by Tabatha Kiss
“You weren’t…” she pauses, dreading the question, “with him all night, were you?”
I groan. “Yes, Mom. I was.”
“Honey…” Her face drips with disappointment. “He’s not right for you. We agreed that you would give Dylan a chance and—”
“No,” I say, surprising myself. “No, there was no agreement at all. There was me saying one thing and you speaking just a little bit louder and assuming you were right. As usual.”
She’s taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“God, Mom…” I laugh. I can’t help it. “When are you going to get it through your head?”
“What do you mean?”
“Me and Dylan are never going to happen!” I say.
“But he’s a good man,” she says.
“No. No, he’s not. He’s creepy and self-serving and oh-so-boring! I can’t stand him and I never have.”
She gasps. “He is not boring! He’s just like your father.”
I hesitate. “Yeah, well…”
My father blinks twice. “Dylan is not just like me! I’m a Harvard man! That boy went to Yale.”
I roll my eyes. “Mom, why would I want to date a guy just like my father?”
“He’s honorable and loyal,” she answers. “Unlike that… baseball player. Have you seen his social media? It’s like a harem of sorority girls — the state school kind.”
“So?” I ask.
Her jaw drops. “So?”
“Yeah. So? He’s a good-looking, popular guy. He spends months out of the year training and traveling to hundreds of stadiums. If he wants to let off steam with parties and state school sorority girls, then who gives a shit?”
“Wel— I— you— ju—” She exhales hard. “I just don’t know who you are anymore, Penelope.”
“Never, Mom.” I sigh. “You’ve never known who I am. You’ve known who you want me to be. You’ve known Penelope McCoy; Attorney at Law. But you’ve never bothered to get to know me. Penelope Warren; Hairdresser.” I swallow. “Fake girlfriend of the third baseman for Los Angeles.”
“Fake?” my father repeats as my mother can’t speak.
I nod. “Yes. Fake. I met Hayden thirty seconds before you arrived here on Friday when I slipped him twenty bucks to pretend to be my boyfriend. I knew you’d be shoving Dylan in my face the entire time and using another man as a buffer is the only way I can get any peace during these stupid family reunions!”
My father joins her in speechless shock.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I take a breath. “I’m gonna go eat some pancakes.”
I spin around, putting my back to them.
Holy shit.
Did I really just do that?
Did I really?
Holy.
Shit.
Okay, start walking. One foot in front of the other…
I will myself to move, practically knocking my shaking ankles together with each step forward but at least I freakin’ did it.
I pick up my pace toward the restaurant as a smile digs deep into my cheeks.
“Pen?”
Dylan stands about ten feet away from me in the lobby.
I could stop my purposeful stride, have a heart-to-heart with the guy, and once again try to make him see the light but my tongue moves before I can filter it.
“Hey,” he says. “About last night…”
“Fuck off, Dylan,” I say without breaking stride.
Best morning ever.
Nineteen
Hayden
“Good morning, Hayden.”
I smile at Whitney the hostess at the front of the restaurant. “Yes, it is,” I greet. “Good morning indeed.”
“Just one for breakfast today?” she asks.
“No, actually. Two,” I say. “She’ll be joining me soon.”
The girl giggles as she snatches two menus from her podium. “Ooo-la-la. Right this way, sir.”
I follow her across the restaurant, passively adjusting the cuffs on my shirt as I walk. It’s a little wrinkled this morning but I don’t care. Wonderful battle scars from an incredible night.
Whitney rounds a table for two and sets the menus down. “Your server will be with you shortly,” she says.
“Thank you.”
I sit down, leaning back in the chair to get comfortable while I wait for Penelope. I saw her and Ira talking to her parents at the far side of the lobby but I wasn’t about to interrupt that conversation.
“Hayden.”
I glance up and sigh at that familiar, busty redhead standing over my shoulder in a raven-black cocktail dress.
“Trisha,” I ask, “what are you still doing here?”
Her pink lips curl. “Hayden, Hayden, Hayden…”
“I thought you left.”
“I thought I did, too, but…” She walks around the table to sit in the empty chair across from me. “I just had this feeling…”
“Couldn’t possibly be shame, could it?” I ask.
“A journalistic instinct, you might call it.”
“Nothing you do qualifies as journalism, Trisha.”
She leans forward, ignoring my quips. “You weren’t being entirely honest with me before. Were you?”
I sigh. “About what?”
“About why you chose to stay here at Daddy’s hotel during your painful rehabilitation,” she answers. “The five-star restaurant. The state-of-the-art fitness center. The loyal, hardworking staff willing to get on their knees for you. All available twenty-four hours a day.”
“And all very good reasons for me to stay here. Get to your point.”
“The adorable hairdresser from Burbank.” Her smile grows. “Not exactly on the standard list of amenities for a Botsford Plaza. I know. I checked.”
I swallow hard. “Okay, look…”
“You’re hiding out here with a girl and you didn’t think she was important enough to mention?”
“No, I didn’t. Because she’s not.”
