Earl looks like he’s about to give me a Christmas morning puppy. He’s so excited for some reason. “Word is, he asked Miss McKayla for just the two of them . . . almost like he was trying for a date, and she accepted, but for her and Mr. Brad. Whoo-boy, I like her already.”
The thought of her side-stepping a date with that slick welcome wagon suit gives me a little jolt of happiness, although I’m not quite sure if it’s because I’m happy he didn’t get his way or because she didn’t go out with some douchebag. Sure, she was a spoiled bitchy Princess, but a damn hot one too. Something about the way her clothes, her body, and most of all, that hair . . . they all seemed to work together. She’s too much woman for a schmuck like Jaxson to handle, although the thought of the smackdown she’d give him if he tried makes me laugh inside a bit.
I look toward the salon. My mind’s all sorts of fucked up, but my eyes are perfect. The big plate glass windows let me see inside where she is standing behind a brunette, eyes laser focused on the section of hair she’s cutting. She’s talking as she works, her bright red lips forming shapes, and I wish I could hear what she’s saying.
My gaze moves around, and I realize Brad is standing at the front desk, phone cradled to his ear with his shoulder, and his eyes are locked on me. He raises one eyebrow and gently shakes his head at me.
I exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding and look back to Earl. “Thanks for the gossip, Earl. But I gotta get back to work.”
He drops his cig, grinding it under his heel. “Sure thing, Son. You let me know if you need a ride to the meeting on Wednesday at the lodge.”
I give him a death-stare, but inside, I kinda grin. Man, that guy is like a dog with a bone . . . won’t give it up for anything.
Earl leaves, sort of waddling down the sidewalk at a deceptive speed. You don’t think the man’s moving, but next thing you know, he’s half a block away. After watching him go, I look back across the street. Brad’s still playing guard dog at the front desk as I get myself another eyeful of McKayla, but when I see him again, he grins and gives me a wink.
Sorry, buddy, that’s not my game, but you’re also not going to throw me off mine. Besides, I’ve got a leaky Caddy to chase down.
If only I were as easy to fix as this old thing.
Chapter 5
McKayla
“We’re rocking, we’re rolling,” I chant as I do a little dance around the shop. I just looked at the receipts on the computer, and there’s a reason to dance. Roughly four thousand reasons.
Brad looks on with a huge grin, but he doesn’t join my victory celebration. He’s too busy making himself look beautiful. “I just can’t believe it. One week, and I’m already thinking we need to hire another pair of hands.”
I laugh, coming over and tugging on his arm. I’m too damn happy to just let him primp in front of the mirror. “I feel like ever since that newspaper article and going over to the diner with Jaxson, we’ve already seen half the town, so must be the other half coming in over the next two weeks because our schedule is full.”
Brad gives in to my persistent tugging and gets up to grab my hand, spinning me in a little circle and pulling me in for a crazy little swaying dance, even though there’s no music. He dips me down, one high-heeled shoe sticking up toward the ceiling, before he pulls me back to my feet. I keep forgetting that the man can seriously dance.
“Yep,” he says, agreeing with me as he does a little half-dance of his own that shows off a few more of his moves. “Half already love us and the other half will in a minute.” He twirls, dropping down faster than a man really should in pants that tight before bouncing up and popping a hip into one of the empty chairs, spinning it around. “Between all the hair services you’re doing and all the facials and eyebrows I’m doing, we’re on the cusp of being the premiere beauty salon in the state. I feel it.”
As he says the last part, he spreads his hands wide like he’s seeing our salon name in lights across a big marquee.
I laugh, glad at his projection but a little realistic too. “Well, maybe not the state. We should probably conquer this little town first, but we’re sure as fuck doing better than I’d ever hoped. ”
With big smiles, we do our special high-five combo with a mix of fist-bumps, waving fingers, and the piece de resistance hip wiggle with an ass smack. Brad might not have much of an ass, but I’ve got enough to make up for the both of us.
