by Sarah Adams
Good, right? If only I’d left it at that. But then, I just had to go and text him again because I’m not a normal human and should just hide in a hole for the rest of my life.
Lucy: Seriously. Just want to say thank you for today. Jumping off that cliff was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, and it helped me realize I need to be more adventurous and step out of my safe box more often. It was nice being challenged by you, and I think you’re a really great guy. Maybe you could challenge me more often :)
I know…it’s bad. Painful even. Cringe-worthy. DESPERATE. No wonder he never responded. He’s probably been too busy packing up his house and moving across the country so his new stalker, Lucy, can’t find him and cut a lock of his hair to keep under her pillow.
I don’t even know why I did it. I’m not normally the type to spill my guts to a guy like that, but something about Cooper makes me temporarily lose my mind. As such, it’s probably a good thing he hasn’t texted or come around at all. Who knows what I would do in person? Best to just focus on my work, which is where I am now, sweeping up a pile of hair from my last client and preparing to clock out for the day.
Jessie, the salon owner, my new best friend, and an all-around sweetheart, walks up to my station. “Hey, Lucy, do you have time to squeeze in a last-minute cut?”
To be honest, my feet are killing me, and I’d like to go home, but I’m also trying to save every penny I have to get my own place sooner rather than later. Drew is amazing, and I know he doesn’t mind having me, but still…a single guy doesn’t want his baby sister staying with him forever. And I get tired of having to wear a bra.
“Anything for you, sunshine.” I’m not even sucking up. Jessie and I sort of hit it off from the minute we met last week. After my interview, she and I went out for margaritas (hers a virgin because she’s five months pregnant) and talked until the restaurant had to kick us out. I learned over dinner that Jessie is not married or even in a relationship, so there is a story there with her pregnancy, but I figure she’ll tell me when she feels comfortable.
“Thank you!” she says, looking relieved. “It’s a men’s cut, so it shouldn’t take too long, and your shirt is kind of see-through in this light, so you’ll probably get a great tip.”
I gasp and look down. “What! It is not!” Shoot, it is. You can see my pink bra right through my black-and-white striped tee. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?!”
She laughs. “Why are you freaking out? Look around this room—you’re the most modestly dressed woman in here.”
She’s right. Another stylist is wearing high-waisted dress pants and one of those fashionable sport bras. Another is wearing a sundress with a plunging neckline. And me…I’m wearing distressed jeans and a striped t-shirt. I’ve come to terms with the fact that in a room full of J.Crews, I’ll always be a Target. I love Target. Let’s see J.Crew try to sell delicious soft pretzels in their store.
The door of the salon chimes, and Jessie and I both swivel our heads to see who entered. I kid you not, life turns to slow motion, and “SexyBack” by Justin Timberlake starts playing over the speaker as Cooper James steps through the door. The sudden burst of air tosses his wavy locks around his attractive-as-sin face, and he pulls his sunglasses off, making his arm muscles flex under the rolled-up sleeves of his crisp, white button-down. Every single woman in the salon notices. Our jaws are collectively hitting the floor, and I’m sure he can count each of my fillings, because for as good as Cooper looked without a shirt, he looks almost more incredible wearing one—and nicely tailored business attire at that. I think it’s because the fabric strains against his chest and biceps, whispering a tantalizing secret of what’s underneath, daring you to find out if it’s true or not.
He pauses in front of the reception desk, and his aqua eyes rise, cutting across the salon.
I drop to the floor.
Not in a swoon, but more of a hit-the-deck sort of way. I hunker down, rolling up into a tiny pathetic ball behind my rolling cart of hair products because HE CANNOT SEE ME.
Jessie looks down at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. She’s never met an animal like me in the wild. “What are you doing?”
“Shhhh, don’t draw attention to me! Look over there. No! Stop. You’re still looking at me!”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m worried I might need to throw you in my car and drop you off at the closest mental health facility.”
“Mental health is not something to joke about.”
“Who says I’m joking!” she says in a loud whisper.
