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No one ever came in, and if they did, we were too wrapped up in the moment to notice. On one such smoke break, I lost control and had hope of something more.
    As the story goes, we met as usual, checking the latrine stalls for feet and opening the shower curtains just in case. We prepped the vent for the proper angle, and I took my usual position against the back wall, straddling the toilet while she pulled out a cigarette for each of us and leaned against the door. It was the routine and the details of it that made the whole ordeal more than just a smoke break. I patted down every pocket possible for the lighter that I swore was on me this time. Rachel snickered at my familiar actions and shook her head as she held two cigarettes in one hand and crossed her arm over her stomach with the other.
    “Wait, dammit, I know I put one in my pocket today.” I patted myself down relentlessly as she watched endearingly with her big brown eyes.
    “Yeah, like you put one in your pocket yesterday and the day before, right?” Her head shook again, but this time it was accompanied by deep eye rolls.
    “Shut up, you ass. Where the hell do they go? I must have a fucking hole in my pants.” I countered and continued checking the ten possible pockets in my uniform. We snickered in unison as I checked for the third time.
    While I mumbled on about a lighter that was never there, she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled from it a pink mini Bic. Rachel placed her hand on my shoulder to stop me, and, when I looked up from the hunt, she placed a smoke into my mouth and reminded me, “Here, I have mine.” Her peach hand cream was recently renewed, and the smell was stronger than usual. But I was fixated on locating the missing one, which was supposed to be in on me. Was it because I was trying to prove my point or that I was avoiding eye contact?
    Either way, I was losing cool points the longer I fumbled. “I swear I have it. I grabbed it to impress your dumb ass and used it to burn strings from the lesbian’s uniform in formation.” Rachel formed a half-cocked smile and her eyes changed. I couldn’t see the change, it wasn’t something visual; I could only feel it. My boots scooted back an inch for spatial comfort. My tone changed in frustration but held flirtatious undertones. “God damn it, woman, stop smirking. I know it’s here.” It was lighthearted stubbornness. Rachel plastered the Mona Lisa smile across her lips as she stared at me much longer than she ever had. This stare confirmed the difference in the atmosphere. My embarrassment was quite obvious.
    “What?” I asked as she stared and said nothing.
    My hands nervously squeezed each pocket. The filter on the cigarette in my mouth was getting wet with each passing second. The fan next to the vent stopped spinning. Her glare made me incredibly uneasy, so bending over a bit to “check” my cargo pockets for the fourth time was the best way to hide the blushing that was filling my cheeks. The tension seemed to make the stall enclose around us.
    Her words replayed in my head about how she was totally Christian, which only made me feel guilty about the signals she was presumably sending. As I leaned down, Rachel shifted her position from the stall door. She sidestepped and moved closer to me with her lighter already in flames, yet gave me enough room to straighten myself up.
    “I told you I have mine.” She waved the lighter in the air. As the smell of peach and burning lighter fluid filled my nose, our eyes locked; then she stole another inch of my space. The bright flame created a beautiful reflected flickering in her eyes and I was mesmerized. I could almost see my frozen image staring back at me.
    Rachel held the lighter, and I uncomfortably broke my stare with a shake of my head. My eyes focused on the tip of the cigarette to make sure it was in the flame. As I inhaled, our eyes reconnected through the haze, and yours truly was unable to feel confident about