“You . . .” she snarled as I plopped myself into her chair. I held the tea out before me like a shield to avoid the full extent of her wrath.
She growled like a puppy and lifted the cup to her mouth. “You got laid. Good, it’s about time.”
“What?” I hid my smile in my vanilla latte, taking a long, scalding sip. I didn’t mind the hot coffee in hot weather. The hotter, the better.
“Oh, don’t even pretend you didn’t. I can see it all over your face, you smug little floozy.”
“I didn’t.” I laughed.
She rolled her eyes, set down her tea on the tray with her blow-dryer and other tools, and spun me around to face the mirror. Without discussion, she began piecing my hair, clipping it up, and making her mental preparations of just how she would dress up her favorite doll today.
“It was the doctor, wasn’t it?” Her mouth fell open. “Dr. Randall!”
“Dr. Boy Band? Yeah, no.” I made a face. “And honestly, what were you thinking giving him that haircut?”
She stifled a laugh. “He asked for it.”
“He asked to look like the only thirty-year-old cast member of the Mickey Mouse Club? Please.”
“He brought in a picture.”
I closed my eyes. Amy hated it when people brought in pictures of the hairstyles they wanted. According to her, they never were a good fit for the person’s face or personality.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You liked him after the first date.”
When I was reasonably buzzed, and the bar where we’d met was too loud to hear him talk about himself.
“He was an ass,” I raised my voice to talk over the dryer as Amy began to straighten my hair. “He ate dinner before I even showed up, and then, when I told him I wasn’t going home with him, he made a pathetic masseuse joke.”
“I make masseuse jokes,” Amy said. “Dr. Randall was supposed to be a fling.”
“Speaking of masseuse jokes . . .” Derrick strode up from the front desk, tablet in hand. With dark, flawless skin and a body perfected by hours at the gym, Derrick was two parts business, one part glam. Today he was showcasing the new smoky eyeliner we’d gotten in last week. If I was being honest, it looked a lot better on him than it had on me.
I raised my cup. “Here we go . . .”
“Mr. Herman is your eleven o’clock.”
I groaned and slumped in the chair. Melvin Herman was a lonely accountant who scheduled a little too regularly and had to be reminded more than once about the sexual-harassment policy. He was harmless, but exhausting.
Amy began to chuckle.
“Hasn’t he been banned yet?” she asked.
“He signed a client-conduct form,” said Derrick with a grimace. “He agreed to stop asking you out on dates and knows that he can only see you for scheduled appointments during regular business hours. You’ll tell me if he gets sassy?”
I could hardly imagine Melvin “getting sassy.” The guy was forty-five, six feet tall, and a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. I doubted he even really knew what I looked like—every time he got a massage, he took off his telescope-lens glasses.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Good.” Derrick flashed a smile of perfect teeth as he made his way back to the front of the shop.
“Since all seems hopeless with the good doctor, I suppose you could always take Melvin out for a spin,” Amy grinned.
“What is your obsession with my sex life?”
“Just lookin’ out,” she said.
Amy was always “just lookin’ out.” We’d gone to high school together in Cincinnati. At fourteen, she’d been wild and untamable, angry over her dad leaving her mom, and her brother getting killed overseas. And I’d been a loner, too wary to trust anyone. Somewhere between a sampling of boys and booze, we evened each other out. She was the first real friend I’d ever had. The only one, really.
After senior year, we’d gone our separate ways: me on my quest to see the world, her to Florida with the twenty-one-year-old guitar player who was just trying to “find himself” in her pants. We’d kept in touch, and when things had gone stale in Baltimore, I’d come down to Tampa to nurse her through a divorce from the lying, cheating husband who’d left her with nothing but a beautiful little girl.
Amy was the one who’d gotten me the job and my apartment.
“Maybe,” she said, trading the blow-dryer for a flatiron, “I just want you to stick around for longer than two months.” Her gaze didn’t stray from my hair.
“Baltimore was eight.” It was a weak argument. Her wanting me close felt good, but it also made me sad. Part of me wanted to put down roots somewhere, anywhere, but it seemed like the ground beneath was always too hard.
“And Atlanta was six. And Austin was two.”
“Three. You know, I had to sign a conduct form of my own last night,” I said, changing the subject.
“At the big shot’s house? Do tell.”
I launched into a full description of what had happened at Maxim Stein’s, beginning with my first run-in with Alec. When I got to the part where I walked in on Maxim and his mistress, the flatiron Amy had been using fell to the floor.
“You’re full of shit,” she said.
I hushed her. “I swear.”
“They didn’t see you?”
I told her how I hid in a room until I’d been rescued by Alec, and then proceeded with the appointment as if nothing had happened.
Amy shook her head, nose scrunched up like it always did when she was worried about something.
“And”—I held up my coffee—“he showed up out of the blue at Javaz this morning and bought us drinks.”
“Out of the blue,” she said. “Yeah, right. He showed up because he wanted to see you.”
