“Yes. Hang on a second.” I hit the sink and scrub like I’m going into surgery, literally shuddering with relief as the oil is washed away beneath the lather of the eco-friendly hand soap. When my hands are dry, I shake his hand. “So you normally only work on weekends here?”
“Yeah, I work full-time at another clinic. I pretty much only sneak in here when no one’s looking.”
“Can’t blame you there.”
“I had an opening today and was able to come cover for Fern.”
“That’s nice of you.” I feel weird watching him do the laundry, so I grab a towel. “Do you have to get going? Don’t feel like you have to finish the load.”
“You sure? I hate to leave a mess, but I do really have to get back to the other clinic.”
“It’s fine.” I’m not used to having help anyway.
“Okay, but I’ve already rebooked my client, and she paid before going in, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Thank you! You didn’t have to do that.”
He smiles and takes a pile of sheets. “Just the way I do things. Nice meeting you.”
“You too, Blake.” On the way back to reception, I see he’s cleaned the room and remade the bed for the next therapist. He’s considerate too. None of the other therapists give a crap about taking payments or rebooking their own clients—never mind doing a load of laundry or making a bed.
I wonder if he’s single. I get back to reception with a smile.
“You met Blake, I take it?”
“Yup.” I double-check to make sure he’s really gone before I grin at Phyllis, expecting a moment of bonding over his cuteness.
Instead, she frowns. “You know we’re not allowed to date other employees, right?”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. So don’t even go there.”
Well then. That moment was squashed like a Tokyo train commuter at rush hour. The receipt book is back on the desk, and I flip through to check if she’s done the whole book, but she’s only signed her name on each page. “Phyllis, you didn’t put your name or RMT number on these.”
“No. I figured you could do that when you’re bored out here with nothing to do.”
“Well…” This is a battle that seems worth fighting. “There really isn’t much time for me to be doing things that you’re supposed to be doing. Not with all my responsibilities and everything.”
“What’s this about?” Ziggy’s voice behind me freezes me in my seat.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Phyllis smiles easily. “I was giving Sarah something else to do because she’s so productive and already caught up with everything else—including meeting Blake and spending some time getting to know him! She’s so efficient. Thanks, Sarah. It really helps me out.”
“We’re all team players here.” Ziggy moves to refill his water bottle. “Glad to see you helping out, Sarah. I wish our last receptionist had had the same giving attitude. Doing the bare minimum around here isn’t acceptable.”
Phyllis’s smug expression radiates my way while I process Ziggy’s client. I get away from Phyllis when I leave to set up Ziggy’s room. When I come out, she’s gone.
She’s made me seem like the star of the show while railroading me into doing more of her work. Maybe she’s not as stunned as she looks.
By the time I finish filling out her information in the receipt book, the load in the dryer is done, so I fold in between phone calls until my shoulders ache from more than just Phyllis’s massage. I definitely need to watch out for that one.
Chapter 6
The bass line is hard and fast and thrums through me, loud and welcome after the soothing spa music that saturated my eardrums all week. I want a large glass of wine and to dance. And another glass while dancing. After that, I’ll wing it. Pulse by pulse, the minutes of the last few days fall from my shoulders. By the time I’ve reached the brushed chrome bar, I’m unable to stop shimmying my hips and bobbing my shoulders, despite sweating my makeup off.
I pull my hair up off my neck and fan myself.
“What can I get you?” Eighty-five degrees outside and not much better in here, and the bartender’s wearing a black suit jacket over her black bikini top. Her neck is covered in tattoos—a welcome sight after all the organic earth-mother types I’ve been around at work.
“I’d like something scandalously red, please.”
She grins. “I’ve got just the thing.” She pours me a glass. “Try this Syrah.”
Syrah for Sarah, yes please. The dark, intense liquid caresses my tongue, leaving an almost peppery aftertaste. “Mmm, thank you.” I open my purse.
She shakes her head. “You’re on Jack’s tab.”