Brad rubs his bony hip, grinning as he heads for the register. “Done and done. I’m finished closing out the cash drawer and receipts for the day, so I’m gonna head out and do the bank run on the way home. There’s a couch and a cabernet calling my name. Need anything else?”
I’m pleased to hear Brad talking so positively about his new rental house. It was one of the things that had worried me the most about moving to smaller city, the slower pace of life. Brad had been a total denizen of the Hollywood night scene, stylin’ and profilin’ his happy little ass anywhere there was a dance club and a rainbow. Now he rents a two-bedroom house on the corner of town, and from what I can tell, the wildest it gets around here would bore most of the Hollywood party crowd.
“Nah, I’m good. Thank you though. I’m going to finish sweeping up and mop my way out the back to the stairs. I’ve got leftover Chinese food calling my name and a long bubble bath soak on the agenda. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”
Despite appearances, I’ve got a homebody streak in me that likes the new setup, living right above the salon. The building has an apartment upstairs, and we’d talked extensively about sharing it since it has two bedrooms, but realistically, if we worked together all day and lived together, I think one of us would end up dead. There’d be glitter, hair dye, and blood everywhere.
I love Brad like the brother I never had, and he feels the same about me, but with both of us having such big personalities, a little life balance is in order for us to do our best work. Besides, the way he somehow finds men who are open to his advances from outta nowhere makes me jealous.
And since work is the priority, we decided having separate homes was the right choice to keep us clicking properly. Jealousy doesn’t make for a good work environment.
Plus, that means we each get multiple closets since he has just as many, if not more, clothes as I do, and the vision of our sharing a bathroom makes me shudder a bit. Friends, yes. Knowing each other’s toilet habits, no thank you.
With an airy kiss in my direction, he grabs the bank bag and heads out the door. The little bell over the door tinkles, and I decide to get back to actually wrapping up work. There may not be a cabernet upstairs for me, but I do have a couple of bottles of a local craft brew IPA that I could easily enjoy with the Chinese food.
I’m head-down, focused on the floor and sweeping all the stray hairs I missed throughout the day, when I hear the tinkling of the bell above the door. “Sorry, we’re closed . . .” I start as I look up to see Jaxson stepping in with a smile, his hand raised in a wave. “Jaxson.”
His smile grows as he sees I’ve remembered his name. “Hey, McKayla, hope I’m not interrupting. Just wanted to stop by and see how it’s going . . .” He tapers off like there’s more he wants to say, but he just looks at me. When I don’t reply, his smile slips a little before recovering. “So, how’re you doing?”
“I don’t think we could’ve dreamed of a better first week than the one we actually had. It’s going great, better than we’d even hoped. Just cleaning up for the night.” I gesture vaguely around the salon and he looks around.
Jaxson nods, looking semi-impressed at least. “I have to tell you, this place looks amazing. I don’t know anything about fancy salons out in LA, but you guys seem to know what you’re doing.”
I smile politely, then realize something. “Hey, how’d you know we’re from LA? I don’t think I mentioned that before.” I see a flicker cross his eyes, but it’s so fast, I think maybe I imagined it.
“I thought you did, or maybe I heard folks talking about i
t at the grand opening last week. That’s right, isn’t it? I’ve been telling everyone about our town’s new famous Hollywood dynamic duo.” He says it with such a big smile that I can’t help but smile back.
I try and think back. Maybe I did mention it. I mean, if I didn’t, I’m sure Brad did. It is sort of our calling card, bringing legit Hollywood skills. I just haven’t said much because I didn’t want to come off as arrogant to the locals. “Yep, that’s us. Started in two different places, hooked up in Hollywood, and now ready to rock on our own. I guess that makes us movers and shakers.”
I laugh a little at my own joke and then remember I need to finish cleaning up. Looking at the floor, I wiggle my broom a bit. “Sorry, Jaxson, but I really need to finish cleaning up for the night. Thanks for—”
I’m just about to give him the polite brush-off, broom pun intended, when he interrupts me. “Oh, let me help. You’re not exactly dressed for cleaning.”
