by Enders, KC
Her lips twist into a wry smile, and she reaches for the clipboard. At least I managed to fill in the blanks as I was spilling my tea for the tattooed stranger who’s about to get real intimate with just how long it’s been for me.
“Sounds like it’s been a minute since you’ve done this.” Her voice is oddly soothing, and I relax. At least, as much as one can when they’re about to go under the wax spatula and have all their hair ripped from seriously sensitive areas. “Come on back.”
Jasmine leads me back to a tiny room and instructs me to undress from the waist down. She presses a button on the wall and speaks into an intercom. The white-framed box has the silhouette of a black cat stretching low over front paws, back arched so its butt is raised, a tail curled high above.
The rest of the art adorning the walls are pictures. Black-and-white images of World War II airplanes contrast with brightly done modern pinups.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, though I’m not sure she heard me.
“Jen, babe, can you pop over and watch the front for me? Keely’s late again, and I have a client.” She doesn’t wait for a response but pats the table and tells me to hop up.
The paper on the table crinkles beneath me as she snaps on gloves and stirs the vat of wax, the heavy scent of lavender releasing into the air.
“Dating after loss can be an intimidating thing. Fear, pressure, and guilt can overshadow the excitement and tarnish the shine,” Jasmine talks softly and slowly as her hands commit to the torturous task of pelting me. The contrast isn’t lost on me, but the conversation distracts me.
“We’re not even dating though. Not really.” I hold my breath in anticipation of the next swath of wax.
“Mmm, but there’s something. A hint, a desire? I mean, I’m all for waxing the kitty for any reason, but I’m guessing there’s more to this than just a friend’s suggestion.” She whispers, “Exhale,” before she flicks at the edge of the wax and then pulls one final time.
I wipe at the tear that was inevitable.
“All set,” Jasmine says.
With the small bit of privacy afforded me as Jasmine tidies her supplies, I climb off the table and pull on my clothes. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” She opens the door and ushers me out. “Listen, doesn’t matter what your friend thinks, doesn’t matter how much time has passed. When the time is right, you’ll know it. Just make sure it’s on your terms. You need to jump back on that saddle and scratch an itch? Scratch away. But only if you’re ready. There’s no one-size-fits-all timeline, and God knows, there are plenty of good vibrators out there. Hell, a well-placed showerhead can do wonders for a girl. Right, Jen?”
My steps falter as I enter the reception area. I forgot that anyone else was here, but the last thing I expect is the very tall, very hot, very tatted-up man perched in the delicate pink chair behind the counter.
“You know it, Jaz.” The chair groans as he pushes to his feet and plants a chaste kiss to the top of Jasmine’s head.
“Wow, I, um …” I stutter, my cheeks flaming at the fact that I’m having this conversation at all, let alone with a man.
“Sorry, Jenson Bunnsgaard,” he says, thrusting his hand out for me in greeting. “Hope the pit-master treated you all right.”
“Um, yes?” My voice lifts at the end, making my response more of a question, as the giant Viking of a man’s soft hands encase mine in warmth.
“Knock ’em dead.” He pats Jasmine’s hip, shifting her to the side so he can move past her.
“Your friend took care of everything else online, so have a great day,” Jasmine says. I reach for my wallet, but with a wave of her hand, she adds, “She took care of the tip, too, so I’ll see you next time. Oh, and, Chloe?”
“Yeah?”
“Jen took the pictures back there—the ones you were commenting on in the treatment room.”
My gaze bounces back and forth between them, and Jasmine hands me his business card.
Jenson chuckles, holds the door for me, and tosses a wave over his shoulder as he saunters into the tattoo shop next door. Guns ’n’ Bunns, Ink.
Chapter Fourteen
Miles
In the weeks since we did everything we could not to discuss Chloe’s shower, she and I have spent more time together. Being with her and Jake is easy. Relaxed. Natural. The look on her face when I told her she should go run errands and Jake and I would have guy time, I thought she’d fall over. I’m not sure why. We’re dancing around our attraction to one another and I know for a fact she’s caught me staring at her ass more than once. Like now.
“Who knew the thought of going to the grocery store all by myself would hold such appeal?” Bottles rattle in the fridge as Chloe closes the door with a swing of her hip. “Any requests?”
Without looking up from his game, Jake answers, “Cookies, chips. Um, those frozen burrito things and Mountain Dew.” His mouth is open, tongue sticking out to the side, as his fingers fly over the controller of his game system.
“Pfft, we’ll see. What about you?” She looks up at me from the notepad she’s jotting her list on.
She’s bent over, elbows resting on the counter, ass looking fucking perfect. The only thing I want is to flip up the little skirt she’s got on and run my tongue up the back of her legs. Hell, I’d settle for pushing her hair to the side and nuzzling the back of her neck. She’s got me tied up in knots.
“Miles? Anything you want from the store?” Her teeth scrape her lower lip, and her eyes sparkle like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Some beer? Do you have popcorn? Movie snacks?” I lean over the counter next to her, mimicking her pose.
