Missed Connections (11 page)

Okay so far.

You walked in the north entrance of Fairway, and our eyes met.

Not me.

I guess it’s true though. I don’t look strangers in the eye for long, not wanting to encourage an unwanted interaction. Some guys skip being assertive and land in aggressive, and I’d rather avoid the awkward moment when I have to convince a guy I’m really not interested. The catcalling is especially out of hand now that it’s hot out. If one more strange man tells me to smile, I swear to God…

You, Polka Dots

I wore polka dots last week.

So just a few minutes ago at the deli at 3rd and 34th, you, polka-dot miniskirt, and I shared a long look. Wanted to get closer to you in line, but it didn’t happen. I left with another long look to see what would happen. Polka Dots, if you read this, we should do something about it.

Kind of cute how he calls her Polka Dots, but definitely not me.

Daniel. Barber. Nose Ring.

This one’s just someone looking for their old barber because they went to the shop and got a “mediocre haircut from someone else.” Guess I’m spoiled to have Pete at my beck and call when it comes to my hair.

For the Third Week in a Row

Could be about my transit habits.

For the third time in three weeks, the shower in the gym was crowded and my penis was the smallest. Needed to get that off my chest.

I snort, laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Blake’s voice from behind me makes me jump, but the hands that begin rubbing my shoulders make me melt into a puddle on the desk. “Oh. I, uh… There was this thing; it was funny.” I close the browser and my eyes, sinking into the warmth of his strong hands. “Oh my God, you’re so hired.”

His thumbs stroke up the back of my neck. “Wow. Your levator scapulae are some of the tightest I’ve ever felt.”

His hands feel so amazing that I’m pretty sure I’m drooling. “I bet you say that to all the ladies.”

He chuckles. “That’s not a good thing, Sarah. And your right trapezius is awful.”

“Your pillow talk needs work, but your hands can stay.”

“Whether it’s with me or not, you really need to book an appointment with someone.” His magic hands stop, and my sad groan brings me back to myself, allowing embarrassment to heat my cheeks as I turn back to him. “Done already? Your real client, I mean.”

“She just wanted half an hour.”

“Ah.” I pull up the billing system and begin filling in her name, marveling at how relaxed my shoulders are. I’d forgotten what having no neck pain was like. Guess I really should book a massage. I hadn’t realized how tense I’ve gotten.

Blake grabs a pen and scribbles something in Dannica’s file. “I can take care of that if you want to head out. No sense us both hanging out here.”

“I have to wait for the towels in the washer to finish.”

“I’ve got that too. You should go do some stretching—yoga, maybe—for that back.”

“Are you sure?” I’d love to get out of here, but I feel bad about leaving him. Then again, he does this by himself all the time.

“Definitely. I have one more client to take care of after this, but thanks. It was nice seeing you again, Sarah.”

“You too.” I like the way my name sounds when he says it. I grab my purse from beneath the desk and pass him.

“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.” He shows me those dimples again.

Maybe naked under a sheet on a massage table with his hands all over me. “Maybe.” I return his smile and walk out of the office.

Weirdly, for a few minutes there, I didn’t think about Jack once.

Chapter 11

His strong hands gently cradle my head, long fingers dancing across my scalp and winding through my hair. Tingles swirl across my skin, and I moan. “That feels amazing.”

“I know.”

“No one likes a cocky—” But my words are cut off by the way his thumb hits my temple and works back to land behind my ear. “Wow.”

“You were saying?”

“Can I rent your hands for an hour or four?” I gaze up into his deep-blue eyes. “I promise I’ll wash them when I’m done.”

Pete laughs. “No way. You’d abuse the privilege.”

“Damn right I would.” I sigh and enjoy the warmth of the water as he rinses the conditioner from my hair. “Ever thought of becoming a masseuse?”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to make people pretty.”

“True. But massages make people happy.”

“But they don’t improve the scenery. And I’m all about the packaging.”

“Yes, you are.”

He wraps a huge, white towel around my hair. “I’ll put you in with Lenora while I set up the color.”