The thought of his fingers teasing my hair and his warm hand on my waist made my skin feel sensitive. I had wondered if he’d arranged to run into me, but it seemed too good to be true.
“You’re really into him,” Amy noticed.
“It’s probably nothing,” I said, trying not to get my hopes up.
“Are you kidding?” She finished pulling the top strands of hair back in a silver clip. “He’d be crazy not to like you. I just worry about those house calls. I seriously could have kicked your ass for not texting me back last night.”
“I’m sorry.” I meant it. She was a good friend—the best.
“I know. Just be careful, all right? It’s different when you’re on someone else’s turf. You never know what you’re going to walk in on.”
We both giggled. But though she sounded like my dad, she was right. They both were.
“I’ll text you as soon as I’m done with my appointments, I promise.”
“Anna,” called Derrick from the front. “Your eleven o’clock is here.”
Six
Melvin Herman lay facedown on the massage table, covered by a sheet. The lights were low, and the sound of waterfalls piped in through the speakers. After our last visit, when he’d shared that he’d been dreaming about me on my knees before him, I’d informed him that we would no longer be doing the complimentary foot scrub.
He rose up on his elbows so that he could look at me, a red ring from the face pillow on his pasty cheeks.
“I just want to apologize again for my behavior last time, Anna. I was out of line.”
“I accepted your apology earlier,” I told him, gently pushing him back down on the adjustable headrest. “And I accepted your apology last session for the time before that.” I didn’t want to be rude, but it was important to set boundaries in a field where you slid your hands over someone’s greasy body.
“It’s just difficult to think straight, you being so beautiful and—”
“Melvin, we’ve talked about this. You can’t say things like that if you want to stay.” I removed my hands from his deltoids and waited for him to get himself under control.
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll just lie here.”
“Relax.”
“I’m relaxed.”
In the quiet, I worked my way down from his shoulders to his lower back and he let out a low groan. Most clients did this, so I didn’t stop, but Melvin’s leash was getting shorter by the second. I’d made it to his right hamstring when he spoke again.
“I’m so appreciative of all everyone does here.” His voice was muffled by the face pillow. “Tax season has me so stressed. I really look forward to these appointments.”
“I’ll pass that along,” I said, knowing full well I was the only person he saw here.
“I brought a box of chocolates—for everyone. Since everyone does such a good job. I thought maybe you all might enjoy them.”
It took a lot of will power to hold back my sigh. After the flowers he’d sent last month, I was sure Derrick had made it clear he couldn’t bring gifts.
“That’s very thoughtful,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“But I wanted to,” he said.
I reached over him for the edge of the sheet, careful not to touch him with my body any more than necessary.
“I’m going to lift this up,” I told him. “Go ahead and roll onto your back and scoot down for me.”
He did, and when I put the sheet down, I blinked in surprise at his very obvious erection. Melvin Herman pitched quite a tent.
“Melvin,” I warned.
“Hmm?” He grinned sleepily.
“Melvin.” This time I was more direct. “I’m going to leave the room. I’d like you to get your things and go, please.”
Melvin sat up quickly, noticing, as if for the first time, what might have accounted for the sudden change.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh, dear is right,” I said on my way out. I made my way quickly toward the break room. Only once I was inside with the door firmly shut behind me did I shake off the creeps and wash the cinnamon-infused oil off my hands. He wasn’t the first male client to get hard during a massage; it happened occasionally. But I wasn’t about to put up with it from a man who had such a difficult time with the word no.
I’d have to tell Derrick that Melvin had indeed gotten sassy with me, but I wanted to give him the chance to leave with some dignity first. I reached into the cubby marked with my name in glittery letters, and pulled my cell out of my purse.
There was one text, from a local number I didn’t recognize.
Ready to collect on that favor.
Alec.
My body hummed to life. Ten different images of what he might mean—ranging from dinner to sweaty, sheet-fisting sex—flashed through my mind.
He must have gotten my cell number from Ms. Rowe—she had been the one to call me first to make the appointment for her employer. The fact that he’d not only asked about me but gotten my number sent a little jolt through my veins.
What did you have in mind? I texted back.
I waited a minute, pacing around the break room. Another minute passed.
Out in the hallway, a door closed quietly, and I could hear footsteps padding quickly toward the exit to the salon floor. Melvin was leaving, which meant I needed to get out to the front to talk to Derrick.
Reluctantly, I put the phone back in my purse, but just as I was turning, I heard it vibrate again.
Payback.
Payback? What did that mean?
For what? I typed. He responded immediately.
Being a tease.
I smirked.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Thirty seconds passed, in which I started to wonder if I’d said something stupid and blown it. When my phone buzzed, I quickly read the new message.
You’re doing it again.
I chewed my bottom lip, debating what to say next.
So do something about it.
I bounced on my heels, hoping I hadn’t taken it too far and come off as slutty.
I plan to.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. What was I doing? I barely knew anything about Alec. Intuition said he was dangerous, but not unsafe. A little flirting was probably harmless, but I did have a cop for a father.
You should know I never kiss on the first date, I typed.