She jots a few more things on the list and then tilts her head, meeting my gaze. “Are you sure this is okay? I can take Jake with me.”
I smile and nod. “Take your time. Grab a froufrou coffee drink or something.”
“Thank you for this. Really. Just make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be back in no time,” she says.
I watch as she stands and rips the page off her notepad before sticking the rest of it in the drawer next to the fridge. With her back turned for those few seconds, I grab the pen, add bouquet of flowers to the bottom of the list, fold it in half, and then tuck it in her purse.
Chloe grabs her keys and pulls her purse over her head, the strap settling across her body and into the valley of her breasts. She is so fucking beautiful. Classy and sexy when she goes to work. Cute and sexy when she runs around on weekends, doing her errands. Casual and sexy when she hangs out at home. Just fucking sexy.
“Jake, be good for Miles,” she calls into the other room. “Text if you think of something else.”
As she goes, Chloe trails her fingers across my back and down my arm. She’s been reaching for me more. Touches like this, that are sweet, familiar.
Chicken skin breaks out on my legs, and I mumble, “Will do,” as she coasts out the door.
I am a lucky bastard that she has welcomed me into their lives so easily, and I need to show her how much that means to me. How much she and Jake mean to me.
I wait for the garage door to rumble down on its tracks and walk into the living room. Jake’s perched on the edge of the couch, leaning his whole body, ducking and bobbing along with his avatar on his game.
“All right, bud, finish up whatever mission you’re running and then shut it down,” I tell him.
“Quest.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a quest, not a mission. And I have to get the spear of light and then meet up with my guild to save the village.” Jake leans sharply to the left and bounces on the cushion before letting out an ear-splitting screech. “Dang it. Now, I have to start all over,” he groans.
“Turn it off and take a break.”
He slides me a side-eye, challenging me, testing to see if I really mean it.
I do, little man. I absolutely do.
“Come on. We’ve got shit to do,” I tell him. “Get your shoes on and come on out f
ront.”
Bronson lifts his head and watches me—I’m sure gauging to see if he’s invited to join in on the adventure. It takes longer than it should for Jake to get his shoes on, and by the time he joins me in the front yard, I have the mower on the edge of the lawn, the gas can on the driveway, and am digging through a tote marked extension cords, finding everything but.
“Do you know where your mom keeps the cords for the trimmer?” I ask as Jake jumps down the steps.
“Um, in the Christmas bucket. What are we doing?”
Christmas bucket. I guess that makes sense, but why the hell wouldn’t she just put it back in with the rest of the extension cords? God love her, she tries to be organized but falls a little short. At least in the garage stuff. Maybe I should have done a more thorough job when I dug into her garage mess after fixing the bathroom, but things were pretty new with us then. Hell, they’re still new.
“We’re going to mow the lawn, trim the edges. Maybe pull some weeds,” I tell him, pulling the tangled orange extension cord out with a sigh. Why? Why wouldn’t she just wind it up before putting it away? “And we’re going to clean this shit and put it away where it belongs.”
Jake giggles as he grabs a tennis ball from the corner and bounces it against the wall.
“Why don’t you start mowing? I’ll straighten this mess and get to edging.”
The ball whizzes past, and Jake lunges, missing it. He chases it down and jogs back. “I don’t know how,” he says matter-of-factly, slamming the ball against the wall again.
I reach out, pulling the ball from midair, and hit the kid with a look that’s a cross between disbelief and shock. “Say again?”
He shrugs his shoulders and repeats, “I don’t know how. My mom didn’t teach me.”
I toss the ball to him. “Put that away. It’s time for you to learn.”
I go over the basics—gas, oil, spark plug. Show him how to prime the engine and start it. What I don’t show him is the self-propel lever. Sure, it’d be easier, but Jake needs to get the feel of the mower, respect the power, and figure out how to make a straight row. Besides, the extra effort he expends, pushing that thing across the yard, will wear his ass out. That’s something Chloe seems to appreciate. The kid is a bundle of energy.
When I’m satisfied that he’s got it, I get back to untangling the extension cord, keeping an eye on Jake. I finish edging the front about the same time he finishes mowing, and we move to the back. He’s doing a good enough job, but it’s best if I keep an eye on him.
The mower engine sputters and dies, and Jake’s a sweaty mess with a smile stretching from one side of his face to the other.
“I did it,” he says, looking damn proud of himself.
“You did. Good work. From now on, the job is yours. Every week.”
His eyes go wide, and his mouth falls open. “Every week?”
“Yep. Do it without reminders, and I’ll give you ten bucks.” I should probably clear this with Chloe, but she can’t do everything around here by herself. She needs some help.
“Really?”
“Mmhmm. Working hard is one of the rules of being a gentleman, and when you’re ready to hit the trimmer, I’ll bump you up to fifteen.”
Jake pumps his arm in the air in the goofiest fist pump I’ve ever seen. His gangly legs propel him toward me, and he windmills his arm wide for a high five.
“Jesus. Did you forget your deodorant this morning? You stink, man.”