I look down at my slim leopard print pencil skirt, puffy shoulder black top, and red patent platform heels. I bite back a little, not taking kindly to having my style questioned. Sure, it’s a little over-the-top, but it’s typical me for damn sure. I’m out there and fucking fabulous, and the rest of the world can like it or go fuck themselves. “Well, this is how I always dress and how I always clean, so it seems to work just fine.”
Jaxson seems to get the point because he steps back, giving me a bashful look. “Oh, I didn’t mean that to sound bad. Sorry, I meant it as a compliment. Most women around here wear yoga pants and t-shirts to clean, jeans if you’re really getting fancy. But you’re like a walking, talking pin-up from the 1950s, Bettie Page reincarnated. You take care of your appearance. I dig it.”
Cringing inside at my immediate jump to thinking he was insulting me, I try to backpedal a bit. I mean, he’s not my type, but he’s not being an asshole either. “It’s all right. I’m used to guys not really knowing what to think about my wardrobe, and usually, when people think ‘different’, they think ‘bad’ for some reason, so I’m a little defensive. Ever heard of Dita von Teese?”
He steps over and takes the broom from my hand, bending down to sweep up a little pile of hair. He looks up from the floor in front of me and I’m struck by the intimacy of the position even if he is a foot away. If my skirt were just a little higher, he’d be able to see quite a bit more than I normally show men I’m not interested in. “Never heard of her. Tell me.”
I hear a little bit of command in his voice and I’m surprised. Well, well, well. Maybe Mr. Politico-Nice Guy has a little fire after all. It’s probably wrong that it makes me like him just a smidgen more, but honestly, it does.
“Well, you said Bettie Page, right? Think of Dita like the woman who sort of picked up Bettie’s ball and ran with it. She’s a fashion icon, known for her vintage style, mostly 30s and 40s. She models, designs, and dances too. I’ve always been inspired by her flair for classic drama, but I have to mix a bit of rockabilly in for myself too. I’m too wild to be that traditional.”
Jaxson laughs. “Did you just say you’re a hillbilly? No offense, but we’ve got some pretty country folk around here. No hillbillies though.”
I laugh back. “No, rockabilly, kinda rock-n-roll with a little country mixed in. Think 50s Pink Ladies meets sexy-sass and given a twenty-first-century twist.”
Jaxson smiles, tilting his head as he leans on the broom and looks me up and down, obvious in his appraisal.
I freeze and can’t decide if I feel good or bad about his attentions. I should be able to tell, but I just can’t get a read on him and that makes me nervous. While I normally go for rougher types, there’s a little something in his overall vibe that leaves me questioning just how vanilla he really is.
Jaxson breaks the tension after a moment, pursing his lips and humming. “Well, whatever you call it, it works for you.” His face stays serious for a moment, waiting for my reaction, but I stay quiet for a change. Talking is the easiest way to drag this out, and I just want to turn in.
Brad would be fucking proud of me for keeping my big mouth shut because that’s a rare reaction for me. I’ve got a bad habit of talking my way into problems and sometimes not being able to back out without shit going down. Actually, one of the first times Brad and I worked together, that was the case.
Jaxson, not hearing the ‘thank you’ he’s expecting, changes tack and smiles again. “Hey, you had dinner yet? We could grab something to eat?”
He looks like an earnest little boy, and I’m about to snatch his new favorite toy away . . . me. But I’m not the kind to be treated as anyone’s little plaything. That’s probably part of the reason I have such a problem with the bad boys. I can get on for the ride, but eventually, I want to take the wheel sometimes too. Jaxson strikes me as the type to want a sweet little woman who does what he says, definitely not the kind to let me run full-throttle on occasion, and that more than anything makes up my mind for me. “Thanks, Jaxson. But I’m beat. I just need a little down time to recover from the crazy week and get ready to do it all again.”
His face falls in disappointment, but with a breath, he rallies. “Sure, I understand. Maybe some other time?”