I rise up slightly to peek over the hairsprays. “What is he doing here?”
“Hmm…getting his oil changed?” When I look up at her with hope in my eyes, she looks like she’s going to smack me upside the head. “What do you think he’s doing here?! Getting his hair cut, crazy lady! And he’s probably the guy who called and requested you.”
“Me?” I ask, like maybe someone else is standing right behind me that I don’t see.
“Yes, you. Do you know him?”
“No. Yes. No. I mean, kinda. He’s my brother’s best friend, and I sent him a humiliating text message the other day that he never responded to, so now I can never show my face around him again.”
“Like a nude photo text?”
I give her a face that says Do you really think I’m the type to send a nude photo? and then I gesture toward my childish position on the floor just to really drive the point home.
She chuckles and waves me off. “Yeah, never mind, don’t know why I asked that. So, let me see it.”
“What?”
“The text. I’ll tell you if it’s actually bad or just in your head. And if it’s all in your head, you can go cut his hair without having to worry about it.”
I think about it for a split second before reaching in my back pocket and pulling out my phone. I swipe it open and hand it over to her. At this point, I can see that the receptionist has asked Cooper to take a seat in the waiting area and is beginning to walk toward me. Her eyes catch me squatting down on the ground, and I give her a Keep it moving, Melissa gesture. With only a slight falter to her steps, she walks past me toward the break room.
I look back up in time to see Jessie stifle a laugh with the back of her hand while reading my text.
I quietly moan and lean my head back against the cart. “It’s that bad, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah. You might want to just have your mail forwarded to this little corner you’re in from now on.” She hands me back my phone, looking like this is the most amusing thing she’s ever encountered. “It’s even worse seeing him in person. He’s super-hot. Definitely used to smooth women.”
“Ughhh, you’re the worst friend.”
“Technically, I’m your boss.”
“Oh great. Now, I’m doubly embarrassed.”
She laughs and nudges me with her sneaker. “I’m kidding! Okay, look, it’s bad, but it’s not horrendous. There’s a chance he thought it was sweet and endearing.”
“He would have responded.”
“Yeah…but I’m trying to make you feel better because he’s seen me talking to you now and is headed over here.”
“NO!” I say, feeling panic race through my veins. I look left and right for an escape and then up, directly into Cooper’s smirking eyes. I shoot up from the ground like a bottle rocket, pretending to clutch something in my hand and holding it over my head. “Found it! Ha ha! Silly me, Jessie, it just rolled under the cart. Oh, hi, Cooper! How long have you been here?” My voice would match a high C on the piano.
He knows I’m full of crap. He ignores my question and looks cool as a cucumber as he grins and asks, “What’d you lose down there?”
“Huh?” I’m trying to buy some time. Maybe I’ll suddenly find out I’m a magician and can pull something incredible from my back pocket. Like a bunny.
“You said you lost something—just wondering what it was.” He crosses his arms, eyes glinting—challenging.
“Oh you kno
w…just a…flafflehem.” I say that last word while coughing into the crook of my arm. “So anyway! You here for a haircut?”
Out of nowhere, the other stylists materialize beside Cooper. Their eyes are extra wide and blinky, and they’re puffing their boobs out so far I’m afraid one is going to bounce into my face. “You were just getting ready to head out, though, right, Lucy? I’d be happy to take him for you if you want?”
Oh really, Tiffany, would you be happy to take him for me?
Cooper looks over to her and smiles politely—or is it flirtatiously? Does he think she’s sexy in her business sports bra? That thought suddenly makes me stomp the ground, making one loud BAM so that Cooper looks back at me. Honestly, I’m just as startled by my actions as they are. I don’t know what happened; I just know I felt the overwhelming need for him to NOT be looking at her. Looks like I’m going to be the one to bring a little drama to this salon.
Cooper’s eyebrows rise, and I smile sweetly and stomp lightly a few more times, also rubbing my leg. “Foot fell asleep. I hate when that happens.”
