My stomach dropped a little. "I need to hit the ladies'," I told her.
I wormed my way through the circle of men, off the dance floor, and followed the signs to the second floor, which was essentially a balcony overlooking the entire club. I walked down a narrow hallway and into the bathroom, which was so bright that a pulse of pain spiked from my eyes to the back of my head. The room was eerily empty, and the music downstairs felt like it was coming up from underwater.
On my way out, I fixed my hair, mentally high-fived myself for putting on a rumple-free dress, and touched up my lipstick.
I walked out of the door and right into a wall of man.
We'd been close at the bar, but not this close. Not my face to his throat, the smell of him surrounding me. He didn't smell like the men on the dance floor, awash in cologne. He just smelled clean, and like a man who did his laundry, and who also had a touch of scotch on his lips.
"Hello, Petal."
"Hi, stranger."
