"I'm just kidding," he said, cracking a little smile.
"Why are you kidding?"
"Because nobody does that anymore. Especially, not someone who looks like you. I don't expect you to tell me you're perfect just because I told you I'm scarred."
"I'm not perfect," I said. "I'm not even close. But I am a virgin."
Isaac and I had been staring at each other through our reflections in the mirror and not directly at each other, but when I said that, he turned in his chair to face me. He locked eyes with me for several long seconds, his soft greyish green eyes somewhat confused as if he was beseeching me to stop kidding around and tell him the truth.
"What?" I asked.
"Don't lie."
I made a face at him showing how offended I was. "I'm not," I said. "And don't accuse me of it."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine. How old are you?"
"Thirty-one."
He held my gaze, staring at me sincerely. I honestly felt connected to him. The tension between us was thick and heavy. My heart was beating a thousand miles an hour, like it might hop out of my chest at any moment.
"We need to finish your haircut," I said reasonably.
My words broke whatever trance we were in, and Isaac turned to face the mirror again. I sighed and numbly continued combing his hair. I was only a few minutes away from being done by that point, which was a relief because I was a complete mess. The way he looked at me like that with his green eyes and damp hair was just too much.
Chapter 8
Neither of us said anything for the next five minutes. I finished up his haircut, checking my work and combing it this way and that to make sure everything was in order.
"Do you mind if I blowdry it?" I asked, finally.
"I don't normally do that," he said.
"I'm not gonna make it poofy or anything," I said, sensing his reluctance.
He smiled and gave me a nod that meant he was up for it, so I ran a little product through his hair and turned on my dryer, blowing his hair away from his face. I only dried it for a minute, but I was glad I did because it let me see how his haircut would behave when dry, and I was pleased with how nice it looked.
I unbuttoned the cape that had been draped around his neck, and used a soft brush to clear any stray hairs from his neck. I had forgotten about him wearing a fleece vest, and I had to smile at how much better the haircut looked now that the cape was off. He was strikingly handsome—rugged and manly.
I turned him in his chair so that I could stare straight at his face rather than using his reflection. At first, I didn't look at his eyes—instead I scanned his haircut, making sure everything was laying just right. I reached up and smoothed a piece that was a little askew, and smiled once I got it in place.
"It looks really good," I said smiling at him and meeting his gaze. "See what you think. Do you like it?"
"I'm sure it's fine," he said.
I gave him a playful scowl. "You didn't even look at it. You should. I want you to make sure you like it because if I need to change anything, then I'll—"
"I love it," he said. "It's amazing."
"Did you look at it?"
"Not really."
"Well, it is amazing," I said, laughing. "It's handsome on you."
He gave me a little grin as he ran his hand through his hair. "Thank you. It feels good."
Ever since he had shared that story with me, I could see and feel his countenance change. He seemed more introspective, and I honestly didn't know why. I wondered if he was sad at the thought of what the girl had done, and that gave me an uneasy feeling. But then it crossed my mind that maybe he was just unaccustomed to sharing such things and he might be wondering if he had made me feel differently about him. I felt the sudden urge to reassure him that I didn't judge him because of it.
He was still sitting in my salon chair, and I placed my hands on the armrests so that I could lean closer and get a better look at him. I wanted him to see the honesty and sincerity in my eyes. Our faces were only about a foot apart by the time I leaned in, and I just stood there and stared at him for a few seconds.
"Isaac, thank you for sharing that story with me earlier," I said. "I could tell it was something you don't tell a lot of people, and I—"
"No one," he said, interrupting me. "I haven't told anyone. Not even my parents. I think her parents knew about it, but I didn't tell a soul. Not a single person."
So many things crossed my mind as I looked into his eyes. I knew he had friends in Chicago. Who wouldn't want to be this guy's friend? He was gorgeous and successful—he was young and he had everything going for him. How in the world could he have gone through that time without telling anyone?
"I'm sorry," he said, seeing that I was lost in thought. "I didn't tell you that to make you feel weird, it's just the truth. It's been buried for so long that I honestly still can't believe it came out of my mouth. Even as I was saying the words to you, it seemed like a story that had happened to someone else."
"It didn't make me feel weird," I said. "Neither thing makes me feel weird—not that you told me or that I'm the only person you told." I took my hands off the armrests and straightened my posture as I stood in front of him. I didn't take my eyes from his. "Okay, maybe the first one does make me feel a little weird, but not in the way you're thinking. Not like I'm judging you."
"How, then?" he asked.
I felt breathless and anxious as I realized that the answer to his question was that it made me jealous. I was flat-out jealous that he had been with someone else in the first place and especially that had it had resulted in feelings that he still held onto.
"How does it make you feel weird?" he repeated.
"I don’t know," I said. "But I think it's a positive thing that you shared it with somebody." I smiled. "Who knows, maybe just telling me will change things, fix things for you. It helps to get things off your chest. Maybe you'll go back to Chicago and find somebody and have a normal relationship. And you won't even have to tell her about all that."