“Oh.” I tuck the twenty into her tip jar anyway.
She grins and moves down the bar, and I head for our table in the VIP section, grinning when I see Kelly.
I set my glass on the table. “This seat taken?”
“Sarah!” The tiny woman jumps to her feet and wraps herself around me in a hug bigger than her platinum-blond Afro. I’ve missed this. Not being able to afford going out is bad for morale.
“How are you?”
She moves back, still holding my hand, and pulls me to sit beside her. “I’m great.” She fans herself. “Taking a break from dancing—the music’s hot tonight.”
I sip my wine and grin as my song comes on—a Bowie remix that’s totally blown up this summer. The DJ booth is slightly to my left, up the stairs overlooking the dance floor, and Jack points at me when we make eye contact. He’s like having my very own jukebox with all the best, newest music and old favorites. “Jack’s the best.”
“Totally. Where have you been? It’s been ages since I saw you out and about. I’ve missed your face.”
“I know. I fell off the radar and have been crashing on Pete’s couch, but I found a new job, and here I am. What about you?”
“Congrats. I’m still everything. Same, same, we know my name.”
I smile. “How’s Meeka?”
“Oh, she’s around here somewhere. We just got a dog from the shelter, and that’s exactly as disgustingly domestic as it sounds, so let’s change the subject.” Her smile is huge and satisfied. They’ve been together forever, and though she acts like it cramps her style, she’s the one who put the ring on Meeka’s finger. “You seeing anyone? What’s the new job?”
I take another sip of wine. “Still single. The new job is working reception at a spa.”
She tips her head to the side. “That must be so relaxing and quiet.”
The only reason the phone was so quiet the first day was because Fern had turned the ringer off without telling me. We get about a hundred calls a day. Relaxing? No. Quiet? Hell no. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
“And you’re still at Pete’s?”
“For a week or so. Probably till next Saturday.”
“Shame you won’t be at Pete’s much longer.”
“Why?”
Her gaze flicks up to the DJ booth. “No reason.”
“Kelly…” I don’t rise to her bait and look up at Jack.
Her smile grows. “Did I say anything?”
“Your eyes said plenty.”
She shrugs. “He’s a nice guy, Sarah.”
“I know.” It’s the truth.
She leans closer. “And?”
“And what? I’m not interested. Are you forgetting his nickname?”
“A nickname doesn’t negate the way you feel.”
I regret that night six months ago when we drank too much and I overshared about my lust for Jack. I’ve been forced to overcompensate since. Kelly’s a vicious matchmaker. “The way I feel? He’s my best friend’s hot brother. He’s a total man whore. There are no feelings.”
“So you don’t like him?”
“He’s sexy as hell, but even if I wanted to go there, he’s not a long-term prospect. He’s older than me, and he’s still just a DJ. What part of that screams ‘I take my future seriously and am ready t
o take you seriously too’?”
“Protesting too much.”
“Yeah, because I’m secretly in love with Jack and have been pining away for him for years.”
She nods and sips her drink. “And on the sarcasm front…”
“Bit much? But for real, I’m not into Jack.”
“Then it won’t bother you that Rhonda Lavee’s all up in his shit right now?”
My head whips around so quickly that I crick my neck. Sure enough, Rhonda Fucking Lavee is standing by the door of the booth, leaning over the partition in a tackily low-cut shirt. She was our friend until we discovered her hobby: banging other people’s boyfriends. Including mine, which is why we broke up. “Gross.”
“She’s hot for a chick with no shame. Too bad she’s a liar as well as a cheating cow.”
“She’s dirtier than a truck-stop toilet. Why would anyone want to be with her?”
“Maybe she gives good bowl jobs.” Kelly laughs at her own pun.
Jack’s fraternizing with the enemy. “If Jack wants to lower his standards for her—”
“Oh, so now you think he has standards?”
“I am so over this conversation.” And I can’t look at Rhonda hitting on Jack for one more second.
