“Thank me later.” Martina pulled her to a row of sinks and parked her in front of the mirror.
“I—”
“You can either argue with Ethan Meyer, or you can meet Bannister. Which do you want?”
“I—I was trying to get him to leave.”
“Yes? Well, you can’t make him.”
“Can’t I?” She eyed her water-spotted image darkly. Her nose was pink and her cheeks were very red.
“What youcando,” Martina ignored her, shifting aside for a woman tottering toward the faucets and retrieving a brush from her purse, which she pointed at Erin’s reflection, “is to calm yourself down, clean yourself up, and meet Bannister.And ignore Ethan Meyer.”
“Ouch!” She flinched when Martina ran the bristles through her hair. Though maybe the pain was good.Distracting. “That’s easy for you to say. He isn’t rude to you whenever you see him.”
“Open.” Martina refreshed the lipstick Erin had smudged off. “No, he isn’t. Just awkward. Blot.”
Erin pressed a tissue between her lips. “Why is he only rude tome?”
“That’s a rhetorical question, right?”
“He’s been a complete asshole, almost since my first day in Modern Physics!” She dragged the strap of her blouse back into place, scowling at her flush in the mirror, then knocked on the nearest faucet and ran a stream of cold water over her wrists.
“Well—”
“No, no—sweetie.” The other woman in the bathroom grabbed her arm. Her eyes were unfocused, tipsy but very earnest while she blinked at Erin’s glasses. “Sweetie,listen. You don’t need his toxicity in your life. If he’s rude—if he takes you for granted? Drop him. Find a man who appreciates you. He doesn’t deserve you. I mean, just look at you! Legs for miles, complete Diana Prince. You can doso so so so somuch better!”
“Uh… no, he’s not… we’re definitely not—”
“Definitely.” But as Martina confirmed this and detached the woman’s hands, her gaze stayed with Erin. It was a long, long look.
Erin was the one to break it.
“So it shouldn’t make any difference if he’s out there, should it?” Martina went on after a moment. “You’re at the Wine Room to meet your mystery artist. To get kissed. Maybe more. Ethan’s just going to sit in a corner with a glass of wine, because what else would he do? If you’re worried about him overhearing something—”
“Or seeing something.” She stared at the water trickling over her forearms, wondering why it wasn’t rising off her overheated skin as steam.
“—just think: what are the real chances of that, in this crowd?”
“Ooh. Unless you want to rub your new man in his face!” the tipsy woman chimed in, nodding and smearing her mascara worse than before. “Park your pretty ass right in front of him and get dirty with your guy. Or any guy. That one with the tattoos isfine—”
“Is he here?”
“Yeah, he’s at a table near the windows—”
“Not him,” Martina waved their companion away. To Erin, “Bannister.”
She fished out her phone. 7:08 p.m. No new messages from him alerted her that he’d arrived at the Wine Room. In fact, he hadn’t sent any texts at all. She tapped back into their thread, checking the time and content of his last communication: several hours ago, confirming their meeting. She’d responded enthusiastically. But since then?
Silence.
At least he hadn’t messaged to ask if she was the crazy woman blocking the door into the bar while arguing about physics and oat milk. He could’ve seen her do it, though—and a fresh surge of frustration coursed through her. Why did Ethan Meyer have to be here, of all the possible Bay Area bars and nights of the week? After Friday—ugh!Biting her lip, she swiped her thumb over her screen to lock her phone. But she fumbled and the device skidded through her wet fingers.
Down into the sink.
Directly under the running faucet.
“Fuck!”
