Page 5 of The Wedding Wrecker

“Yoo hoo! Anybody in there?”

No answer.

"Desperate times," I whispered, then made a break for it.

I pushed the heavy wooden door open further, wincing at its dramatic creak. The men's room was small but clean—well, clean-ish. Medieval castle standards were different from modern ones, I supposed.

One lonely stall occupied the far wall, flanked by two urinals. I approached the stall with hope in my heart and a prayer on my lips.

That hope died a quick, brutal death when I saw the toilet. It looked like it had survived several wars, a plague, and possibly an exorcism. There was no way any part of me was getting anywhere near that thing. It wasn’t even suitable for a hover-pee-style attack.

Nope.

That meant I was left with the urinals, those strange, bafflingly not private things I sometimes thought only existed in movies and not real life.

I stared at them, hands on hips, weighing my options. "Okay, Emma," I muttered. "Cowgirl or reverse cowgirl?"

The porcelain gleamed mockingly in the dim light. I'd need good aim, a steady stance, and ice in my heart to pull this off. And if anybody walked in while I was mid-stream?Yeah. It was better not to think about that.

"Reverse it is." I hiked up my dress, grabbed some paper towels, and started my awkward backward approach. Just as I was perfecting my stance and mentally preparing for the feat of engineering I was about to attempt, the door creaked open.

I froze, dress bunched around my waist, underwear at half-mast, pasty ass exposed, and in what had to be the least dignified position of my entire life.

At least I hadn’t already started peeing…

The universe, apparently deciding I hadn't suffered enough, chose that moment to fully reveal my visitor. He stepped into view, and my brain short-circuited.

He was tall—the kind of tall that made you want to climb him like a tree. Dark hair fell across his forehead in that perfectly messy way hot guys across the world seemed to have a monopoly on. And his face was…chef’s kiss.A sharp jawline, strong nose, and eyes so blue they made the Irish sky look washed out.

A black sweater hugged broad shoulders and what had to be an illegal amount of muscle. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a magazine ad for "Rugged Rich Guy Casual Wear."

And for some reason, I was still frozen in position. That was also the exact moment the pee started to flow.

Just wonderful.

One of his thick, dark eyebrows lifted and he turned his back to me. “Good for you. A lot of people get gun shy at the range, if you know what I mean.”

I should have been mortified. Should have died on the spot. Instead, I found myself fighting back a laugh. "This isn't what it looks like."

"No?" I could hear the amusement in his voice and picture the smile on his full lips. "Is it at least what it sounds like? Because it sounds like you’ve got your ass out and you’re pissing in a men’s urinal.” He leaned to the side, then nodded. “With impressive aim, I should add."

"Okay, it's exactly what it looks like." I straightened up when I finished and tried to resurrect my long-dead dignity by fixing my clothing. "But in my defense, the women's room is out of order and that toilet"—I pointed to the stall—"is probably a portal to hell."

He took a quick look in the stall and grimaced. "Fair point." Then he smiled,and oh my God, that smile should come with a warning label.

"I'm James," he said.

"Emma," I managed, very aware that my face was probably bright red. "And I don't usually meet men like this."

"In bathrooms?"

"That, or with my panties around my ankles. But, um… do you mind turning around again? Sometimes, when I’m nervous, I have to go twice.”

His laugh was rich and deep, doing dangerous things to my insides. "I'll wait outside and guard the door while you... finish up."

"My hero," I said dryly, but couldn't help smiling.

He gave an exaggerated bow and backed toward the door. "Take your time."

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