by Devney Perry
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Ugh.
“Why?”
“I’m taking you somewhere.”
I shake my head and tense. “I’m not leaving the house.”
He nods and keeps freaking smiling. “We have an appointment, and we’re keeping it.”
I grit my teeth. “What?”
“It’s a secret.”
I roll my eyes without even realizing it. “For fuck’s sake. I hate secrets.”
He touches my hand, which has been fisting the blankets against my chest. “This one you’ll love.”
“I should have you arrested for breaking in last night.”
“You won’t.”
“I can.”
“But you won’t.”
Gah. This man makes me crazy. “How are you so sure?”
He laughs and pats my hand before standing. “I didn’t break in. I used a key.”
My mouth falls open and I try to form words, but nothing comes.
“So up you go. We have a busy day planned.”
“You.” I point at him and inch down under the covers to bury myself. “I don’t have any plans. I’m just going to lie here and be pissed off at you.”
He holds his stomach, doubling over as he laughs louder. “Be pissed all you want, but by the end of the day, you’re going to kiss me.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Fuck,” I hiss and know it’s a losing battle.
“Up,” he tells me again and rips the covers off the bed from the bottom. In one fell swoosh, my entire naked body is visible.
“Goddamn.” I scramble to my feet, using my hands as shields.
“Don’t cover the good stuff.”
“Turn around!” I screech, bouncing from foot to foot, still covering myself.
“I could use a shower.” He stretches and every muscle in his torso contracts. I salivate, finding myself pausing midbounce to have a look-see. “You want to join me?” He smirks.
Suddenly, I remember I’m supposed to be pissed and I wipe the lust from my mind. He stalks forward and pushes my hands away from my body. His eyes creep across my skin as he takes his time to get his fill. “You’re way too thin, Callie. What the fuck have you been doing while I was gone?”
“You weren’t gone,” I correct him. My face heats and I’m flooded with embarrassment from my nudity and for pushing him away.
“Have you been eating?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
I cross my arms over my chest to shield myself. “Yes.”
He moves his face closer, his eyes growing dark and serious. “What have you been eating?”
“Crackers and stuff.”
“Stuff?” He glares.
I can’t move. “Crackers.”
“Jesus.” He drags his hand across the top of his head and breaks eye contact. “I knew you’d pull this shit.”
My face scrunches as if I ate something sour. “Excuse me?”
“I knew you wouldn’t take care of yourself. I decided to give you some time alone. Give you time to work shit out and deal with the journey ahead.”
“You make it sound like it’s a road trip.” I snort.
He doesn’t laugh. “I gave you space, and you let yourself fall apart.”
I motion down my body, letting him get another look. “I seem to be in one piece.”
“Barely. A good gust of wind could knock you down.”
“You’re not in charge of me, Bruno,” I snarl.
He moves closer and our noses touch. “Someone needs to be.”
I squeak from the contact.
“Your bullshit is over.”
My eyes grow wide.
“You’ve had your time to deal, throw a fit, cry your eyes out, and mourn the life you had.” He grips me above the elbows and squeezes gently. “Your pity party is over. It’s time to fight.”
“Are you going to be my trainer?” I bite my lip and want to laugh.
His hands pulse as he grips a little tighter before releasing his hold and straightening. “Stop being a smartass.”
I smile up at him, feigning innocence. “I’m not.”
He walks behind me, running his finger down my side. I shiver from the lightness, from the sexual nature of the motion. After his hand curves around my ass, he swats it. “In the shower.”
I look at him over my shoulder and refuse to soothe the skin he’s just struck. “Alone.”
There’s no smile on his face. “You’re too skinny and frail. Someone has to be there in case you start to fall.”
I growl, but he growls louder. I roll my eyes and stomp toward the bathroom with my arms crossed. “I’m not fucking you!” I called out.
“I don’t fuck twigs, babe. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
I glare at him as I stand next to the shower. “I’m not a twig. You fuckin’ lie, Bruno. I’m sure you’ve fucked every skinny bitch on the club scene.”
“Cal,” he warns, walking toward me before holding my face in his hands. “My life is my life. It’s in the past. It’s not important. We’re talking about now.”
“So you’re saying you fucked the ‘skinny bitches’?” I use air quotes to drive my point home. “But you won’t fuck me?”
“You said you didn’t want me to fuck you.” His eyes narrow. “And—” he puts his finger against my lips before I can reply “—stop calling them bitches. It’s not nice to name-call.”
My scowl grows more intense. “Fine,” I mumble against his finger and glance toward the shower.
“After you.” He holds out his hand and waits for me to walk inside.
“I start the water first.”
“What?” He looks at me, totally confused.
“I start the water first and let it get warm before I get in. Doesn’t everyone?”
He reaches into the shower and turns on the faucet as we lock eyes and don’t say a word. After a minute, he tests the water and motions for me to get in.