He leads me to the pedicure station and sticks my feet into the peppermint-scented water. Pete had called last night as I was leaving Inner Space, still chuckling about the label maker, and asked if I wanted a spa night and haircut. Since he doesn’t trust anyone else with my hair, he’s forgoing his pedi to take care of me, leaving me in Lenora’s capable hands. “You spoil me.”

“Someone’s got to.”

I wiggle my toes and send a cheeky look his way, smiling at Lenora. I close my eyes and think of Blake for a moment before wiggling my eyebrows at him. “I’m working on that.”

“Oh?” He pours some cream and powders into a container, mixing colors.

“Not actively, but one of the massage therapists is pretty cute. Really cute.”

Pete wrinkles his nose. “A hippie?” He’s not a fan of their chemical-free lifestyle choices.

“No, he seems pretty normal.” I smile, thinking of the forced-labor sugar yesterday.

“Hmm. What does he look like?”

I try not to flinch as Lenora exfoliates my heels. My feet are way too ticklish. “Who’s that guy you like from
Magic Mike
?”

“Adam Rodriguez?” His voice raises an octave. “Are we talking Tito?”

I know it’s Tito, but I couldn’t resist. “Yes, but with less chin and a tighter ass.”

“And you aren’t naked in his bed because…?”

“Because I’ve only met him twice. And we were at work yesterday—not the best place for a torrid affair, though his hands made sweet, sweet love to my shoulders for a couple of minutes.”

“And you weren’t naked on his massage table because…?”

“Oh, to live the way you do.”

He mixes more powder into the cream. “If I were one of the Golden Girls, I’d be Blanche Devereaux.”

“That’s for sure.”

“I
am
double-jointed,” he says with a Southern accent.

“Yes, but shoulder pads aren’t your thing.”

“Maybe not. But I was thinking of working more sequins into my wardrobe.”

“You were not.” I snort. “Though the lack of flash in men’s clothing is a little unfair.”

“It’s getting better, what with the hipsters.” He mixes things while Lenora blazes through the rest of my pedi.

“You done over there?”

“Yup, we’re finished,” Lenora answers him.

Blue polish and small pink-and-white flowers improve the nails. “Wow, nice work!”

Lenora smiles. “Thanks.”

I walk carefully over to Pete and sit in the chair.

He clips a smock over me. “Your coworkers sound terrible. They made you work all day today, extending both of our days—”

“I’m sorry and I so appreciate you opening the salon after hours just for our spa day.”

“—and they turned Jack into your errand boy.” He tactfully doesn’t bring up the specifics of my dad’s situation in front of Lenora. “And why?”

“In case anyone phoned.” Annoyance washes over me.

He raises an eyebrow. “And how many people called?”

“One. And it was a wrong number.”

“Yeah. Be careful with the hot masseuse. Even if he’s not one of them, that kind of behavior may be contagious. Now.” He flips my hair. “What did we have in mind?”

I take a breath and decide to go for it. “I’m going to make your wish come true. You get to do whatever you want.” His eyes get big, and I feel the need to add a qualifier. “No Chelsea shave—nothing that involves shaving my head.”

He nods, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “I’m going to add some color. And we’re going to go a bit shorter. And more dramatic.”

“No spoilers. Just do it before common sense sinks in.”

Pete flaps his hands. “Honey, I’m going to make you fabulous.”

“Are you saying I’m not already?”

He scrunches his face. “You’ve always been adorable. Now, I am going to make you irresistible. Mr. Massage won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

Jack’s hands flash through my mind, but I suppress the image. He’s even more off-limits than Blake, despite the “no dating coworkers” rule. Jack texted me earlier to let me know he’d picked up Dad’s prescription and delivered it. I definitely owe him one. “Sounds great.”

Pete stirs the batch of color and begins applying foils. I close my eyes and wait blind, not wanting to see anything except for the reveal.

We rinse and blow-dry and let things set, and nearly an hour later, he spins me around to check myself out in the mirror.

He’s only taken a few inches off, but I look so different.

