to hear.

I can’t handle it.

Can I hold it all night?

Did he pee? I didn’t hear it.

Maybe the walls are thicker than I think.

But when I start to pull down my shorts, I stop. I can’t risk it.

I step toward the door, but then my need to pee magnifies times ten.

Okay, fine.

This time, the panties hit the floor, but despite my bladder practically screaming, nothing comes out when I sit down.

Oh, geez. Come on.

I turn on the water full blast.

Nothing.

How can I make this quieter?

I string toilet paper across the lid so it will slow the flow and lower the splash sounds.

And finally, I go.

Ahhhh.

It works, the toilet paper tarp slowly disintegrating and plopping into the water.

Oh, no. That sound is worse!

He’s going to think I did number two!

I flush and wash my hands, wishing I had never agreed to let him stay. This is the worst!

I wait as long as possible, then wonder if he’ll think something is wrong with me, and open the door so fast I bang it on my toe.

Zach jumps to his feet. “You okay?”

I wave him off. “Just clumsy.”

He sits back down, and the combination of his closeness, the intimacy of sharing a room, his casual bed clothes, and a small knowing smile makes my heart do a strange little flip.