More: A Body Work Novel (The Body Work Trilogy Book 4)

by Sierra Kincade

  And with her heart beating, and her hands sweating, and the girls smearing syrup on each other’s faces, she said okay.

  Chapter Seven

  The girls were only a little late, but it was enough to warrant a stern look from Ms. Wright, who aggressively fluffed her curly gray hair and tapped her watch twice as Amy sped back outside to Mike’s truck. Hiking up her leg in a way that surely flashed someone, she climbed in. The extended cab was roomier inside than her Subaru—she had to move the seat all the way up so she could touch the pedals—and had recently been cleaned. She felt a little guilty thinking of Mike stuck in her mom-mobile, coated with a fine layer of dust and ketchup, and littered with juice boxes and melted yogurt raisons.

  While she drove, she wondered if she was doing the right thing by going out with Mike, or if her own desires were clouding her judgment. Being solid and unshakable were important for Paisley, but so was taking care of herself. She wanted to have fun. She deserved to have fun. She was still young and cute, and a gorgeous man wanted her. Why shouldn’t she go out with him, and kiss him, and let him ravish her naked body?

  Just as she started to hyperventilate, the lights began flashing behind her.

  “Oh no,” she said. “Oh no, no, no. Come on.”

  She was getting pulled over. Her prayers turned into a stream of cuss words as she put the car in park.

  Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe Mike had a taillight out, or an expired registration sticker.

  The blue and red overhead lights on the cruiser were still flashing as the cop got out of the car. Any hope that it had been Anna’s friend Marcos evaporated when Amy saw the boobs.

  The officer, a woman in her late thirties with lines around her mouth from too much scowling, knocked on the window. Her hair was pulled back and stuffed beneath her cap. Amy couldn’t help the automatic thought that a richer brown would better suit her skin color than the sun-in blonde she’d chosen, but thought better than to lead with that.

  “Hi,” said Amy with a sheepish smile. “How’s it going?”

  “Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?”

  “Umm...not really? I wasn’t speeding, I don’t think.”

  “You ran a stop sign back there at El Prado.”

  Amy sunk in her seat. “I did?”

  The cop rolled her eyes. “License and registration, please.”

  As the cop returned to the cruiser, Amy swore again. She was getting pulled over in a car that wasn’t even hers. Reaching across the center console, she opened the glove box, hoping Mike stashed his registration and insurance inside like most people.

  Apparently, it was where he stashed a lot of things, because as she felt her way through the papers an open box of condoms fell onto the passenger side floor mat. Not a small box. A fucking Costco-sized box. And as she picked it up, the little foil squares went flying everywhere.

  “BareSkin,” she read aloud, the pitch of her voice going higher. “Non-latex. Premium lubricant.” Even higher. “Extra large. Well, that’s great news.”

  There were supposed to be fifty condoms in the box. It was less than half full.

  She almost laughed. She imagined herself telling Anna later. How Anna would cover her face with her hands and break into hysterics. Sorry officer, did you say registration? How about I slip you a rubber and we call it even?

  It would have been funny, if she hadn’t just agreed to spend the night with the guy who’d bought the box.

  He was a player. Of course he was. He was gorgeous, sweet, and totally lust-worthy. She bet he had women lining up to get his number. She started wondering how many women he’d had sex with—one girl per missing condom? Or did he have someone steady he saw?

  It wasn’t important, she told herself. He wanted to be with her. He’d initiated this date, and he’d arranged for the overnight sitter. And it didn’t matter if he was with a new girl every two hours, or if she hadn’t been with a man in over two years, tonight he was hers, and she wasn’t sharing him with anyone. She’d played that game with Danny, she wasn’t doing it again.

  “Ma’am?”

  Amy jumped in her seat. The officer was back, a small plastic clipboard in her hand. Amy stuffed the box beneath the front of her seat.

  “Registration. Right. Sorry,” said Amy.

  “What was that?” The officer placed one hand on the gun in her belt. Amy’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, nothing,” she said quickly. “Just...you know...”