The way my hair frames my face makes my eyes look huge and my cheekbones stand out. I look like someone with style. I’m a bit surprised to realize that is something I’ve let slip during these past few months. My hair feels ultra-silky when I run my hands through it. It just hits the tops of my shoulders, and some razored layers give body and take it into sexily tousled territory instead of fussiness.

“Pete.”

“I know.” His smile is smug and so deserved.

He’s darkened my hair a couple of shades—which makes my skin seem luminous, instead of pale and pasty—and added a few deep-red highlights that bring out the green in my hazel eyes.

His gaze meets mine in the mirror, and he snaps a picture with his phone. “He won’t be able to tear his eyes off you.”

The only reason I think of Jack now is because Pete’s face is so similar.

* * *

My apartment feels emptier when I get home from seeing Pete. He fills up a room like nobody’s business, a crowd of one. I turn on my computer and switch on the fan, pouring a glass of lemonade before I change into my pajamas.

Pete was really excited about Blake, but I don’t know if anything will come of that—or if I even want something to come of it.

True, it wouldn’t be like I’d have to see him every day at work, which I think could really burn a couple out. Me time is healthy and so necessary in relationships. I can’t imagine living together, working together, and hanging out together. Where’s the breathing space in that?

But Blake might already be dating someone, so even thinking he’s available is jumping the gun. Massage therapists don’t typically wear rings—at least not at work—so the fact that there was no wedding ring means nothing. He’s attractive and obviously has a good sense of humor and a job, but beyond that, I know nothing about him and have no idea how to find out more.

I’d want another couple of interactions to gauge if he’s interested in more than flirting, and with the way our schedules are set up, we never cross paths. Asking him out implies I’m more interested than I am at this point. Really, I want to get to know him a little better to see if I even want to date him.

I grab my glass and an apple before settling at my computer. My first stop on the Internet is Craigslist Jobs. The mouse hovers over Missed Connections, but I resist. If things get worse with Phyllis and Inner Space, I could be out on my ass again. I’d rather find something else first. Not that any job is one hundred percent secure, but Inner Space barely pays me enough. At least, in another place, I’d have the opportunity to stash a little away in savings again.

The ads are slim. Only seven new listings in the past two weeks, and a couple of them are ones I’ve already seen and rejected or replied to and gotten no answer. I resend résumés to the latter listings anyway and scour the usual job sites, including a few newspapers. Naomi has replied to my email, but there’s nothing at her new clinic, and she hasn’t heard of anything else.

I dig around in different law firms’ websites, seeing if they’re hiring, and even send a few résumés out just in case, but a fruitless hour later, it looks like I’m stuck at Inner Space for the time being. Who knows? Maybe things will get better. The longer I’m there, the more Ziggy and Fern will get to know me. And I’m a hell of a lot better employee than Phyllis is. I actually do my work, and do it correctly.

The two emails I get make my pulse pick up until I read them. Two spam messages: one trying to sell me Viagra, the other from a Nigerian prince needing to send me all his money. If only that were true. How can these scams still survive this many years after their inception? Are new scammers discovering the Internet and thinking, “OMG, if I tell people I want to
give
them money, they will fall all over themselves giving me their bank information! Maybe I can get some money out of them if I tell them they need to send me some money first. Yes! It’s genius!”

Or they’re just lazy and uncreative, which is more likely.

Another email hits my inbox from an unfamiliar address. I open it.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Label maker

I think the label maker got you a treat. Check the drawer when you come into work. Nice seeing you again. Blake.

Blake’s last name is Wilde? I grin, mark him as a safe contact, and hit Reply.

I get another email before I can send my reply to Blake. It could be another email from him, so I save my response as a draft and go back to my inbox.

It’s another email from my old boss.

How have they not noticed I’m cc’d on these? Lawyers should pay attention to details, no? I hit Reply, intent on asking them to remove me from their contacts, but then I read what’s in the email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: River Inn Chinese

Do not order from River Inn Chinese again. We all got significant food poisoning. Won’t be in the office for a couple of days. Reschedule all appointments for today, tomorrow, and Wednesday.