I nod, still not wanting to speak to him, and walk inside. Even though I move toward the back, Bruno follows. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me under the water and against his body, but I don’t fight back.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me, stroking my back lightly to soothe me. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”
I regret my earlier statement. Bruno has a body that should be touched. His wide shoulders sit atop his massive chest, matching perfectly. There isn’t a blemish anywhere. Not a tattoo or a scar visible to the naked eye. I figured, in his line of work, he’d be riddled with old wounds, but there is nothing.
I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking him. I’m not going to be the one to break the silence. I catch him checking me out a few times, but I pretend to be angry.
Bruno pours shower gel in his hands before stroking my arms, gently soaping my skin and keeping his eyes on me the entire time. I close my eyes, avoiding his gaze, and revel in the feeling of him against me. Even if it’s innocent, it feels amazing. But the way he’s touching me isn’t sexual. This is more. Something bigger.
After we get out and towel off, I grab the robe from the back of the door and put it on, pulling it tightly around me. It’s like an invisible shield of protection, and I need it with him around me.
He grabs some clothes from a duffle bag sitting next to my closet and doesn’t say a word. I wonder what else is inside, but instead of looking, I head into my closet to get dressed.
Crap. What should I wear? He hasn’t told me where we’re going. I don’t know if it’s casual or if I need to look together and professional. I sigh as I pace back and forth a few times, and I know I have to be the one to speak first.
“Bruno,” I whisper near the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“Where are we going? I don’t know what to wear.” I peek through the crack and catch a glimpse of him slipping on his jeans just as they cover his ass. It
’s a magnificent ass too. Plump, round, and hard as nails.
“Just dress casual.”
Grrr. I grab a pair of jeans and a tank top, slipping them on before sliding on my favorite pair of sandals—nothing too high. I can’t take a chance of falling with the dizzy spells I’ve been having. Before I leave the closet, I grab a black fedora to hide my bald head. When I walk out, he’s sitting on the bed, staring at his phone.
“Ready?” I ask.
He glances up but doesn’t speak. He stalks out of the room, sliding the phone into his back pocket, and doesn’t wait up.
“Yay,” I cheer quietly so only I can hear and head toward the front door. “Kick-ass.”
I can already tell it’s going to be one of those days. What started as an awkward shower is going to turn into an awkward day.
Awkwardsauce
I know. I know. The word is really awesomesauce. But in the case of the car ride, the only way I can describe it is awkwardsauce.
Bruno pulls up in front of a storefront I’ve never heard of in a part of town I’ve never been. I peer at the sign, confused and curious. I don’t move or speak.
“Ready?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.
“What is it?” I move closer to the window and try to get a better look.
“It’s my sister’s store.”
I smile at the mention of Lee. “But what is it?”
“You have to go in and see.”
I open the door because it’s Lee and it’s not about him. I walk quickly toward the store because curiosity has gotten the best of me.
Cupping my hands around my face, I peer into the store and love everything I see. The bright pink walls and white carpeting are beautiful, but the stuff inside is what catches my eye. “What is this place?” I ask Bruno again, feeling his presence behind me.
“After she beat cancer, she decided to open this boutique. It’s dedicated to helping cancer patients feel normal again.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel normal again,” I whisper before turning toward him. “It’s really nice of you to bring me here and I’m really excited to see the shop, but I don’t want anything in there.” I’m being ungrateful. Normal isn’t a word I can ever use to describe me again.
“You need everything that’s inside. You need to feel like you again.”
“Impossible.”
“No, it’s not.”
I scrunch up my face and stand on my tiptoes. “You need to stop—” I poke him in the chest “—telling me what to do.”
He glares at me before bending down and wrapping his arms around my waist. I squirm and try to break free, but he hoists me over his shoulder and heads for the door.
“Bruno!” I scream and pound on his back.
He swats my ass before opening the door. “Stop.”
“Put me down,” I yell and kick my legs.
He doesn’t listen. “We’re here.”
I try to look around his body, but I’m too low and he’s too fucking wide.
“What are you doing?” Lee’s voice makes me smile. “Put her down right this instant!”
I can’t help but giggle because Lee talks to him like I always want to. She’s the boss. But I like that about him. He drops the macho bullshit for her. She’s his weakness.
“She wouldn’t listen, Lee. She wouldn’t come inside.”
“It’s not your choice to make.”
He releases his grip and I shimmy down his body. I can’t hide my shit-eating grin as my eyes meet his. He snarls and I laugh at his anger. “Thanks, Lee,” I say, straightening my clothes and fedora.
“Callie.” She extends her arms to me, waiting for me to hug her. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”
I go to her, wrapping my arms around her body and hugging her tightly. “I’ve missed you.” I don’t lie.
Lee has been the only person I’ve talked to in the last two weeks. We’ve texted and chatted, but I haven’t let her come over. She gives me my space but is always there for me when I need it. She’s the only person who knows exactly what I’m going through.
“Don’t be too mad at him.” Lee holds me at arm’s length and looks me over. “I asked him to bring you here today. He’s just following orders.” She grabs my sides.
Typically, I’d slap her hands away, but I know exactly what she’s thinking. The same thing Bruno said to me. I’m too thin, frail, breakable.