  “I don’t know.”

  Shit. “Condoms.”

  She reached again into the glove box, this time shuffling through everything in her hurry to find the documents. Oil change and tire rotation paperwork drifted to the floor, covering half a dozen foil squares.

  “Condoms,” repeated the officer.

  Finally, Amy pulled the correct papers from a small red slipcover. She shoved them out the window into the waiting hands of the cop.

  “Sure. Condoms. Just forgot they were there. In my glove box. You know how it is.” Amy took a quick breath, then faced the other woman.

  “No,” said the officer, taking the registration forms. “I don’t keep condoms in my glove box.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  The officer arched a brow, and Amy withered in her seat.

  “Not that you wouldn’t need them...” she trailed off.

  “It’s not even your glove box, is it?” asked the officer as she read through the papers.

  Amy winced again. She’d never been pulled over in another person’s car and wasn’t sure how this worked. Would Mike’s insurance go up? Would he even have to know?

  “No, it’s a friend of mine’s,” Amy said.

  “And does your friend know you have his car today?” The cop’s eyes narrowed.

  Amy snorted. “I didn’t steal his car, I promise. I’m staying with him.”

  “So he’s your boyfriend.”

  “No. Yes.” Amy smashed her lips to one side. “It’s hard to explain.”

  The officer was still watching her, as if waiting for something more.

  “I mean, the guy goes through condoms like the world’s about to end, and he’s not using them with me, so we’re obviously not that serious.” She laughed tightly.

  Mike was hiding condoms in his car. That was the kind of thing that Danny used to do. Back before he cared if he got caught, that was.

  “This is a bad idea,” she said out loud.

  The cop tore a sheet off the clipboard. “Running a stop sign—that was a bad idea. Pay attention when you’re driving.” She handed Amy the ticket, and walked back to the cruiser.

  Amy rested her forehead against the steering wheel. This day just kept getting better and better.

  ***

  Because the universe was obviously working against her, she was double-booked at nine-thirty. Amy was the only stylist at Rave who saw clients so early, so she was almost always busy in the morning hours. It gave her just enough time to braid her hair into two messy-on-purpose braids, straighten her bangs, and set some clear rules in her mind for tonight’s festivities.

  If she and Mike were going to date, really date, they’d have to be exclusive. She wasn’t going to be the pushover she’d been with Danny. She was strong now, and there was no going back to the person she’d been.

  Luckily, one of the ladies—Mrs. Chenoweth, a retired salsa dancer from Ybor City’s infamous Columbia restaurant—just needed her roots done, and after setting the foils in her hair, Amy moved on to her next client, Val Connolly.

  Val was a tall woman, built like a brick from her broad shoulders to her red hair. She wore designer clothes that were a smidge too tight, and carried a bag that cost more than a month of Amy’s pay. Those who saw her walking down the street quickly stepped out of the way, but Amy wasn’t intimidated. She’d seen right through that hard shell ten months ago when Val had first sat in her chair.

  They were sisters, in the way neither wanted to admit.

  “How’ve you been,
Val?” Amy motioned to the station. When Val settled in, she released Val’s fiery hair from the clip and shook it out over her shoulders. As always, Val tensed, and then immediately relaxed when Amy’s hands brushed her arms.

  “Well, Kelly’s been dating a real winner.”

  Deflection number one: focus on your kid.

  “She’s sixteen, isn’t she?” Amy combed Val’s hair and fastened the clasps of a silver waterproof cape around her neck. Gradually, the woman settled into the leather seat.

  “Seventeen,” said Val, by way of an answer.

  Amy nodded. “Just a trim, or are we spicing things up?”

  “Oh...” Val looked worried by this question. “Just a trim today.”

  Amy could tell she wanted more, but didn’t pressure her. Change was hard for some people, and changing your image could offset the balance of the universe if you weren’t careful. If there was one thing Amy had figured out about Val right away, it was that she was careful, even if she didn’t show it.

  “I’ll wash, you talk,” said Amy, leading Val to the open row of washbasins.

