A Man Worth Shaving For: A Sweet Romantic Comedy

by Michelle Pennington

  “I’m in the business of matching skilled people with the right job.”

  “And you want her? What do you do? Hire hitmen?”

  I laughed. “Don’t you wish you knew?”

  His eyes flicked over me. “Who says I’m giving up on figuring it out? We still have the whole night ahead of us.”

  Chapter Four

  “Come on. You’ve got to still be hungry,” he said. “We might as well eat together as alone.”

  I glanced at him from my comfy spot on the heated leather seat of his rental car. “You can’t deny that you were as happy for an excuse to text Taylor that we were leaving as I was to text Madi. Why on earth are you trying to prolong this?”

  “I don’t know. Because I have an extremely stressful few weeks ahead of me, so I want to think about something else for a while. Because I’m curious what makes you tick. And because I’m positive you won’t developing misplaced feelings for me.”

  The last one made me huff. “What gave it away?”

  “In my experience, girls are never honest when they’re interested. And you are definitely honest.”

  I almost laughed but controlled it just in time. “I should be offended that you aren’t interested in me, but I’m not. It makes it so much easier to dislike you, since I’m not looking for a relationship either.”

  “Like I said—honest. But is it the kind of dislike that prohibits eating together?”

  “I suppose not. As long as it isn’t fancy. And as long as I can go home and change first.”

  “We could pick up something on the way.”

  “You like Pad Thai?”

  “If it’s good.”

  “It is.” I pulled out my phone. “How spicy?”

  “Don’t think less of me, but I’m a two chile man. Three is too hot.”

  “Weakling. Turn left at Parkhaven up ahead.” I put in an order at my favorite place and less than twenty minutes later, I found myself in the elevator of my apartment building with a man I’d just met; two plastic bags perfuming the air with garlic, onions, and chile; and a whole lot of relief that I was moments away from escaping from my stick on nightmare.

  It’s a very odd thing to be so hyper aware of your chest with such a magnificent specimen of manhood standing next to you.

  Anxious to get inside as quickly as possible and get a real bra on so I could feel in control of things again, I opened our electronic lock with my phone and nearly ran out of the elevator. I crossed the hall in three strides, threw the door open, and bolted for my room without even bothering to invite him in.

  Locking my bedroom door, just to be safe, I wrestled my zipper down again, and tugged my dress and body shaper off. It was only then that I remembered I needed oil to get the blasted stick-on off. “Great.”

  As I threw on my robe, which had never before struck me as being scandalous, since it was just a plain blue silky robe that matched one of my nightgowns, I revised my opinion. Somehow, wearing it outside of my bedroom with very little on underneath it and a strange man in my apartment made it seem way more feminine than before. But I shook my head at myself and headed for the kitchen. After all, I was covered. Except my sleek, freshly shaven legs. Curses.

  Logan stood at the breakfast bar, pulling out the various containers of food. He looked up, stared at me for two seconds, and looked down again.

  Well, good thing I didn’t need him to make me feel attractive.

  “Sorry,” I said, talking because I was nervous. “I just need some kind of…” After moving things around in the pantry, I finally found a jar of coconut oil. I waved it at him, victoriously. “Be right back.”

  Even with the oil to break down the sticky substance, it took forever to get the instruments of betrayal off. I almost threw them in the trashcan but decided I wanted to throw them at Angela on Monday morning. Once I was dressed in a real bra with the security of underwire and wide shoulder straps, I threw on a pair of leggings—not my threadbare ones—and a Thor shirt. The shirt would remind both me and Logan that he was not actually the hottest guy in the world.

  When I came out of my bedroom a second time, Logan sat at our small dining room table with the food arranged on plates and the miso soup in bowls. Fortunately, he’d left our sodas in the Styrofoam cups they had come in.

  “I hope you’re planning to wash dishes,” I teased.