I hum noncommittally and walk him toward the door, a clear indication that I’m dismissing him. He relents and follows me, stepping outside as I pull the door open. He pauses, looking down at me just as we’re nearly pressed against each other while he slides his way through the door. Suddenly, I’m aware of how much bigger than me he is. I’m not a tiny woman—well, not that tiny—but even in my five-inch platforms, he’s got at least six inches of height on me. But where I’m curvy and full-chested, he’s slender and wiry.
As I look up, I don’t want to back up. I don’t want to give him the impression that he’s got rights in my own store, but I do lean back in an attempt to get some personal space. This is my bubble, and that is your bubble, dude.
His eyes are flickering, but I don’t feel heat. His eyes are stone cold as he looks at me, not like a man looks at a woman, not even like a human being looks at another human being, but like someone would look at a bug, or maybe a bauble in the store that you want to buy only to throw away later.
I feel the decrease in space on a visceral level as he leans in, turning my face away as he kisses my cheek. His lips are dry, papery thin as he holds them against my cheek for a split second that feels like an eternity.
I press against his chest, cringing away, desperate to get him the fuck out of here. “Look, uh . . . Jaxson, one of my faults is I’m blunt as fuck, so I’m just gonna say this. I’m new to town and not looking for anything romantic. Friends, sure, but nothing more. I appreciate your help with the city council stuff, but that’s it.”
Jaxson smiles at me. “Sure, I get it. But you won’t be new to town forever. Just trying to get to know the new girl in town.”
It sounds reasonable but makes me narrow my eyes at him anyway. I may not be new in town forever, but after what I just felt, if hell froze over and Satan himself knocked on the door asking for a date, I might be more interested in the Prince of Darkness than this man. “I understand. Please, I need to get cleaned up.”
He steps further out and begins to walk away, turning to offer a two-finger wave. “I’ll see you later, McKayla.”
I watch as he gets further away. Nothing he just said was off, but still, there’s something about him that gives me pause. I look up and down the dark sidewalk, noting how alone we are.
I still haven’t gotten used to how things are so quiet around here. Except for certain nights, it’s one of those towns that rolls up the sidewalks when the sun goes down, a hell of a long way from LA with a quiet time of three thirty in the morning . . . sometimes.
If Jaxson had nefarious intentions, he damn sure would’ve had an opportunity.
With a sigh, I shake my head, telling myself that I’m not in LA, and every nice guy that chats me up isn’t a boogieman I need to be wary of. Right before I turn inside, a red light twi
nkles across the street and I squint to get a better view.
The red cherry of a cigarette. Evan. Yeah, Evan’s his name.
Chapter 6
Evan
I’m a watcher. I can’t help it. Ever since I got back from my last deployment, where I spent days in hiding, frozen in mountainside caves or rooftops or wherever the fuck they sent me, staring at the world around me through a scope, I have kept the same habits.
Don’t engage, don’t draw attention, just lie low and observe and you’ll know more about everyone and everything than you thought possible. I’ve relaxed a bit in the time since I’ve been home, made a few friends who can put up with me running hot and cold, and bought a big ass bike that draws attention but turns people off from the dirty biker, but I still watch.
Mostly, though, I watch because I still don’t feel like I belong. Sure, TJ puts up with my ass and old Earl holds out hope for me, but when I walk around town or when I go to the supermarket, the people I pass just don’t seem like the same species as me. They’re smiling in that sort of pleasant smartphone-induced haze that’s filled with Facebook updates, manufactured outrage over some people you don’t really give two shits about, and kitten pictures.
Part of me remembers the time I was about the same. Just a softer, carefree kid coming home to a working-class house with parents too busy to pay any attention to me and TJ unless the school was calling again. I just kinda skated by, passed my classes, hung out with buddies, and just coasted through days without much thought.
Quiet and shadowed against the front of my building, I’ve downed two Monsters while peering into the salon across from me, still caught in my reflections. Why did I join the Army? It wasn’t out of any great desire to wrap myself in the flag and go play soldier boy. I remember that. I’d seen the JROTC crew sweating it out in the parking lot, twirling their rifles and shining their helmets while my friends and I sat on tailgates in the school lot, just goofing off. I thought they looked like idiots.
Dirty Talk Page 24