“He’s looking at you.”
And when I look back up, he is. Seventeen completely inappropriate sex acts flash through my mind, and I want to do them all with him right now. But I keep it flirty, smiling and waving, enjoying Rhonda’s pissed-off expression a bit too much—until the intensity in Jack’s eyes reaches me even from here. Jack’s so sexy up there, bobbing to the music and seamlessly transitioning to the next song without taking his eyes off me. I’ve danced with Jack, next to him, in group settings like any other friend, but we’ve never danced together. Bodies pressed together, hands brushing across skin, nothing between us but the beat. No room for thoughts at all, just rhythm and movement.
Kelly taps my shoulder. “When you’re done eye-fucking the man you’re not interested in, come dance.”
I don’t bother dignifying that with a response. “I need another drink first. You want?”
“Nah, I’m good.” She grins and shimmies away.
A few minutes later, I have my drink in hand and am about to head to where Kelly and Meeka are dominating the dance floor when I realize who the tall blond standing beside me at the bar is. “Naomi?”
She turns with a haughty expression—probably expecting I’m another guy hitting on her—before recognition dawns in her eyes and they light up. She grabs me in a tight hug and squeezes me hard enough to crack my back. Massage therapists really should watch that around us mortals with normal upper-body strength. “You still working for those crazy assholes at Inner Space?”
“It was only my fifth day today.”
“I’m so glad I got the hell out of there. Worst seven months of my life.” She slurs her s’s, and her eyelids look heavy. “I swear, the stories I could tell you would make you puke in your mouth just the tiiiniest bit.” She takes a large swig of her martini.
I frown. “If you hated them so much, why did you tell me they were hiring?”
“I’m so sorry about that, Sarah. I guess I wanted one coworker who wasn’t a crazy fucking hippie, and he said you really needed the job.” Her expression brightens. “Maybe it will be different for you being a receptionist rather than a therapist. But you need to know how nuts they are so you don’t get blindsided like I was.”
“I guess,” I say without much conviction. They’re a bit much at times, but they don’t seem like bad people.
“Just get out of there as fast as you possibly can, okay? There’s a reason they’ve gone through six receptionists in nine months.”
That’s a huge turnover rate, but maybe the other receptionists were incompetent. I know I’m a hard worker and can keep up with whatever they throw at me. I’m used to swimming with sharks. These hippies will be a piece of cake compared to the ruthless partners at the law firm. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep looking.” I’ve already started whipping them into shape though. Sure, the job is different than I thought it would be, but I can handle it. I can handle them.
Naomi smiles and waves at someone across the bar. “I’ll catch you later, Sarah—and if I hear about another job somewhere else, I’ll let you know. But remember my advice. They act like they’re all about love and understanding and honesty, but they’ll turn on you. And watch out for Crackie.”
“Crackie?”
“Phyllis.”
“Why? What’s she gonna do?”
But Naomi has already faded into the crowd.
Yikes. Maybe one more drink won’t be enough. Not wanting to spare one more thought for my job, I dance until my drink is gone, set the empty glass on a nearby table, then dance until my throat screams for water.
“There she is. How’s my tiny dancer?”
“Hey, Pete.” I lean back into the warmth of his arms as he wraps them around me. “I’m good.”
“I worried you’d flaked out.”
“Flaking is for fish.”
He peers around my shoulder without letting go of me. “My, we have been having a good time, haven’t we?”
“I may have had a drink or two. Guess my tolerance has gone down a bit.”
“Just a bit. See anyone bang-worthy?”
My gaze flits back to Jack. “Nope.”
“Me neither.” He leads me deeper onto the dance floor, and the music seamlessly switches to Pete’s favorite song. He grins up at the DJ booth, thankfully now Rhonda-free, and waves at his brother. From profile, their faces are identical; I could be dancing with Jack. Parts of me that have no business tingling start to tingle at the thought. Then Pete turns back, and he’s so undeniably my best friend that the attraction fizzles out.