"Would it be better if I don't share it with someone I'm trying to have a normal relationship with?" he asked. He spoke deliberately, and I knew there was more to his question. I knew he was asking if he had made a mistake by sharing it with me. I knew just from the way he looked at me that he liked me, and it gave me a tingling sensation in my stomach, but the truth was I wished I didn't know he had been with someone—even if it was years ago.
By now, being in my late twenties, I had to assume that any eligible man my age would have had past relationships, but it didn't change the uneasy feelings I got from actually hearing him talk about it.
"Would it?" he repeated.
"Would it what?" I asked.
"Are you sad that I told you, Shelby? Does it make you see me differently?"
I started to smile and deny it, but I couldn't. We had been so honest thus far that I figured why start faking it now.
"Maybe I am a little sad," I said. "But probably not in the way you're thinking. I'm not disappointed in you for what happened. That was totally out of your control. And I'm happy you told me. It does make me feel good that you thought you could be honest with me."
"I wish you would tell me exactly what you're thinking right now," he said, knowing I was holding something back.
I gave him a slight shrug and I smiled, trying to make it seem like less of an issue than it was. "I'm probably just jealous of her," I said dismissively. My heart pounded when those words came out of my mouth. I felt antsy and I turned to walk away with the intention of sweeping and straightening up my station.
Isaac reached out and grabbed me by the arm, surprising me and causing me to glance at him with a curious expression. He pulled on me gently, forcing his chair to swivel in my direction. He sat up, positioning himself a little closer to me and staring at me with an earnest expression.
"Please tell me you just said you're jealous," he said. I grimaced at him, and he shook his head and gave me
a little self-deprecating smile. "I mean, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that. I'm sad that you're jealous but I'm really happy about it at the same time. Is that okay? Is it okay for me to say that?"
I gave him a little shrug. "You can say whatever you want."
"Really?" he asked. "Whatever I want? Are you sure?"
"Sure," I said. He had let go of my arm, but I was still standing there, facing him. "Say what's on your mind," I said, holding my palms up. "It seems to be the theme of the day."
"I'm gonna marry you, Shelby."
"What?" I asked, smiling at him like I couldn't have possibly heard him right.
He put his palms in the air the same way I had done. "You said for me to say what I was thinking, and that's what I was thinking. I don't know when, and, honestly, I don't even really know how, seeing as how we live in different states and everything, but that's just how I feel. I look at you and talk to you, and I just feel like I'm going to marry you."
He seemed somewhat casual when he said it, so it took a second for everything to sink in. His words pierced my chest like I had been stabbed straight through with a sword. My chest tightened and I felt a searing sensation. His deep, masculine voice was like music to my ears and the words that came out of his mouth caused my body to tingle and convulse with sensations. I did my best to control it, but I was definitely shaking and shivering.
"Obviously, I can't say for sure that it's going to happen, Shelby." He smiled. "We have to give ourselves time, and I have to work on obtaining your consent and everything. But you asked me what I was thinking, and I'm telling you the truth. I feel like you're familiar to me. I just feel like one day you'll be mine."
Patrick, who was still standing at the door, let out a loud bark. Under normal circumstances, a bark like this would not have startled me, but given my current fragile state, it scared me to the point that I jumped back and gasped, holding a hand to my chest.
The distraction of Patrick's bark was enough to get Isaac out of his chair. He stood, smiling at me as he reached into his back pocket. "What do I owe you for the haircut?" he asked.
The question seemed ludicrous after his previous statement, and I just grinned and shook my head as I took my broom and began sweeping. I went around his feet, sweeping his hair into a pile for gathering it into a dustpan.
"I'm sorry if you think I'm crazy," he said. "I normally don't go around having conversations like the ones I just had with you. I love my haircut, though. I appreciate you being willing to work me into your schedule."
As overwhelmed and speechless as I was, I didn't want him to regret all the things he just said to me. I wanted to tell him that I had all sorts of unruly, indefinable emotions when I looked at him and that I felt like I wanted to marry him, too. In spite of barely knowing him, I felt like I could see my future when I looked into his eyes, just like he was saying.
"I don't think you're crazy," I said.
"I know you were only expecting to give me a haircut," he said. "And I really appreciate it. You did a good job. I like it a lot." As he spoke, he pulled some cash out of his money clip. I was distracted with putting away my broom so I didn't even realize he was handing me a fifty-dollar bill until I looked down at it.
"I don't want that," I said.
"Is it not enough?"
"It's too much."
He pushed it toward me, and I pushed it back at him. My hand made contact with his when I pushed the money away, and I felt a zap of electricity at the spot where we touched. His hand was warm and big, and there was a light dusting of hair on the backside of it—I could feel it under my fingertips. I should have pulled my hand away as soon as I went out for the push, but I held it there, letting our touch linger. It was as if I was incapable of breaking away—like there were magnets in my fingers and his hand was made of metal. We were barely touching and yet I could hardly breathe. I began to shake again when I became aware of our point of contact, and once I realized that, I pulled my hand away.
