by K. A. Berg
“What do you mean, how far am I thinking about taking this?” I ask, not following. “I mean, how much is involved in dressing up as a librarian? A tight skirt, a lacy bra sticking out of the top of my shirt, some glasses, and a bun?”
Both of them laugh like hyenas.
“Oh, Dani, you have so much to learn. This is much more than some sexy lingerie.”
I have a pit forming in the bottom of my stomach as these two start listing all these things I should do if I want to pull this off.
“Anything worth doing, is worth doing right, girl.” Mercy chuckles, and I hang my head in my hands.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask as we approach the door of the waxing center. “Ryan hasn’t complained about my maintenance before.”
“Yes,” the two co-conspirators say in unison.
“Trust us, you will thank us when Ryan jumps you harder than ever before,” Mercy vows.
I’m having serious reservations about this. Don’t get me wrong; I get my eyebrows waxed but waxing my hoo-ha hasn’t been on my to-do list. From what I’ve gathered, there’s not an in-between; it’s either horrible or easy-breezy.
Mercy and Amelia, who have both had it done, keep telling me it’s worth it, but I don’t know if I believe them as we enter the building.
I check in at the desk.
“Did you exfoliate today?” the woman at the desk asks.
When I booked the appointment, the woman I spoke with informed me, for the best results, I needed to exfoliate before the appointment, which I did. The skin down there feels kind of sore from all that scrubbing. If I’m doing this, I want the best damn results I can get. I don’t care what my sister or Mercy said; I know this is going to hurt.
“Yes.”
“Great,” she says and points to the chairs. “Have a seat, and we’ll call you back in a minute or two.”
We take a seat, and the lady’s eyes follow the three of us. Her eyes bounce between us as if she’s trying to figure out why there are three of us for one Brazilian wax.
Yes, ma’am, I need a support system to go through with this.
My leg bounces as I think, Why the hell am I about to let some woman pour hot wax on my body and then yank out all my pubic hair at once?
I must have lost my mind.
A short, middle-aged woman comes out from behind the wall framing the reception desk and smiles our way. “Danielle, we’re ready for you.”
My heart races in my chest as if I were walking into a snake pit.
“You’ll be fine, Dani.” Amelia rubs a hand over my back as I get up.
“I’m Lana,” the woman says when I reach her. “I’ll be doing your waxing today.”
The stark whiteness of her uniform keeps my attention focused forward as we head down the hall to the room.
There’s no screaming.
I imagined the atmosphere to be a bit more medieval torture-esque. Lots of bloodcurdling screams and whatnot.
Lana opens the door to the room, and I’m surprised to hear light nature music through the speakers and see a potted tree in the corner. The room is almost relaxing. The calm before the storm.
“You can remove everything from the waist down, and I’ll be back in a few moments.”
Alone, I spin around and take in the room. The earth tones work well. Sitting on the chair in the corner, I remove my shoes and my nerves start to rattle.
Just like the gynecologist, Danielle.
Yep, just like that.
The paper even crinkles just like at the gyno as I take a seat on the table.
A knock sounds at the door.
“All set?” Lana asks from the other side of it.
“Yes.”
My eyes stay glued to Lana as if I’m worried she’s about to pull a knife out of her pocket and shank me.
“Is this your first time?” she asks as she fiddles with the wax in the pot on the tray next to the table.
“That obvious?” I reply, fingering the hem of my shirt.
She smiles over her shoulder. “You seem a bit nervous. I’ll talk you through it. It shouldn’t be that bad. You’re probably expecting worse.”
God, I hope so.
“Okay, lie back on the table. Bend your knees and touch the soles of your feet together, butterfly-style.”
I follow her instructions, and she leans against my hip.
“We’re going to start with the bikini line first.”
Lana spreads the hot wax over the inside of my thigh and along my panty line. She pats the wax a couple of times before saying, “Now, take a deep breath.”
Just as I inhale, she pulls the wax strip and quickly places her hand on top of my skin.
It stings but isn’t too bad.
“How was that?” Lana asks as she drops the hardened wax onto the tray.
“Wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.”
I might be able to get through this after all.
She repeats the steps on the other side. “Still good?”
“Yep.”
“Wonderful. We’re going to do here now,” she says, pointing to the area above my pubic bone.
I watch as she spreads the wax diagonally across the hair.
“Take another deep breath for me, Danielle.”
She rips the wax off, and instead of releasing my breath, a scream flies out as I see stars.
Holy shit!
Ohmigod, ohmigod, I’m dying.
My body jackknifes up, and I almost knock Lana out in a head butt as the pain sears through my body as if someone just branded me with the hottest iron they could find. I swear to God, she just skinned my vagina.
“Are you all right?” Lana asks, clearly shocked. Worry fills her eyes.
Biting down on my bottom lip, I nod as I stare at the angry red triangle sitting where a patch of hair used to be. “Mmhmm.”
It wasn’t even a large section of hair, and I want to throw up. Easy-breezy, my ass. This really is some kind of medieval torture. Why the hell would anyone do this to themselves?
I take stock of the apex of my thighs. There are two huge red areas where she did the bikini line, but I still have two lips that need to be done, another half of the top, and the back end. I can’t imagine what the lower half will feel like if the top part was so bad.