Would my words end this, whatever this was?
We’ll see.
I laughed, then cupped my hand over my mouth. As much as I didn’t want to, I had to wrap this up.
Got to go.
I want to see you. A second later another text came through. Tonight.
I frowned. Tonight I had a session with June Esposito, a sixty-year-old woman with chronic pain caused by lupus. If she hadn’t been the sweetest woman in the world, I would have considered canceling.
I have a session. After?
Just say where and when.
I shot off the name of a Cuban restaurant near Mrs. Esposito’s house that I knew was open late and told him I would be there at eight thirty. I could hardly stand waiting that long. It had been a long time since I was this excited about a date. Mentally I was already sorting through my closet trying to pick something to wear. And it was a good thing I worked at a salon—I’d recently waxed.
Not that I planned on bringing him home tonight. I had my standards.
But if anyone could make me break the rules, it was him.
*
“He did not.” Amy was doubled over with laughter while I relayed what had happened with Melvin to her and Derrick. “Was he hung like a horse? The skinny ones always are.”
“Ew. And yes. Dammit.” I hid my face shamefully in my hands.
Derrick put an arm over my shoulder. “Sorry you were scandalized.”
“Me, too.”
“I’ll put a note in the system and send him a letter,” he said. “He won’t be permitted back on the premises. I do need you to fill out an incident report.”
“Sure,” I said, dropping my arms. “Of course.”
As Derrick went to retrieve the paperwork, I asked Amy if she’d seen Melvin leave.
“No,” she shook her head. “He must have gone through the back. My eleven thirty canceled, so I was helping out up front.”
The back of the building led to an alley that led back to the main street on the opposite side of the tattoo parlor. The thought of Melvin, nerdy and dejected, back there with the inked-up smokers and the stray chickens that roamed the Ybor streets made me feel a little guilty.
“He’ll be all right,” Amy said, reading my mind.
I leaned closer. “Alec texted. We’re going out tonight.”
Her brows lifted. “That was quick.”
I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “What can I say? I’m on fire today.”
She jabbed me in the ribs before her face turned serious. “What are you wearing? You shaved, right? Are your toenails done?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Yes. And I think they’re okay. Julie just did them a couple weeks ago.”
“Come on.” Amy took my hand, dragging me toward the pedicure chairs. “We’ve got work to do.”
*
By the time I’d reached June Esposito’s house in North Tampa my legs were smooth, my hair was redone with soft curls, and my toes were dark red to match my lipstick. I wore black leggings and my customary black cotton shirt to the appointment, but had brought a hip-hugging emerald tank to change into afterward.
I parked the red Kia in the driveway and carried my bulky supplies to the front door of the small ranch-style home. Mrs. Esposito, a frail Mexican woman, answered on the third knock, hobbling back to give me space to set up in her living room. The walls were covered with pictures of her children and new grandchildren, and a delicious scent was coming from the kitchen.
“What is that?” I asked. “It smells incredible.”
“Tamales,” she said. “My mother’s secret recipe. It’s my son’s birthday tomorrow.”
“Well, happy birthday to him,” I said.
“I will send you with some. For your date.”
&
nbsp; I grinned as I began to unfold the heavy table.
“What makes you think I have a date?”
“You have sexy hair,” she said with a little giggle. “And the look of a woman in love.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve only just met him.”
“Well,” she said. “You have the look. I will make tamales for your wedding.”
I laughed. “Sounds perfect.”
When I’d laid out the sheets, I helped her up, easing her down slowly to a prone position. She was doing worse than last week; her joints were stiff and she winced with each move.
“How’s the pain today, June?”
Her wrinkled hand, still bearing the wedding ring from a man who’d died ten years ago, squeezed my forearm lightly.
“Better now that you’re here.”
It was easy to let my mind wander while I worked through June’s shoulders, neck, and lower back. Thoughts of Alec made my mouth water. I’d reread the texts he’d sent half a dozen times, and prepped like a girl going to the prom. Every time I thought about what might happen afterward, my body responded. I wanted him, more than I’d ever wanted anyone. The intensity of my desire frightened me a little. I was used to keeping men at a distance, emotionally if not physically, but the way Alec had invaded my mind with barely a touch already had me reeling.
I needed to turn the tables, get back on my feet. I planned to do that tonight. He thought I was in for a little payback? Game on. By the time I was done with him, he’d be wrapped around my finger.
*
I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, fixed my lipstick in the visor mirror, and walked inside.
I looked hot. I felt good.
Alec Flynn was mine.
The host was a stocky man in his fifties. He took me to a table for two where I had a clear view of the door. I ordered some of their homemade lemonade, waiting until Alec arrived to order a cocktail, and texted Amy to tell her I was at the restaurant.
Give him your panties under the table, she texted back. I saw that in a movie once. Totally sexy.
I laughed and sent her a Good night, then set my phone down.
The excitement turned to nerves as I finished my drink. I checked my phone. Fifteen minutes late. I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, tried to ignore that familiar feeling creeping up the back of my neck.
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