Jessie is behind Cooper, shaking her head and trying not to dissolve into a fit of laughter because she can’t believe someone is truly as awkward as I am. Little does she know, this is only scraping the surface.
“Well, thanks for all the concern, everyone, but I’m good. I have plenty of time to cut his hair, so there’s no issue! Thanks, yeah, bye-bye,” I say, trying to shoo them out of my space, but really, I want to whack them with a stick. Go on now, get out of here! There’s nothing here for you!
I turn to face Cooper and nearly fall over when I realize his eyes were on me that whole time, a soft grin tilting the side of his mouth, an indiscernible look in his eyes. Reserved and intrigued. Sort of like he either wants to pin me against the wall and kiss me into oblivion or help me do my taxes.
More than likely, whatever attraction I think I’m seeing is just wishful thinking.
One thing is for certain: I shouldn’t be here.
I was doing so good staying away, minding my own business like Drew wants me to, but then he and I met for lunch today, and he casually mentioned that Lucy got a job in a salon that just so happens to be about two miles from my office downtown. Suddenly, it was like someone would have to chain me to my desk to keep me there. I’ve got a good poker face, so I don’t think Drew suspected I completely tuned out the rest of our conversation and was instead mapping the quickest route to her salon in my head.
So, basically, I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Being stupid, I guess. I don’t even need a haircut, but I just wanted to be near her again, and the idea of being near her without Drew also being near her was too much temptation to resist. Plus, when I talked to my mom on the phone earlier and told her my predicament, she practically screamed at me to go see Lucy. Actually, her exact words were, “I WANT GRANDKIDS, COOPER. Go see that woman!”
So here I am.
“Okay, so, do you want to sit down?” Lucy asks with a quivering smile, gesturing toward the chair.
I run my hand through my hair and look down at the chair, really hoping she’s good at what she does. To be honest, though, I think I’d let her buzz my head if it meant I got to talk to her uninterrupted for thirty minutes. “Yeah. Thanks for fitting me in so last minute.” I sit down and run my hands along my pants, realizing my palms are sweating. Weird. When’s the last time they did that?
“No problem.”
She’s stiff as a board and absolutely will not make eye contact with me. I’m guessing it has something to do with that paragraph-long text she sent me—the one I’ve literally read thirty times because it’s so freaking cute I can’t stand it. It’s a painfully awkward message, one other women would have probably spent an hour concocting and cutting down until it read Me too with no hints of their feelings whatsoever. But I’m pretty sure Lucy just typed those words out and mashed SEND without giving it a moment’s thought. I love that. Her honesty and vulnerability were on display; she didn’t cut a single bit of it. Which makes me a complete d-bag for not responding.
But I couldn’t. Everything I typed in response either let on how into her I am or sounded completely weak and apathetic in comparison. I’ll be honest, the last time I let a woman know how crazy I was about her, it didn’t end in my favor. I realize I need to get over it, though. I know I can’t keep licking this wound forever.
I start to ask how she’s doing at the exact same time she asks if I’ve been here before. Our sentences collide in one awkward game of Twister, and we both make eye contact and laugh like gangly teens.
“You first,” I say with a weird chuckle I’ve definitely never done before.
“I was just going to ask if you’ve been in here before,” she says as she turns around to retrieve a cape from her station. In this moment, I’m given the perfect glimpse of her butt (and I don’t mean to look, but it’s just RIGHT there in front of me), and all I can think about is how nicely those jeans fit her curves. This does nothing to help me put cohesive thoughts together.
She stands back up and turns to look at me, maybe catching me checking her out because her cheeks flush when she comes to drape the cape around my neck. “Oh yeah. Totally,” I say.
“You have? Who’s your usual stylist?”
Then I realize what she asked. “What? I mean no.”
She’s just as confused as I am. Her dark brows furrow over her deep-blue eyes. “Huh?”
