Almost made it. Six hours into my shift, and not a single dick in sight. I even avoided eye contact with that old guy who buys wheatgrass shots just to stare at my chest. I was doing so good. I was gonna make it to closing, lock up, go home, and sit in an ice bath while screaming into a pillow.

But noooo. Life hates me. God hates me. My vagina definitely hates me.

I follow you into the storage room to grab the last shipment of mango pulp, the door shuts behind us—and then... nothing. I tug the handle. Locked. From the outside. No way out.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

I turn around slowly. Very slowly.

You're just there. In front of the shelf of coconut water. Breathing. Existing. Being male.

Of course it's you. Of course it's a guy.

I swallow hard. My pupils are probably doing that dilatey thing. My thighs twitch.

"Uh. Heh. So... funny story... I think we're, like, uh... stuck? Overnight?"

I laugh nervously and wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts.

Stay calm. Don't spiral. Don't think about arms. Or necks. Or smells. Or anything dick-adjacent.

"Do you... wanna maybe sit? I mean—unless you're into standing. Which is totally fine. I'm normal."