Jake snorts a laugh. “I don’t have any.”
How does his teacher stand a room full of prepubescent hormone machines and not insist that they use deodorant? Hell, with the way it’s warming up during the day, she needs to institute a midday reapply.
I grab the trimmer and wind the cord as I walk toward the house. “Let’s go, then. We need to run to the store and get you some.”
He zooms past me, zigzagging across the swaying orange cord.
“Get your ass back there and get the mower. The job’s not done until your tools are cleaned off and put away. If you’re going to do it, do it well and to completion,” I say, sharing a nugget of wisdom that my dad handed down to me.
With the grass rinsed away and our tools put up—in the correct places—I close up the house and nod to my truck. “Climb in and buckle up.”
I fold myself in and crank the engine. The sun-warmed interior magnifies the sweaty-boy smell.
“Open your window, man. You’re ripe.” I laugh as he scans the door, confused. I nudge his shoulder with the back of my hand and point to the knob.
Fresh air fills the cabin, blowing his stink out as we work the windows down.
“How come you don’t have air-conditioning in this thing?” Jakes asks. He squints against the bright midday sun.
I flip his visor down for him and slide my aviators on. Wind whips through the cab as we gain some speed. I throw my arm up on the open window, the sun blazing down warming my skin.
“Maggie’s an old girl, Jake. She’s got classic two-forty AC.”
Confusion paints Jake’s features as he screws his face up at me.
“Two open windows, forty miles per hour.”
Over-the-top laughter swirls in the wind, and Jake reaches his arm up to rest on the window. Just like mine.
I wonder, not for the first time, what his dad was like. Would he have taught his son to mow the lawn by now? Taken him to buy deodorant, or would he have just brought it home for him? Would he have had the talk by now? Surely, he would have.
I grin at the memory of Chloe’s pink cheeks when I walked in on that phone conversation. I should have checked with Jack when he was done grilling me the day we all hung out—see where things sit with that talk. At the very least, I need to check in with her, follow up on it.
Jake follows me into the drugstore. I scan the signs above the aisles and make a beeline for the one we need. Like any kid his age, Jake goes straight to the brand that markets to up-and-coming douche bags.
“This one?” he asks.
“You could choose that one.” I rest my hands on my hips and shift my weight.
“That’s what my friend has, the DragonFire one.”
I pluck it from the shelf, and even though the plastic packaging is intact, the scent wafts out. It’s almost a hard choice between this stench and the smelly-boy sweat. “Wow, that’s …”
Jake wrinkles his nose and moves down the aisle, looking for another option. “What about this one?” He picks a classic.
“You can’t go wrong with that one, man.”
“How do you know? I can’t smell it like that other one.”
And that’s a good thing.
I grab the matching bottle of body wash from across the aisle and pop the top.
He gives it a sniff and an appreciative nod. “I like it,” he says. “It smells like … like you.” Jake furrows his brows and thinks for a minute. “Can I get both? The wash stuff too?”
“You know it. Being well groomed—clean and not stinking—is another good rule.”
He struts to the cashier, body gel in one hand and deodorant in the other. It’s such a small thing, but to him, this is a big moment. A rite of passage.
The cashier takes a step back, and I can’t help but laugh.
“That it for you today?” she asks.
“It is. Thanks,” I tell her, pulling some cash from my wallet.
She rings us up and hands the bag to Jake and the change to me. I pull a ten from the stack and hand it to Jake before pocketing the rest.
“Here you go. Now, you’re a man with a job and a classic scent. The girls are going to be all over you at school.”
Jake hasn’t said anything to me about liking girls, but I figure his first crush can’t be too far off, if he hasn’t already hit that stage. His face flames red, and his eyes go wide.
“Miles,” he grits out through his teeth.
I dig my fingers into my beard, scratching a bit and then straightening out the whiskers. And there we
go. It’s for sure time someone has a chat with him about girls.
The drive back to the house is silent. Not a word. I half-expect Chloe to be back by the time we get here, but there’s no sign of her.
“Why don’t you run up and take a shower?” My suggestion is met with more silence.
I thought the silent treatment was reserved for women when everything was fine. Guess I was wrong.
I fill Bronson’s bowl with fresh water and let him out to do his thing. He trots back in as Chloe pushes into the kitchen, arms laden down with grocery bags.
“Thank you for mowing the lawn. You didn’t need to do that, Miles.” She drops the bags in a pile and starts unpacking things.
“I didn’t. There more in the car?” I ask, already ducking out to scope out her car. I grab the rest of the bags in one hand and the pretty bouquet of flowers tucked off to the side in the other. Chuckling, I hand them to Chloe along with a chaste kiss to her cheek. Closer to her temple really, but it affords me the luxury of burying my nose in her silky black curls.
“These are for you. Hope you like them.”
Here I am, thinking I need to volunteer to talk to Jake about the facts of life and what it means to be a man, and I can’t even get my ass out to buy flowers for the woman I care for, instead putting it on her grocery list. I deserve a kick in the ass.
“They’re my favorites. How did you know?”