“I’m not…sure. What was the question again?” Ohhhh gosh, what the freak is happening to me? Are MY cheeks flushing now? That’s definitely never happened before. And man, is this cape hot or what, cause I’m sweating. GET IT TOGETHER, COOP! I feel like I’m back in junior high, trying to talk to a girl. Or no, I definitely had more game back then, unlike this pathetic attempt. Lucy is doing something crazy to my insides. And now she’s smiling with her dimples over my shoulder because she can tell I’m completely losing it, and I wonder if I leave now, could I somehow convince her she was in a car accident and everything that just transpired between us only happened in her coma?
I shake my head, determined to get my act together. “Sorry. This is why I don’t have caffeine after 3:00.” Shut up, shut up, shut up! Women are not supposed to know you can’t have caffeine after 3:00 like you’re a million years old. “Wow. Okay. So, to answer your original question, yes, this is my first time in this salon.”
Her smile is still bright and in place. I’m glad she’s enjoying watching me drown like this. I guess it serves me right for not responding to her text. My mom, however, will be so ashamed when she calls later asking for all the details. “How did you know I work here?”
“Drew told me, over lunch this afternoon. So I thought I’d come by and…” My words trail off when she starts running her fingers through the back of my hair. She begins at the nape of my neck then runs them up the entire curve of my head—over and over. I think there’s a purpose to this other than to get me fired up, but at the moment, I can’t tell what it would be.
She shifts her gaze from my hair to the mirror where our eyes meet, and she smiles softly. “Go ahead, I’m listening. Just checking the angle of your cut to see what your stylist normally does.”
If by stylist she means the burly dude covered in tattoos at the barber shop who slaps a cape on me too tight and then tells me to sit down and shut up while he runs trimmers over my head, then yeah, I have one of those. He provides nowhere near as pleasant an experience as Lucy, though.
She finally releases her fingers from my hair, and as she busies herself preparing her scissors, comb, and spray bottle, I attempt a few other awkward conversation topics—all of which promptly get shut down by Lucy with short, single-syllable answers, and I realize she’s giving me the cold shoulder because of my text freeze-out. I only know her from our afternoon on the boat together and our brief text exchange, but it’s enough to learn that a quiet Lucy is not a happy Lucy.
As much as I don’t want to, I have to bring up the elephant
in the room. “Listen, about your text a few weeks ago…”
She freezes, scissors hovering frighteningly above my ear—please don’t chop it off—and grimaces. “Oh no. Please, let’s just forget I ever sent it. Okay? Okay. Good.” Pink is clawing up her neck now, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m the one who should be embarrassed.”
Lucy grabs a spray bottle and starts dousing me. Less on the hair, more on the face. I feel like a troublemaking cat that’s just been reprimanded. “Oh, oops. Here, let me wipe that off.” She smooshes a plush towel into my face, patting over and over again, seemingly trying to absorb all of my words (or smother me to death).
“It’s dry, Lucy.” She keeps patting, so I finally reach up and grab the towel, tossing it onto the workstation.
Quick as lightning, she brandishes a hairdryer and turns it on full blast. “YOUR HAIR WAS TOO WET. GOTTA DRY IT A BIT,” she yells above the noise.
I can do nothing but sit stunned, watching my hair twist and fly around my head, wondering how long she’s going to make me sit here like this. She lifts both her brows at me with an overly bright smile, and I’m certain she will go to terrifying lengths to avoid talking to me about this.
Sitting forward, I grab the cord of the hairdryer and yank it out of the wall. Deafening silence follows, and Lucy’s eyes dart to the spray bottle again. Oh geez, we’re going to be here all day repeating this cycle.
Before her fingers can make contact with it, I wrap my hand around her wrist, bringing her to a stop and forcing her to look at me. “Lucy, will you listen to me? I’m sorry about not responding, and I really regret it. I’m not very good at heartfelt, honest texts, so I wasn’t sure how to respond to you. But I had fun jumping off the cliff with you, and I definitely want to do it again.”
Her eyebrows are still pinched together in discomfort, but her shoulders ease a little. “Okay,” she says quietly and then says it again one more time as she releases the last bit of stress from her body. “Okay. But now can we just forget I ever sent it?”