  “No problem. Sorry. I travel so much that I always feel better eating on real plates. And thanks for setting my mind at ease.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I admit it terrified me when you came out in that robe and grabbed the coconut oil.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him, showing him that I could be as deadly with my disdain as him. “Well, you can relax that imagination of yours. That was the only way to get off the…” I paused. “You know what? Just forget it. The food is getting cold.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Usually when I eat with other people, I eat slowly and daintily—always conscious of not drawing attention to myself. In fact, being able to eat in front of people at all was one of my hardest won battles. All through middle school and junior high, I’d been too self-conscious to do so, sure that everyone would judge the fat girl for eating. Those years had inflicted scars on me that I would always carry. But luckily, I’d overcome so much of the past.

  Now I valued my health more than the size of my clothes. I watched what I ate during the week and worked out to keep my body where it was—definitely curvy, but strong and beautiful. And on the weekends, I splurged. It had so far been the ideal way to avoid the yoyo dieting I’d put myself through in high school and college.

  Still, it shocked me how little I cared that Logan was there to witness how easily I could put away a whole plate of Pad Thai, miso soup, and an egg roll. But after the last hour, what was there left for me to be self-conscious about?

  “You’re right. That was good,” Logan said, putting his fork down. “I’m going to have to remember that place. Are you done?”

  “Hold on,” I said, holding back his outstretched hand as I gathered up the last few noodles on my plate. I stuck them in my mouth and dropped my fork on his plate as he carried it back into the kitchen.

  “I was just kidding about the dishes,” I said, following him over to the sink.

  “I wasn’t.” He turned the hot water on and opened the cabinet under the sink, pulling out our bottle of dish soap.

  “Madi keeps it under there. She thinks it makes the counter look messy to have anything on it. She’s weird like that.”

  He smiled at me as he washed the plates. “I’m weird like that too.” Since our sink was on the island that faced the rest of the apartment, he had a good view of the whole place as he said, “So, you two are roommates and she’s the clean one.”

  I frowned. “I didn’t say I was messy. I just don’t care if there’s stuff on the counter.”

  “And you like the Marvel movies.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “You offer to hire hit men—”

  “Ugh. Stop it.” Feeling awkward and unsettled at his scrutiny, I went around to sit on the stool across from the sink. Let him wash my dishes. “You missed a spot.”

  He glanced down and saw in a flash that I was lying. “And all evidence to the contrary, you’re not the type to seduce the innocent men you bring home.”

  Since I was not even close to being that type, I felt a perverse satisfaction in saying, “No. Just not you.”

  He grinned at me. “That’s put me in my place. I went to Berkley.”

  “Texas University.”

  “I like dogs better than cats.”

  What was he up to? Still, it was a fun sort of game. “I had a pet snake growing up that ate my sister’s hamster.”

  Logan laughed and reached for a paper towel to dry off his hands. “I like to run marathons when I visit new cities.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I made Eagle Scout by fifteen, and I
played quarterback in high school.”

  “I wrecked my first two cars, failed Art History twice, and worked at an arcade all through high school, so don’t even try to beat me at Donkey Kong.”

  He shook his head in disbelief and walked around to sit on the stool next to me, then turned it sideways so we could keep talking. “How are you still single, Tessa Young?”

  “Madi says it’s because I’m a repressed virgin with unrealistically high expectations.” After which response, I stared at him like a chess player who just made a critical mistake but can’t let it show.

  “And are you?” he asked.

  That took a little consideration. “The last two parts are accurate, but I don’t think I’m repressed exactly. Just careful.”

  He nodded as the hint of a smile played over his lips. “Me too.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  “You are not a virgin.”

  With a crack of laughter, he folded his arms across his chest. “Just for the record, I am. But why is that so crazy?”

  My mouth bobbed open and shut as I tried to answer—both in disbelief and tongue-tied panic. Finally, I just waved my hand in his general direction. “I don’t know. You’re just the kind of man that women throw themselves at. Exhibit A, Madi at dinner tonight.”