“Well.” She turns toward her brother and lifts her chin. “You can leave now.”
“But—”
She shakes her head and shoos him toward the door. “It’s a girl day. You are not welcome here.”
Squaring his shoulders, he crosses his arms in front of himself and looks back and forth between the two of us. “That’s the gratitude I get for everything I’ve done?”
She laughs, pushing against his chest. “Go, Bruno. Stop acting like a baby for once.”
I could catch flies with the way my mouth hangs open.
Bruno glances at me when his ass hits the door. “I’ll be back in three hours.”
I snap my mouth shut and nod.
“Give us four,” Lee states and pushes open the door behind him. “Bye, brother.”
“Behave,” he tells her and winks.
She watches him get into the car before turning to me and laughing. “He’s such a goofball.”
“I don’t think I’d describe him that way.”
“You will.”
I should correct her, but I don’t. “So what are we doing? Tell me about this place.”
She sits down on the couch in the middle of the store and pats the cushion, looking excited. “When I was sick, I felt like shit. I mean, complete shit.” Talking faster than usual, she takes my hand as I sit down. “I looked in the mirror and wondered who the hell I was looking at because it sure didn’t look like me. As I went through more and more chemo, I felt like I was slipping away. I wished I had somewhere to go. Somewhere that could help me feel better about myself and how I looked.”
“I know what you mean,” I mumble.
“So, when I was done with treatment and started thinking about the ways I could help other people going through what I had, I decided I’d help them feel more like themselves before cancer.”
“Okay. I get the wigs.” I pull off my fedora and rub my bald head. “But what else do you offer?”
“It’s a great question. We teach people how to do their makeup the correct way. I mean everyone knows how, but we get really into it. We show you how to recreate eyebrows and eyelashes with products so that it isn’t as clear to someone walking by on the street. We give you tools so if you glanced in a mirror when you walked by, you’d think ‘that’s me.’”
“So makeup and hair. Kind of like a cancer salon?”
She laughs and the tiny wrinkles near her eyes deepen. “We’re more than that, but it’s a good start.”
I laugh with her. “I didn’t mean for that to come out wrong. I haven’t gotten past my exterior yet. I’ve told myself to stop being so vain.”
“It’s not being vain.” She corrects me and squeezes my hand. “When we feel better about how we look on the outside, even for a little while, it helps how we feel on the inside. It gives us a small piece of normal.”
“I miss normal. I remember when I thought that word meant boring, but I’d kill for a small piece of it now.”
She stands and moves toward the wigs that line the walls. “You find a new normal.”
“I guess.” I fidget with my hands and watch her decide on a wig.
“I do miss the days when I didn’t have to shave my legs, though.” She tries to make light of what I’m going through and what she has survived. “This one would be perfect,” she says after she plucks a blond wig from the collection. “It’s the closest to your hair. Just a quick trim and voilà.”
She makes it seem easy and totally doable. “It’s pretty close.” I try to muster a happy face.
“You can dye it if you wan
t. It’s real hair, so you can do whatever you want.” She motions for me to join her.
I walk toward her and try to be upbeat because I want to make Lee happy. She positions herself behind me in the mirror before placing the wig on my scalp. A few tugs and adjustments later, and I almost look like me again. The hair’s a little longer than I had before, but it’s just as straight and blond as my old mane.
Her smile grows wider. “It’s perfect.” She claps her hands together. “Oh, my God, absolutely stunning.”
It doesn’t look bad at all. I can totally rock it. “I like it.” I smile, and this time, it is genuine.
“Let’s keep going.” She pulls me toward the back of the store. As soon as my ass hits the seat, she spins me around to face the mirror.
I can’t help but stare. My new hair is beautiful and gives me a tiny piece of myself back.
“Happy?” she asks, catching my eye in the mirror.
“Very.”
“So let’s do your eyebrows.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask, drawing together the spot where I used to have eyebrows.
“Basically, we paint them on for you. We have a stencil we give you so that it’s easy to duplicate on your own.”
“A stencil?”
She pulls a tiny piece of plastic from on top of the table. “Like this.” I eye it and understand what she means. It looks like the stencils my mom used to use when she did crafts. Just color between the lines, and it came out perfect every time. “I’ll show you how to apply it and we’ll figure out the best color, and then you can put them on every day.”
She explains the steps after we finally decide on the perfect shade of light brown. Blond colors were too white for my complexion and got lost. But light brown looks good and shows just enough to seem real. I make mental notes of the way she moves the brush so I can recreate it later. I can’t see what she’s doing because she turned my chair away from the mirror.
“Now comes the big decision.” She pulls two items from her makeup kit. “You can go with fake eyelashes, or you can use a pencil and just follow the curve of your eye to give the illusion of eyelashes.”
“I’ll take the illusion.” I remember from my club days the trouble I had with fake eyelashes. I always poked myself in the eye, and the times when I didn’t, the eyelashes were always crooked. They aren’t for me. I know my limits and I embrace them.