Trisha blinks. “Really?”
I nod. “Really.”
“You two seemed awfully cozy last night at your brother’s show,” she argues.
“What the hell were you doing at the Criminal Records show last night?” I ask.
“Planned for a weekend.” She scoffs. “Had to do something to kill time until my flight. Little did I know I’d run right into my next human interest story in the front row.”
I lean forward. “No.”
She throws on that pink-lipped pout. “Hayden…”
“I said no.”
“A handsome, playboy athlete, broken and defeated, crawls home to Las Vegas to soothe his aching wounds…”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”
“There, he stumbles upon a beautiful California girl…” She stops. “No, that’s not right.”
“Ya think?”
“Would waifish sell better?”
I flex my jaw. “Trisha…”
She waves passively. “Never mind. I’ll ask Daisy.”
“Yes, please. Do ask Hunter and Daisy whether or not you should run a bullshit personal exposé without the subject’s approval or permission. I’m sure they have some first-hand opinions about that.”
“Worked out in their favor, didn’t it?” she asks with a smirk.
“There’s no story here, Trisha,” I say. “Penelope’s just a friend.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Just a girl I’m hooking up with until my leg heals. Killing time, just like you. She means nothing to me.”
“Nothing?” she repeats with doubt.
I nod. “Nothing at all.”
She bites her cheek. “Well, I’m sure I can find it in my heart to pass on a human interest story…”
“Thank you.”
“If…”
I exhale. “If what?”
Her lips press together in a smile. “If you’ll give me my exposé,” she says.
“No,” I say.
“One inte
rview,” she counters. “Your first triumphant game back. You and me. In the dugout. With pictures.”
I groan. If I don’t agree to this, I’ll never see the end of this woman. “No pictures.”
“One picture.”
“Fine.” I bite down. “One interview. One picture.”
“Deal.” She extends her manicured hand across the table and I shake it. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you again, Hayden. Get well soon.”
I grunt a goodbye as she stands up… and again when she doesn’t immediately leave.
“So, Penelope means nothing to you, huh?” she asks.
I glare. “Nothing.”
“Does she know that?”
“I… no. Why?”
“‘Cuz she does now,” she mutters before flouncing away.
I spin around in my chair. “Penny,” I say, my chest sinking.
She stands behind me with her hands folded over her clutch in front of her. “Hi,” she merely says.
I push out of the chair so fast my knee twinges. I ignore it. “That wasn’t… How long have you been standing there?”
She shrugs, her shoulders stiff. “Waifish, I think.”
“It wasn’t what it sounded like,” I say. “That woman’s a reporter, okay? And a really bad one at that. Digs up personal dirt on athletes and calls it news. I told her that stuff to make her back off and leave you alone.”
Penelope nods slowly. “Because you don’t want people to know about me?”
I nod. “Yes!”
“Because I don’t mean anything to you?”
“No…” I step forward. “No, that’s not what I said.”
“You kinda did.”
“But that’s not what I meant.”
She looks down. “Hayden, it’s fine. This was all a meaningless arrangement anyway, right? Fake girlfriends shouldn’t get as much media attention as state school sorority hook-ups.”
I frown. “That’s not…”
“I spoke with my parents,” she says. “Told them everything. They know about… everything, so…” Her throat clears. “We don’t have to do this anymore.”
A rock settles in my gut. “Penny…”
“Thinkin’ I might skip out early,” she continues. “Try and beat the Sunday evening traffic on the way home.”
“Wait, Penny—”
She turns quickly. “It was nice to meet you, Hayden.”
My chest tightens as she beelines back toward the lobby.
“You, too,” I say to myself.
Well, that was the least fun I’ve had in weeks.
Guess I need to find a new hobby now.
I exhale hard and abandon my table, meandering my way back to the lobby. I take a hard turn into the bar, happy there’s no velvet rope blocking the entrance this time.
Doc greets me with a nod as I plop down on the nearest stool. “Hey, Hayden,” he says.
“Hiya,” I say.
“Where’s Penny?”
I bite down. “She’s on her way home.”
He nods, easily reading my face. “Well, what can I get you?”
“Uh…”
I feel my back pockets of my jeans in search of my wallet but it’s not there. Must have left it upstairs in my room. I quickly check my front pockets out of habit and my fingers graze the folded-up bill stuffed inside. I pull it out, ready to spend every dime of it, but I pause.
Twenty dollars.
Penelope’s twenty dollars.
“You okay, man?” Doc asks.
I keep the money pinched between my fingers. “Yeah,” I answer. “I’m fine.”
“Really? Because you look like shit,” he jokes.
I spot myself in the mirror behind bar and nod.
“You’re right,” I say as I slide off the stool. “In fact, I think I could use a haircut.”
Twenty
Penelope
Here it is. I was right.
I lie in my own bed in Los Angeles. It’s definitely my shitty apartment. No fancy towels or room service to be found here. I’m not sprawled along a big, fluffy mattress and I’m sure as hell not lying next to a billionaire either.