  “Ah yes.” He took a long, deep breath. “How sadly stereotypical of you. Just because some women want me, I must obviously take advantage of it. Men, after all, have no restraint or willpower when it comes to sex.”

  I blinked. How had this conversation gotten so out of control? “I didn’t mean that. Sorry.”

  He waved my apology away. “You know, I’ve never actually said that out loud before.” He laughed and stood up. “And since we now know entirely too much about each other, I’d better get going.”

  “Just like that?” I followed him to the door. “Did I offend you?”

  “Hardly. But we’d better put the brakes on now.”

  I blinked. “Because why?”

  “Besides you and I are not going to see each other again.”

  “Why not? Let me guess—I’m not your type.”

  He reached for his coat but paused to study me. As he did, all my insecurities rose up like old foes, as if sensing that my walls were vulnerable. I wasn’t begging for a compliment, just stating a fact. If only I could remind myself that he was not my type either. Somehow that particular point had grown fuzzy.

  “I don’t have a type,” he said at last. “And if I did, a woman with the clearest green eyes I’ve ever seen and who’s not afraid to say what’s on her mind would be it. You were exactly the distraction I needed tonight, but I can’t afford for you to become more of one.”

  I searched his face, wishing I could delve into his thoughts. “What about what I want?”

  He stepped closer and reached up to cup his hands around my face. “Don’t forget that you dislike me.”

  “You’re making it kind of hard.” My voice came out like a raspy whisper.

  Bending closer, he slowly brushed his lips against mine, waking up every nerve in my body, then pressed closer in a slow lingering kiss. I wasn’t sure I believed him about his experience with women, because he sure knew how to kiss one.

  “I’m glad I met you, Tessa, but you’ll have to forgive me if I force myself to forget you.”

  Before I could answer—because really, what do you say to something like that?—he stepped away, grabbing his coat in one swift, meticulous movement, and opened the door.

  Madi was on the other side. She blinked at him as he nodded and strode past her to the elevator. I joined her there in the doorway, staring after the most…the most…disconcerting man I’d ever met in my life.

  Madi swung around to face me. “You’ve been here with him the whole time? If you weren’t wearing that ratty old T-shirt, I’d be really upset with you.”

  All my annoyance at her sprang to the front of my mind, swamping the gaping hole that Logan had just punched in my gut. “Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be anything compared to how mad I am at you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  I walked away from her, not having the energy to fight tonight. We’d survived enough arguments and all-out battles to qualify for sisterhood, but I just didn’t have it in me tonight.

  “Come on, Tessa. You had to have known that I was interested in Logan, but you left with him. What do you have to be mad about?”

  I sighed. Oh well. Maybe I did have enough juice to drop the hammer. Turning to face her, I ticked the points off on my finger. “You dragged me out on a date I didn’t want to go on, I had to wear a stick-on bra that ended up being an epic and embarrassing disaster, and you made everyone at the table uncomfortable by making your preferences for Logan so obvious. It was the tackiest thing ever.”

  “It wasn’t tacky. It’s not like I’m dating Taylor, and we only went out tonight because he wanted his friend to meet some people in town. And he did. The four of us met, and now we can all go from there. That’s what dating is for. To figure out who you’re interested in pursuing.”

  She didn’t get it, and I could talk myself hoarse trying to explain it without achieving it. “You’re saying you aren’t interested in Taylor’s Black Card anymore?”

  “I didn’t say that’s why I was going out with him. I just mentioned it.”

  “Mmmhmm. Good night, Madi. I hope you have sweet dreams about Logan tonight, because that’s the only way either of us will ever see him again.”

  Chapter Five

  If it’s possible to get a hangover from junk food, I had one. Sunday was a blur of Cheetos, chocolate chip cookies, and Dr. Pepper. By Monday morning, I felt bloated, achy, and regretful. In fact, I was so miserable that for the first time ever, I packed a salad for my lunch with something approaching relief.

