A locked door

Amy fights the doorknob for a few seconds more, every muttered plea or bang against the stubborn wood sending a jolt up your spine as you glance down either end of the hallway. Amy seems about ready to try and kick it down before you stop her with a hand on her shoulder.

"We have to get out of here!" you say, spinning Amy around and pulling her back to the bathroom. You feel excited and guilty all at once for a split second, as Amy hurriedly goes to catch the slipping towel you jostled out of place with the motion, catching just a bit more cleavage than she was already showing, but she quickly snaps you back to reality by jerking you back to a stop. (Not to mention, similarly jerking your towel out of place, a bit of hair peeking up from behind the descending cloth before you readjust yourself.)

"What we have to get is in there!" Amy says back. "Hiding in the bathroom is only gonna work until someone else has to use it; and we can't move in here!"

"We're not about to bust the door down either, though," you say, "and if we stay here in the hallway someone's going to come see what the noise is. Let's duck in here for a second so we can like, find a credit card or a screwdriver or something to get past the lock with."

“Like anybody is going to hand over their credit card, especially if we’re gonna fuck it up like that. Might as well just go and ask for the key!” Amy pauses, and her expression shifts from anger to a more puzzled look. “I mean… we could just go ask for the key, I guess.”

“No we can’t!”

“Why not?” Amy asks, with a half-hearted chuckle and a wry smirk, “We’ve already been out there in our underwear. Hell, we were out there in less than this!” She grabs the hem of your towel and lifts slightly; not enough to reveal anything, but enough to give you a bit more of a draft, and you quickly press it back down.

“Hey! Knock it off, this is serious!” Amy falters a moment, before tugging on her own towel, lifting the hem and sticking her let out to show off a full meaty thigh. Despite everything else the two have you just shared, it’s still a titillating sight, but not enough to set you at ease, and it shows on your face. Seeing this, Amy’s own face falls.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly, “just… trying to lighten the mood.” You smile a bit.

“It’s alright,” you say, “you’re right that we have to do something, towels or no. I guess… we just get moving and see what we can find first. A tool, some help, or god forbid, having to walk out there and ask Rebecca to unlock it if we can’t get anything else.”

“That’s the spirit!” Amy says, nudging you in the side before taking your hand and, with a gentle squeeze, leading you down the hall to what you hoped was an empty living room.