  “He came late to pick her up, and then, then, he didn’t even come to the door. He honked. And she ran out there and jumped in his daddy’s car like it wasn’t a big deal.” Val rested her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to tell her. She doesn’t listen to me.”

  Val’s daughter was seventeen and in love. Amy wasn’t sure there was much that could be done. She’d been that age when she’d met Danny, and even though everything had gone sour between them, she still smiled when she remembered him then. Long hair, a ring in his lip, his trusty guitar always over his back. He’d written a song for her that he’d played at a show in one of the dives where his band opened for bigger acts. Clean Sheets it was called. About the little blonde virgin he’d turned into a minx. She’d been naïve enough at the time to think it was sweet.

  At eighteen, she’d followed him to Tampa for his music career. One of the groups they’d opened for wanted him to fill in while their guitarist went to rehab. He’d thought it would turn into a permanent gig. It hadn’t.

  Amy had worked two full-time jobs for three years while he played street corners and beach walks, becoming angrier and more depressed by the day. Finally, when they were on the verge of eviction, he’d put down his guitar and gone to work for the Sears tire department. He’d hated her for that. He’d said she’d never supported his dream.

  The next month she’d found out she was pregnant.

  As Val cited more of the boyfriend’s offenses, Amy worked the shampoo into her red hair. She couldn’t help but notice the way Val’s eyes stayed open, darting toward the door every time the entry bell rang despite the killer scalp massage she was receiving. Most people were half asleep by the time Amy picked up the conditioner, but not Val. Still, Amy carried on as if she was no different than any other client, because she knew this time was important for Val. There was a reason she came in religiously every four weeks for a trim she barely needed.

  Amy’s cell vibrated from her smock pocket, interrupting the conversation that had brought them back to the styling station. “Sorry Val, can you hold that thought one second. This might be my daughter’s school.”

  Amy pulled the phone out of the drawer and checked the number. The caller ID said MOM.

  “Bad news?” asked Val. “You look like I do when our lawyer calls for my husband.” She laughed, but the sound seemed to dry up in her throat.

  Amy replaced the phone, shaking off the weight that had descended on her shoulders. She didn’t need her mom waving the drama wand right now. She had enough on her plate

  “It can wait,” Amy said. “How is your husband?”

  “Great,” Val answered, sunny as a summer day.

  “Yeah?” asked Amy. Val’s hair had been blown out, and Amy was pulling the ends straight in front of her ears to check for a consistent length.

  “Yeah. He’s waiting next door.”

  “At the tattoo place?” Amy’s brow arched.

  Val snorted. “No, the bar on the other side.” Amy pictured O’Malley’s, with its quaint swinging sign and neon lights in the front windows. She’d never been in, despite how long she’d worked at Rave. The people that went in and out always looked a bit shady.

  Like her ex-husband, for instance, who apparently sometimes met “friends” there.

  “He’s unwinding while you unwind,” she said, wondering if he brought Val to all of her appointments.

  Val’s eyes stayed on her lap. “He’s under a lot of pressure at work.”

  Deflection #2: find something else to blame.

  “What’s he do for work again?” Amy clipped a few pieces of hair that had escaped the first round of cuts.

  “Gas stations,” she said quickly. “He owns six Smart Marts, including that one just down the street.” She pointed in the vague direction of outside.

  Amy’s brows rose. “That must be stressful.” She took out her texturing shears.

  “Yes.” Val trailed off into silence, which told Amy to proceed with caution. She’d broached this subject with Val before. Once when she’d spotted fingerprint bruises on her forearm. Another time when Val had barely spoken for the entire hour, save for the occasional “yes” and “no.” Sometimes Amy wanted to shake her into seeing reason, but she knew it wouldn’t help. Val would make a move when Val was ready, and not a second before.

  “How are you two doing?” she ventured.

  “Oh fine,” said Val. “I mean...” She pressed a finger to her temple. “You know, marriage can be...difficult. Sometimes.”