  I wasn’t sure if I’d been so depressed because of the many and varied ways I’d embarrassed myself in front of Logan or because I wasn’t going to see him again. Either would have been enough on its own.

  Because I hit snooze on my alarm too many times, I didn’t have time to dry my hair after my shower, and the only makeup I managed to put on was the mascara I swiped on my lashes in the parking lot when I got to work.

  Unfortunately, that completely backfired because I managed to poke myself in the eye with the mascara wand.

  Pain unending. Rivers of tears. Frantic, desperate wiping with fingers. No tissues. Blind. Forever.

  It didn’t help that rubbing my eye shifted my contact out of place. I pinched my fingers over my watering eyeball and finally managed to pluck it out. I blinked a few times, sighing at the relief. I couldn’t see out of my left eye, but at least I wasn’t in pain. After another minute, I was even able to keep it half-way open for a few seconds.

  Looking through my one good eye, I tried to wipe away the abstract art of mascara on my cheek, but I only had my fingers and the hem of my black shirt to work with. I’d have to fix it when I got inside. Luckily, I kept a pair of glasses in my desk.

  I kept my head down as I walked through the employee entrance at the back. Thank goodness the first floor was mostly taken up by shipping and receiving. The few people who worked down here were way too busy to pay me any attention.

  On the second floor, the elevator was only steps away from the executive hallway and my office was the first one on the right, so I was able to dodge inside without anyone else seeing me. Even so, I leaned forward so my hair would cover my face until I got to my desk.

  I was steps away from safety when I heard Melinda’s voice. “There you are, Tessa. I was hoping you’d get here before the meeting. I didn’t want to blindside you.”

  Blindside me? That sounded ominous. But still not as urgent as getting to my desk and fixing this mess. I kept walking. “Sure. Just let me go to my office—”

  “There’s no time.” She grabbed my arm and propelled me to into her office and practically pushed me into a chair. If the woman hadn’
t been like an aunt to me, I would have been seriously annoyed. Instead, I only glared at her a little. She didn’t even notice.

  “I fired Cindy.”

  I nodded and wiped at my cheek. “I figured.”

  “And brought in a business consultant to help fix the mess she made.”

  “A business…” My brain seized up. Surely not.

  Then the door opened, and a male voice said, “Sorry I’m late. I…”

  The last thing I’d heard that voice say had been, “Forgive me if I force myself to forget you.” And I probably looked like a deranged raccoon, but even with just my right eye, I took in every single detail of Logan’s face like an addict desperate for their next fix.

  His eyes widened and shifted over my face during the space of several seconds that felt like longer before he directed his gaze at the floor, his dark brows furrowing. Then he held up a Starbucks cup and finished his sentence. “I didn’t expect such a long line to get coffee this morning.”

  Melinda chuckled and moved toward her desk. “The one on Grove and Cinnamon? I never bother. It’s way too busy. Just get your coffee here from now on. We have an amazing coffee station in the break room.”

  “Thanks. I will.” His eyes flicked to mine again and away as his lips pressed together.

  Melinda clasped her hands in front of her. “Let me introduce you to…” Then, for the first time, Melinda looked straight at my face. She gasped. “What happened to your face?”

  That was confirmation enough that I looked as horrible as I’d thought. “I lost a fight with my mascara wand. I didn’t get a chance to repair the damage because you dragged me in here.”

  She blinked. Then turning back to Logan, she said, “This is my Human Resources Director, Tessa Young. I swear she’s not usually scary to look at. You’ll find her to be a great asset in the coming weeks. Tessa, this is Logan Jennings from the New Vision Consultant Group.”

  As my brain and pulse throbbed with the memory of the kiss we’d shared the night before, I waited for Logan to acknowledge that we knew each other. I nearly had several times since walking through the door, but something about his unease made me hesitate. But surely now was the right moment for it.