“You’re such a liar,” Dylan says, but he’s grinning. “They were terrible. I used salt instead of sugar in the dough. Don’t ask me how.”
Everyone laughs.
“I’m not a great cook either,” I admit, reaching for another dumpling because they’re right there and I have zero self-control. “But I once made kung pao chicken that was actually a masterpiece. Like, genuinely the best thing I’ve ever cooked. Ate the entire thing myself in one sitting. It was so good that I haven’t been able to re-create it since. I think I used up all my cooking luck on that one dish.”
“That’s how it works,” Jasper says. “One perfect meal to prove you can do it, then a lifetime of trying to match it.”
Dylan glances across the restaurant with a frown. “Where’s Ash? He’s been gone for a while. You think he drowned in there?”
My heart stops.
Shit. I got so caught up in enjoying their company that I forgot my mission.
“Oh, I’ll go find him,” I say quickly, already standing. “He probably got distracted by his phone or something. You know how guys are with bathrooms.”
“You won’t be able to go into the men’s bathroom,” Mason points out logically.
But I’m already moving, slipping away from the table before they can stop me or offer to check themselves.
I rush to the hallway, my heart pounding, and grab my bag from behind the trash can.
The men’s room. I need to get in there and change back into Ash.
I’m reaching for the door handle when it swings open and a guy walks out, young, maybe mid-twenties, buzzed hair, cocky smirk.
His eyes widen when he sees me standing there.
“Wrong bathroom, gorgeous,” he drawls, grinning in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Unless you’re looking for some company? I’m happy to show you around.”
“No, thanks,” I say shortly, stepping aside and away from him.
He steps closer. “Come on, don’t be like that. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
“Leave me alone,” I say firmly.
He laughs but moves aside. “Your loss.” Then he walks away. Once he’s gone, I duck into the men’s room.
The door swings shut behind me, and I’m alone, thank God.
The bathroom smells like urinal cakes and industrial cleaner and vaguely of beer. Not a fan. But I don’t have time to be picky.
I dive into the nearest stall and work as fast as I possibly can.
Dress off in one smooth motion. Chest binder adjusted back into proper position. Ash’s clothes pulled from the bag. Everything goes on in a flurry of movement.
I’m sweating from the exertion and the stress, overheated in the warm restaurant and the layers of clothing.
Wig secured back on my head. Facial hair reapplied. I’m getting faster at this, my hands moving quickly even though they’re shaking. Contacts are in, then I change my flats for boots.
I step out of the stall, breathing hard, and check the mirror.
Everything looks right. Hair is straight. Facial hair is secure. Clothes are in order.
Except—
I still have lipstick on.
The pink lipstick I applied as Anita is clearly visible in the bathroom lighting.
