Free Fireworks and Resolutions by Leandra Dohman

T O BE frank, Joseph had not planned on ending up locked in a bathroom in the middle of a New Year’s party. It’s not as if he’d made a conscious decision to spill a glass of merlot on his formerly pristine white shirt. It’s not as if he’d wanted to wear such a shirt in the first place, but a little bird—aka his best friend, Mike—had told him this New Year’s party would not be attended by casually dressed people. With that, Mike had saved him from further humiliation in the very last possible moment. So there Joseph had been, awkwardly holding a glass of wine when he’d much rather have been drinking beer. He’d been doing great until a tall blonde had bumped her elbow into his arm.
    He’d fled to the bathroom and tried to get the stain out with some water and made it worse. He’d checked for a solution through a damn search engine on his phone. After reading the hits, he’d realized that he couldn’t ask Carter whether he had some milk or salt or hydrogen peroxide. After all, Joseph had been avoiding a conversation with the host for the last three hours (ever since arriving) and he preferred it to stay that way. Even if said host was currently sitting on the edge of a bathtub a few feet away from him. So, somewhere between cursing at the shirt and looking up “How to remove wine stains off your shirt,” the door had decided to play him for a fool by refusing to budge. Oh, and Carter had come in after the first two and just before the third phase.
    After admitting defeat over the wine stain, Joseph kept on jiggling the doorknob, willing it to magically pop open. The darn thing wouldn’t budge. There were no bobby pins in a man’s bathroom for him to pick a lock like they did in the movies. Mike wasn’t answering his phone, and nobody else attending the party could hear him yelling for help over the loud music and playful chatter.
    “You’ve been doing that for the last fifteen minutes, Joe. It’s not going to budge,” the familiar, gut-warming voice spoke from behind him.
    He’d had his back to the guy ever since Carter had snuck inside the bathroom. Joseph had promptly ignored him for as long as he could by keeping his back to him and his gaze averted.
    “Why did you even lock it?”
    The exasperated sentence met sudden silence. Oh. Joseph at last dropped his hand and forced himself to turn around toward the other person in the world’s smallest bathroom. An exaggeration. Gross exaggeration. You could fit in at least four more people, and it still wouldn’t be crowded. But being locked in a small room with a person you’ve been deliberately avoiding for the last ten days… well, that somehow warped your perception of confined places and intrusions into your personal space.
    Carter was still sitting there as if the situation didn’t irk him at all. He wasn’t fazed the least bit. His shirt was, of course, without a wine stain or a wrinkle. Those eyes, sparkling with mischief, were focused solely on Joseph, and those tempting lips were curved into a small smirk.
    “You’re enjoying this,” Joseph sighed, leaning back on the doors. There was no way in hell he was moving closer to him and risking doing something stupid, for example climbing onto his lap or nibbling his earlobe. His body never played by the rules when Carter was around, and gravity’s pull had too often caused him to face-plant.
    “Of course I am. You’ve been avoiding me since you stepped inside my apartment. I’m surprised you even came.”
    “Mike convinced me to come.”
    “So you have a habit of kissing a person and then running away as if your life was in danger?”
    Joseph visibly flinched at that one. What? Was there a way out of this conversation? See, this was the very reason for his reluctance over attending the party. Right now he could be at home, watching a marathon of Indiana Jones movies with a bowl full of caramel popcorn, a six-pack of beer, and Zelda the Turtle chilling on the couch next to him.