I’m twenty-five years old. The layoff showed me I need to get my life together. I’ve got to get serious about my future. Inner Space is a job, but it isn’t a career. The next man I’m with could be for keeps, and a sexy-as-hell DJ who can’t keep it in his pants isn’t going to cut it. He’s the perfect fantasy, but not a real option for my future.
Pete—and shockingly, Jack—didn’t find any romantic prospects tonight either. We’ll all be going home together tonight…not that I’d be bringing anyone back to Pete’s if I had found someone I wanted to get physical with. There’s tacky and there’s tacky—and banging someone on your best friend’s couch is definitely crossing the line. Even if it’s his insanely sexy brother. Maybe especially if it’s his insanely hot brother.
Another reason I’ll be glad to get back into my own place.
Not that we’ll be… Damn it.
Chapter 7
Moving is the worst. My one consolation is that I’m almost in my own place again. That, and the sight of Jack’s muscular arms exposed in a sleeveless T-shirt.
Thou shalt not look.
“Hey, princess. Grab another box.” Pete jams a box into my front, and my breath leaves me in an oof.
“Thanks, Pete.” I walk the box down the hall to my apartment, number nineteen. The landlord gave us the key, so we loaded the ancient elevator with my stuff, then locked it on my floor to unload. So far, it seems to be going quicker this way than other moves. Then again, my last apartment didn’t have an elevator, so carrying everything up three flights of stairs was brutal.
We’ve made great time, but my shoulders are still burning—more from all the laundry I did at work on Friday than from the actual moving, I think. Pete and Jack have done the heavy lifting, sparing me the worst, but I’ve done as much as I can.
A tinny, poor-quality version of a dance mix stains the air. Pete sets down the two garbage bags he’s carrying and answers his cell, obliviously blocking the narrow hall. “Ahoy-hoy.”
Unfortunately, he’s in front, so Jack and I also have to set our stuff down and wait while Pete gabs.
“No way. No way! Ugh, total nightmare. Uh-huh. Ten minutes. Bye.”
“Who was t
hat?” I wait for Pete to grab his bags.
He turns to me. “Don’t hate me forever, but we’ve got a situation at the salon. It’s a pubic hair emergency, and they’ve specifically asked for me. It’s a high-profile client, and this could totally make my career.”
“Oh. Well, we’ve gotten everything into the elevator. I guess Jack and I could handle the rest of it. Right, Jack?” I glance over my shoulder at him.
“Yup. Shouldn’t take too long. If you’re really going to the salon.”
Pete rolls his eyes. “Of course I am.”
Jack continues. “I know all about those prescheduled scams for getting out of dates. You have a friend schedule a phone call so you can bail out of a crappy date.”
I laugh. “I think there’s an app for that.”
“I’m not skipping out on this. But they’re paying me double, and it’s a very sensitive situation. I can’t even tell you the client’s name, but trust me—you’d squeal if you knew!” He grabs my shoulders. “You’re sure?”
So dramatic. “Yes, go.”
“I owe you a dinner.” He air-kisses my cheeks.
I’ll take it. “Later this week?”
“Done.”
Jack sighs. “I’ll ride the elevator down with you with the key. Let’s get these boxes out of the elevator before we go, so Sarah can keep working.”
I point at him. “No dawdling on the way back!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He winks.
I grab a tub and carry it inside my apartment so he won’t see my blush.
In the five minutes Jack’s gone, I manage to drag the remaining boxes and bags from the hallway into my apartment. Moving in the summer is particularly awful. A thin sheen of sweat has formed on my body, and I peel off my T-shirt, tossing it away, and pull the bottom of my tank top up and down, fanning my torso.
“No air-conditioning?” Jack’s voice startles me, and I jump, dropping my shirt.
“No. I’ll have to look at getting a unit in.”
“Do you like big units?”
“Well, a tiny one wouldn’t do it…”
Missed Connections Page 5