There’s no way I can finish this. Nope. Not a chance in hell I can sit through that again—four more times at least. I’ll die. I’ll have a pain-induced heart attack and die.
Death by waxing.
I swear to God, I’m going to murder my sister and Mercy.
“Do you need a minute?” Lana asks politely.
There’s a knock on the door, and I hear my sister ask, “Dani, you okay?”
“I hate you,” I tell her. “I will get you back for this.”
Lana chuckles beside me as Amelia says, “It’s not that bad. Want me to hold your hand?”
“No.” I turn to Lana as I swing my legs over the side of the table. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t finish. I’m sorry. Honestly, on the next one, there’s a high possibility I’d throw up on you.”
“Don’t be a baby, Danielle,” Amelia calls through the door
Lana grips my hand. “Are you sure? I need to advise you that if this is for a special occasion, you shouldn’t go home and try to shave for at least twenty-four hours. It could cause irritation and a breakout.”
Not even that is enough to sway my mind. Ryan has never complained before, and I doubt he will now. Besides, I’ll just push our plans back a little bit and wait to shave.
“That’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
I don’t even care about Lana getting a full view of my ass as I walk to the corner of the room for my things. She was just all up in my coochie anyway.
Amelia is waiting for me outside the door when I open it.
“Don’t you say a word.” I point a finger at her. “Not a single word.”
I stomp angrily down the hall, s
till not hearing any other screams of branding terror. Maybe they soundproof the walls to not scare everyone away. No, because, clearly, Amelia heard my scream.
Mercy and Amelia don’t cover their laughter very well as I pay the lady at the desk for a third of a Brazilian wax.
“I cannot believe you didn’t finish.” Amelia corners me as soon as we get outside.
“And I can’t believe you two lied to me,” I counter. “Doesn’t hurt, huh? I’m pretty sure the top half of my vagina is still attached to the wax in there!” My voice is louder than I intended, and a mom walking past covers her kid’s ears and gives me a dirty look.
“Seriously, Danielle?” Mercy asks. “I’ve had quite a few of them done, and I’ve never screamed like that or heard anyone scream like that before. Except that guy from The 40-Year-Old Virgin.”
“Well, I guess my vagina’s a pussy then because it’s possible it died in there. She’s traumatized. May never work again.”
Amelia snorts. “In that case, at least you won’t have to explain to Ryan tomorrow why you have the worst design in pubic hair history.”
“It’s not that bad. Plus, I’m going to shave it before.” I stick my tongue out at her. “I’m just going to push back dinner. See if we can get a later reservation.”
I pull out my phone and dial the number of the restaurant Ryan wanted to go to.
“Thank you for calling Gregorio’s. This is Michelle. How can I help you?”
“Hello, I have a reservation for tomorrow evening at six. Is there any way I can switch that to later?”
The sound of a page flipping filters through the line. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re completely booked for tomorrow. Do you want me to try and reschedule for another day?”
Shit!
Shit! Shit! Shit!
“No, it’s fine. I’ll keep the one we have,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
Amelia and Mercy both stare at me with amusement on their faces.
“Whatcha going to do now?” Mercy asks.
“Shut up,” I snap. “I’ll figure something out.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Danielle
Checking my watch, I see that Ryan will be here in ten minutes to pick me up for his birthday dinner. His birthday isn’t until Sunday, but in order to pull off my librarian surprise, I needed to do it earlier than Sunday. I wanted a wild night of passion with Ryan where I didn’t have to drag my butt to work the next day. So, I took matters into my own hands and convinced him to have a birthday weekend instead.
“Guys don’t have birthday weekends, Danielle,” he argued at first. “Unless they’re going to Vegas or something.”
I tried my hardest to sway him without ruining the fact that I had a surprise for him. “Says who? This is the last year of your twenties. Let’s do it up right.”
He sighed. “If it means that much to you.”
It kind of does. I’ve never done this before. Sure, I wear sexy lingerie, but I’ve never dressed in any kind of role-playing stuff.
All day, I’ve been working out a way to make this happen and get rid of the rest of the hair on my vagina. Stupid fucking waxing. My skin is still sore.
Checking over my bag again, I go over the plan.
Skirt? Check.
Shirt? Check.
I already have on my racy red bra and panties under my dress.
Hair ties for bun? Check.
Fake glasses, complete with neck string? Check.
Blood-red lipstick? Check.
My favorite heels? Check.
STD keychain to give him as a present? Check.
Razor and shaving cream to try to quickly get rid of the bush while I get ready? Check.
That’s my genius idea to overcome the waxing mishap. Shave really quick in the bathroom while changing. Not my best work, but that’s all I’ve got because I can’t shave, according to Lana’s directions, for another hour. After yesterday, I’m not taking any chances. My crotch is already very angry with me. Let’s not anger her further by irritating her.
I zip my overnight bag just as I hear a knock on the door.
Ryan looks delectable, standing there in his tight jeans and deep gray pinstripe button-up, holding a bouquet of flowers as if it were my birthday we’re celebrating.
“Happy birthday weekend.”