  “I do know,” said Amy, holding her gaze for the first time. She thought Val may have recognized something in her eyes, because her face turned a blotchy pink, and her lip quivered before she looked away.

  Amy ached for her.

  She crouched lower to Val’s height in the chair, pretending to measure her length again even though she knew it was right. “How bad is it?”

  Val’s mouth opened, and for a moment Amy thought she was finally going to say what they’d been dancing around every month for the last year. But then she quickly shook her head.

  “It’s not like that,” she said. “He’s not like that.”

  Deflection #3: deny, deny, deny.

  It took everything Amy had not to challenge her, to ask her to explain why she was suddenly unable to hold still, or why there was a bright caginess in her green eyes. But she knew she couldn’t, because if someone had said these things to Amy two years ago, she would have walked right out the door and never come back.

  “Okay,” said Amy. “My mistake.” She hesitated, and in those seconds prayed she wasn’t crossing a line. “If it ever does get bad though, you can talk to me, all right? No judgment, I promise. I can help.”

  “Hair styling and marital therapy,” said Val dryly, drawing a circle on her knee with her fingertip.

  “Let’s just say I’ve been there, done that.” Amy could feel Val slipping away, and hoped that planting the seed was enough. “Now, tell me how we’re going to get rid of this terrible boy Kelly’s dating.”

  Val tilted her head to the side, and Amy was forced to place her straight again. She was suddenly taller in her seat, more confident now that the focus was elsewhere. “I don’t know what to do. I tell her he’s awful, but she won’t listen.”

  Amy’s mother had hated Danny, and that had only made her more intent to love him. In hindsight, she should have heeded those warnings. It was one of the few things the woman had been right about.

  “Tell her he’s fabulous,” said Amy, adding layers into the blunt ends of Val’s hair. “Tell her he’s everything you’ve ever wanted for her. Point out all the great things about him. Invite him over every night for dinner. She’ll immediately go looking for his opposite just to piss you off.”

  Val snorted. Then pursed her lips. “Shit. You’re probably right.”

  “It’s been known to happen,” said Amy with a grin. “Now, I say
you look pretty damn hot, what do you think?”

  Val made an appointment for exactly four weeks later.

  ***

  She had a steady run of clients through the morning, but the weather had turned bleak by noon, and by one, it was storming. Her clients called to cancel, one after another, until her entire afternoon was clear. The situation didn’t exactly thrill her. Amy ran her account to under $100 more months than she would have liked to admit, and this one was no different. She didn’t get paid if she didn’t have scissors in her hand, and on top of her apartment and constant contributions to the colored pencil and Kleenex supply at Paisley’s school, she had her booth rental fees at Rave to worry about. Derrick may have paid for supplies, but she rented the space here, and getting her shears sharpened wasn’t cheap either.

  Sometimes being an adult sucked.

  She was hanging out at the front desk, still thinking about Val Connolly and prowling for drop-in clients, when a familiar neon blue Ford Fiesta parked in front of the salon. Anna had the day off; she’d made a point of telling Amy yesterday that she was planning on spending the entire time naked with Alec. A frown furrowed her brows. Something had to be wrong for her best friend to get out of bed with that man.

  Anna turned on her four-way flashers and parked illegally behind another car. Sheltering her face from the rain, she sprinted into the building, wearing yoga pants and a neon-pink scoop neck T-shirt.

  By the time she was inside, the rain had soaked her shoulders.

  “Your hair’s getting bigger by the second,” said Amy. “You need to use that gel I gave you for the humidity.” Her friend had thick, naturally wavy hair. She let Amy style it most days before work, but the truth was she didn’t need to do a thing. It was wild and gorgeous, and one of the things Amy hated most about her.

  “The bigger the better,” said Anna. “Most for Alec to grab that way.”

  Amy waggled her eyebrows.

  Anna’s unbelievable sex life was another of the things that had made Amy’s Reasons Why I Hate You list.

  “What’s up?” asked Amy. “You forget something? Thought today was the all day fuckfest.”