Isaac gave me a thoughtful grin and a little imperceptible shake of his head. I knew he felt the same electricity and attraction that I felt. He stepped toward my station and tossed the fifty-dollar bill into the top drawer, which was hanging open.
"I really don't need that," I said.
"I know you don’t, but I want you to have it. Buy Patrick Swayze something with it."
"You're gonna give him a big head calling him that," I said, smiling.
He shrugged. "He's already got a big head," he said, talking about the actual size of Patrick's head, which was gigantic.
This made me laugh.
"Thanks again," he said. "I really do like my haircut."
Chapter 9
I walked with Isaac into my living room.
Patrick had been waiting patiently by the door, and he rushed in, sniffing us to make sure we didn’t do anything fun or eat anything delicious without him. Isaac liked my dog—I could tell by the way he looked at him and the way he rubbed and patted his side.
He turned and smiled at me once we reached the front door. "I guess I should be getting back to work."
I nodded. "Are you going to the jobsite?"
"I have some work to do at the hotel, but I'll probably go by the site before I go back there."
I couldn’t just let him leave. It was obvious by the way our conversation went that the ball was in my court, but I was so unpracticed at the art of flirting or whatever you want to call it that I didn't even know what to say. I desperately wanted to tell him that I was interested in him but I didn't know how to do it other than to come out and say I'm interested in you.
"I'd like to come see the jobsite sometime," I said.
"Right now?" he asked.
I honestly hadn't expected him to offer that so easily, so I glanced around with a surprised expression. "Can you do that?" I asked.
He smiled. "I'm sort of the boss," he said.
It was incredibly hot seeing someone who looked like Isaac say those words. I swallowed hard.
"I don't guess anything is really stopping me from going now, if you're sure."
"I’m sure," he said. "Come with me. It'll be fun."
I looked down at Patrick. "Get your sweet treat, boy," I said in the silly, excitable tone I almost always used when putting him in his kennel.
Patrick instantly turned tail and ran toward the laundry room.
"Let me just put him up," I called from over my shoulder.
Isaac and I discussed the option of me driving separately, but I chose to ride with him. He drove on side streets, taking his time getting downtown, and we talked without ceasing. I asked him questions about the building and his job in general, and then he did the same to me about my job.
We talked about our families. I filled him in on my brother and cousins, and he told me about his parents and his brother, who had two kids. Our conversation flowed so easily that pulling up at the jobsite was an unwelcome distraction. We sat in the parking spot for another thirty minutes after we arrived. He asked me about my parents and grandparents and I gave him details about the family businesses. He said that, aside from a little dirt bike his friend had when he was a kid, he had never ridden a motorcycle. I told him I had one of my own that I rode frequently, and he got the biggest kick out of that. He said he wished I had shown it to him when he was at my house, and I promised him I would when he dropped me off.
Isaac showed me around the jobsite. It wasn't going to be a skyscraper or anything, but there were a ton of people working, and it was a larger operation than I pictured, even after seeing the model. We had to wear hardhats as we walked around, and there were crews of men everywhere making all sorts of noises and doing all sorts of different jobs. We weren't able to climb stairs or anything yet, but he showed me what would be where and helped me envision everything.
I watched him as he walked around, talking to various people. He was calm, confident, and completely in charge, and I was incredibly proud of him even though I probably had no ri
ght to be.
We spent a couple of hours on the jobsite. I watched him work and communicate with others, and by the end of it, there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted Isaac Charles to be mine. I loved his personality and the way he conducted business. I had never met anyone else like him. I had no idea how to make my feelings known to him or if things would even ultimately work out for us in the long run, but I wanted him, plain and simple.
I had told him about my brother purchasing a store for his girlfriend, and Isaac was curious about it, so we went by there after we left. It was close to his hotel, and he needed to send a couple of emails from his computer, so we went by there as well. He offered to take me home first, but he said he would rather have me stay with him if I was willing, and I agreed without argument.
His hotel room was nice but not extravagant. It was a boutique hotel in an older building, and he had a nice view of Memphis's city streets from his room on the sixth floor.
I gazed out of his window while he took care of his emails, and I couldn't help but notice the little café on the corner where I had seen him the other night. I couldn't see our table from his window, but that didn't stop me from imagining the whole thing and remembering look on Isaac's face when he walked by and saw me there with my brother.
I heard him let out a sigh as he closed his laptop. "I'm all done," he said.
I glanced at him, and he smiled at me as he leaned back in his chair, casually putting his hands behind his head. He had taken off his vest when we came into the hotel and was now wearing jeans and a long-sleeve thermal shirt.
I had never been so attracted to a man.
I wanted to do something crazy like walk over there and sit on his lap. I wanted to kiss him; there was no question about it. He swiveled in his chair crossing his legs in front of him and grinning at me like he owned the world. The desire I felt for him was new and foreign to me. It caused a needling sensation to occur in my abdomen, and it was all I could do to keep myself from showing outward signs of it.
"What were you looking at?" he asked.
The Harder They Fall Page 6