The end of the dream.
And to make matters worse; it’s Monday, too.
My escape is long over. Time to get back to the daily grind.
I roll out of bed and hit the shower to wash away the memory of my weekend in Las Vegas.
It’s all over now.
No need to dwell on it anymore.
Normal life may proceed as planned.
Hayden who?
Just one night only.
At least my mother has seemingly accepted my normal. She sent me a long apology email last night, stating that she didn’t realize she was such a negative presence in her daughter’s life and that she only wanted me to be happy. A little passive aggressive, sure. But I’ll take it. Baby steps.
I stop to grab a cup of coffee from the cafe on the corner on my way to the salon. A little caffeine perk ought to help me shake off the final lingering shadow in the back of my mind. The one that smells like him, tastes like him, sounds like him…
Might need a bagel, too.
I walk in the front entrance and my boss smiles at me. He stands above the first workstation, prepping his tools beneath bright, white lights while a woman sits in his chair with a magazine open on her lap.
“G’morning, Penelope,” he greets.
“Hey, Ace.”
“My first appointment is here.” He snaps his shears twice. “Can you handle the walk-ins?”
I nod as I set my coffee cup down on the second workstation across from him. “Sure can,” I answer.
“Iris should be here in a couple of hours to help out.”
“Awesome.”
“How was Vegas?”
I hang my jacket on the hook by the office door. “It was… fine,” I answer.
He chuckles. “Not married yet?”
I snort. “No. In fact, I actually told my parents off this year, so this was the last time I have to worry about Dylan McCoy. I hope.”
“Atta girl,” he says. “What finally made you snap?”
“I didn’t snap, I just…”
The entrance bell chimes as I reach for my apron. I throw it on over my neck and tie it off behind me, all the while searching my brain for the right word to describe it without thinking too much about—
“Marco?”
I stop in my tracks, my eyes locked on the man by the entrance wearing a t-shirt and jeans.
Hayden.
“Polo!” Ace greets him with a smile. “Good morning, sir! We’ll be right with you.”
Hayden smiles, his gaze on me. “Thanks,” he says.
After a moment, Ace nudges my arm. “Penny for your thoughts?”
I shake it off. “I’m fine.”
“And so is he,” he murmurs. “Go customer service the shit outta him.”
He gives me another nudge forward and I exhale hard before continuing the long walk toward Hayden.
I pause in front of him and his dimples carve a little deeper.
“Hey, Penny,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He looks around the room. “I seem to find myself in need of a haircut,” he says.
I raise a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s…” He runs a hand through his brownish-black hair. “I think it needs a little off the top? Maybe? I yield to your professional opinion, of course.”
“You came all the way to Burbank for a haircut?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
“There’s a barber right down the street from your hotel.”
“Is there?” He feigns surprise. “Must have missed him…”
I tilt my head. “Hayden.”
“This place came highly recommended!” he says. “I looked it up and saw you were doing half-off walk-ins this week, so I figured—”
“That was last week.”
“Then…” He
reaches into his back pocket. “I want whatever this’ll get me.”
Hayden slaps money into my open palm. I hold it up, instantly recognizing the folded twenty-dollar bill I gave him before.
“Twenty bucks, huh?” I ask.
“Might not be worth as much here as it is in Vegas,” he says, smiling. “Back there, it can get you a whole weekend of fun and debauchery.”
“Hayden…”
“Just a little trim,” he says. “Then, I’ll be on my way.”
I hesitate, taking a deep breath to compose myself. “All right,” I say, gesturing toward my workstation. “Have a seat.”
He steps forward and sits down in the chair. Ace eyes me with suspicion but I wave a hand, letting him know I got this before I shift to stand behind Hayden’s head.
I run my fingers lightly through his hair, trying to keep my focus off the fact that I can feel his gaze on me in the mirror. He really doesn’t even need a trim. It’s fine the way it is now. Perfect, even.
Obviously, he didn’t come here for this. I know that. He knows that.
I slide a comb from my apron, along with a sharp pair of scissors. “So, you stalked my profile to find out where I worked?” I ask, combing his left side.
“No,” he answers. “After you checked-out, I ran into your dad in the lobby and he told me where you worked.”
I snip an uneven strand. “Really?”
“He said something about how he’d rather you do your thing than settle with some tool from Yale? I dunno, it happened really fast…”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
My nose twitches with the scent of good hotel shampoo. Warm water on my skin. His lips on mine…
“Penny, I’m sorry.”
We make eye contact in the mirror. He looks at me with heavy lids, his pupils small from the bright, probing lights.
I shrug. “For what?”
“I shouldn’t have said those things to Trisha,” he says. “But, please understand, I only did it because I didn’t want to turn your life upside down — which is exactly what would happen if she ran that story.”
I let my comb roam by itself. “What kind of story?”
“The kind about a poshy playboy who finds love in a normal, everyday girl so that other normal, everyday girls can pick up a magazine and live vicariously through her. It’s exploitative and invasive and—”