He groans but smiles as he extends the flowers to me. “You’re killing me with that, Dani Girl.”
Bringing the flowers to my nose, I inhale their earthy scent. “Bet you won’t be saying that later.” I smirk and then add, “Or maybe you will but in a whole other context.”
I turn away from him, heading toward the kitchen for a vase for the flowers, and Ryan follows.
“Being anywhere near you when I can’t feel the softness of the inside of your thighs or run my finger around your pretty pink nipple always kills me, sweet girl.”
Even the sore skin above my vagina melts at the gravelly tone of his voice.
“Patience is a virtue.”
His irises darken to a stormy blue. “I know. If I didn’t have any, we wouldn’t be here right now since you didn’t want to go out with me. I knew I just had to wait you out. You couldn’t resist me.”
“Ha!” I laugh as I pull down a vase. “It was you who couldn’t resist me, remember?”
“Yes, it was the vomit pyrotechnics that hooked me.” He pulls me into him and kisses my neck. His cologne invades my senses. The scent is so uniquely him and I love it. “Anyone who can look that good while showering my office with puke is a keeper.”
“Shut up,” I tell him looking back over my shoulder. “Or I’ll cancel my fun after dinner plans and trust me, you don’t want to miss out on that.”
He nuzzles his face into my neck again and kisses just under my ear. “Want to skip dinner and start now?”
I giggle as his warm breath skirts across my neck. “No, but I’ll give you your gift now if you want?”
“Gift?” he asks, stepping back. “I thought we were just doing dinner.”
“It’s nothing crazy, so don’t worry,” I tell him before heading to my room to grab the little bag with his STD and my overnight tote.
Back in the kitchen, I hand over the gift.
He shakes the gold foil package and smirks. “I wonder what this could be.”
“It’s anyone’s guess.”
He pulls out the yellow toy from the bag. It looks like an octopus and a fried egg had a baby, and Ryan laughs. “I’ve always wanted herpes.” He pulls me into a hug. “The gift that keeps on giving. It’s the best birthday ever!”
We laugh, and when we pull apart, he gives me a deep, soul-searing kiss. “Thank you.”
I smile up at him. “Should I be concerned that you knew that was herpes before I told you?”
His laugh is thick. “I have been the one gifting them to you lately. Of course, I know my GIANTmicrobes. Especially the ones that last forever.”
The fact that he even knows the name of the manufacturer of these stupid little toys makes me tingly. “Only the best for you, Mr. Sexy.”
Gregorio’s is nice. I’ve never been here before. The interior design kind of reminds me of Ryan’s bar.
“Did you notice that Cohen’s and this place have the same design scheme?” I ask as we wait for dessert.
My entrée was delicious. I went with the chicken piccata, and it was almost as good as my mother’s, which is a high standard to live up to. Ryan’s steak looked great too. With the way he polished off his plate, I assume it was.
He glances around the place, taking in the wood, metal, and glass combo. The bar is off to the side with a wooden bar top and metal chairs. There is no mirror behind it like at Cohen’s, but the rustic lights that hang above it give the same metallic feeling as Ryan’s design. The ceiling is a mixture of exposed wood beams and metal rafters. The tables have mason jars filled with string lights and hydrangeas as centerpieces.
“You’re right,” he says as his eyes come back to me. “It
does.”
“Are you going to keep the same theme and design for the new location too?”
He nods. “It’s branding, so I want to keep the feel of the inside the same. You know, the whole it-doesn’t-matter-which-Cohen’s-location-you-go-to-because-it-always-feels-like-home type of thing.”
Our waiter arrives with my cheesecake and Ryan’s chocolate cake. Ryan grabs his fork, ready to dig in.
“Wait,” I stop him.
“What?”
“We need to sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”
“I have to sing to myself?”
“No.” I chuckle. “I’ll do the singing.”
He leans back in his chair, eyes on me, and grins. “Please, by all means, serenade me, Dani Girl.”
And I do.
I sing low and sultry, like I’m trying to channel my inner Marilyn Monroe, “Happy birthday, dear Mr. Sexy. Happy birthday to you.”
“Best version I’ve had performed for me.”
My cheeks flush. I know I can’t sing, but it doesn’t matter to him.
“Have you made any decisions with Roxy yet about partnerships?” I ask, switching the subject back to Cohen’s.
He shakes his head as he digs into his cake. “I’m still working out the numbers with my financial advisor. We’re putting together an entire portfolio and projections for the company as a whole.”
The inner organization freak in me lights up. “If you need anything, you know how much I love stuff like that.”
“I’m still waiting on my organized office and stockroom, woman,” he jests. “You keep making all these promises, yet there’s no follow-through.”
My voice drops low as I think about how I’m going to make good on one promise tonight. “Oh, I follow through all right,” I say. “You’re going to find that out tonight.”
His eyes glaze over as if he’s catching the meaning of my words. “Why do I get the impression you aren’t talking about my office or my stockroom?”
I pop a piece of my cheesecake into my mouth and make a show of licking it all off the fork. “Because I’m not.”
“Check, please.”
“You really aren’t going to tell me what’s going on?” Ryan asks for the fourth time since leaving dinner.