She frowned. “How do you know it was your girlfriend? I mean, you couldn’t see much. Other than…”

“The freckles,” I said. “They form a pretty distinct pattern. One I recognized.”

She nodded absently.

“I’m Dean, by the way. Dean Slater.”

She barely looked up. “Pearl.”

“Just Pearl? Like Madonna?”

Pearl’s big blue eyes lifted to mine in a dry, that’s not even close to funny, kind of way. I couldn’t help but grin at the way she was glaring, and my grin seemed to finally break through something in her.

She lowered her eyes and snorted a quick, little laugh and flashed a smile at her knees. “Pearl Moreno.”

“So, uh. Did you see this coming?”

“You mean someone pestering me while I try to process the fact that my boyfriend–former boyfriend…” she trailed off, eyes almost glazing over. She blinked, then continued. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude. But, I feel like I just–” She stood and put a hand to her mouth, eyebrows pulling together.

I got up. She was short, so I had to bend a little to look into her eyes. “Hey, you okay? You look like you might–”

It happened so quickly I didn’t even move. One minute, her big blue eyes were looking up into mine, full of panic. The next, my shirt felt warm and wet, sticking to my chest.

I looked down and saw… yeah. “Well, now I don’t need to ask if you like eggs,” I said.

She turned a literal shade of green and hit me with another round, this time splashing over my shoes.

* * *

I considered trying to salvage my soiled clothes, but opted to toss them in the bathroom trash can, along with my shoes. It was a few thousand dollars’ worth of fabric, but I wasn’t going to sweat that. There were certain things you could wash out of your clothes, but no amount of detergent could erase the full horror of what they’d seen. I wondered if people were a little bit like that, too.

We got shit on, puked on, and roughed up. Then we’d do our best to move on and start fresh, but we carried a little bit of those memories inside us, just beneath the surface. If that was the case, I should’ve probably chucked myself right in the trash with my soiled clothes.

I’d changed into my workout gear, which had thankfully been tucked in my bag. Small victories, I guessed.

I was washing my hands in the sink, scrubbing as I ran back through the last few minutes. I couldn’t help grinning. What a fucking mess. First, I found out my girlfriend cheated on me in front of a few dozen people. Next, I failed at charming a beautiful woman so badly she lost her breakfast all over my clothes. Staying away from relationships would be a whole lot easier if women stopped falling over themselves to date me. Maybe this was a good thing.