Love Notes (Equilibrium Book 1)

by Christina C Jones

  Somehow, her smile got even bigger. “Pictures. Remember, I told you I would show you what I was planning to publish, once I got them narrowed down? But if you’re busy, I can—”

  “Nah, you’re good,” I assured her. “I have time for that. Let me just get the door,” I said, easing past in the direction she’d come, to make sure I didn’t have any other surprise pop-ups. But as I was turning the lock, something occurred to me, and I turned back. “You’re cool with that? Me locking this door?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! Uh, yeah, it’s fine. I appreciate that you considered that.”

  I shrugged. “Common courtesy.”

  She shook her head as I headed back toward her, ready to lead the way to the office. “No, not really these days.” Her expression shifted to a little smirk as I stopped in front of her. “Anyway, you don’t give me creepy vibes, so I’m not uncomfortable. And besides that… you don’t want no problems with me, barber man.”

  “Man, chill with that, Juliet,” I laughed, putting a little extra inflection on her name, now that I had it. “You’re way too cute to be tough.”

  She let her mouth drop open, feigning offense. “Excuse you, I’ll have you know that I am very tough.”

  “Yeah, you look it, with your florals, and your dimples, and your…”

  She crossed her arms. “My what?”

  Pretty ass big brown eyes. Massive sex appeal. Hard nipples through the thin fabric of that dress.

  “Nothing. You gonna show me the pictures?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. Lead the way.”

  I was hyper-aware of her as she followed me to the back. From her body heat to her scent to just her simple presence, she had me on edge in a way that I’d never experienced.

  The awkward shit had never been me – not until I decided to set my life on a different track. And really… I couldn’t even blame it on that, because I’d still never found myself having difficulty interacting with women.

  What I was experiencing now was… unique to Juliet.

  Inside the office, I went to the desk to sit down, expecting her to take the seat on the other side. Instead, she came around to my side, casually removing the bag from her shoulder to remove her laptop. She set it up in the space where I would normally have mine, and turned the screen on, pulling up the pictures. When she was done, she took a seat on top of the desk, right by the computer, and then gestured toward the screen with a flourish.

  “For your viewing pleasure, I present: Home: The Barbershop.”

  I rolled my chair closer, willing myself not to get distracted by the exposed skin of her crossed legs, focusing my attention on the screen. The pictures were dope as hell. Vivid colors, sharp quality, and they were actually interesting. The old heads would get a kick out of seeing themselves like this, the younger ones would want to flex on social media, and I… was just in awe that a picture could so perfectly capture the vibe that surrounded me on a day to day basis, down to a picture of Storm perched beside a glass canister of Barbasol, looking downright regal.

  But for some reason… Juliet was nervous.

  Not that nervous was something I’d ever expect a girl like her to put on display, but it was clear. Her hands were gripping the side of the desk too tight, she was about to wear a damn hole in her lip, and her eyes hadn’t left my face since I looked at the screen. She was searching for a reaction.

  “These are cool,” I told her, my tone completely nonchalant as I kept scrolling through the pictures.

  She went stiff, shoulders high with tension. “They’re cool?”

  I nodded, stopping at the final shot. One of me showing every one of my teeth as I pulled the clippers away from my client to laugh at something. There had been so many jokes in the shop that day – hell, so many jokes since then – that I had no idea why I was laughing so hard, but the picture was so vibrant that I could damn near hear it.

  “Yeah. Like… they’re… aiight. You’re decent with the camera.”

  Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head, and it took everything in me not laugh as her jaw tightened, and she spoke through clenched teeth. “Aiight? Decent? Are you—”

  “Just messing with you? Yes,” I chuckled. “I need you to not pop a blood vessel in here mama, your shit is nice, okay? Very nice. Brilliant, honestly.”

  Her chin was way too high, still ready to go on the defensive when she asked, “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” I said, making the big fucking mistake of reaching out, putting my hand on her knee in a gesture intended to comfort. My hand landed where intended, but I definitely didn’t need a reminder about the softness of her skin, that simple touch enough to have me growing tight in my boxers like a damn high school kid. “My bad for messing with you like that,” I said, pushing those thoughts away. “I forgot about you artists being sensitive and all that.”

  “Oh please,” she pouted. “Let somebody tell you one of your lil’ haircuts is aiight, you’ll be ready to fight.”

  “Damn right, square up,” I joked, bringing a smile back to her face as she laughed. “Seriously though, these are great. I’ll have to run it by Carter first, but we might have to hit you up for some framed prints to hang in here, if that’s something you could offer.”

  “I could definitely do that, just let me know.” Her eyes were bright with excitement and… pure joy. Total opposite of not even two minutes ago. “I’m really glad that you like them enough to even consider something like that. But… I guess you could just be gassing me up because I’m cute.”

  I shook my head as I sat back in my chair. “Nah. You’re not that cute.”

  “I am though,” she insisted, knowing she was absolutely right. I would’ve had a hard time saying it if I didn’t like the pictures, and would’ve had to find a creative way to play this shit off. Luckily for me, the images were honestly really good.

  Still, I kept the back and forth going with a little shrug. “Maybe.”

  “Oh definitely.” Her lips spread into a grin as she hooked her foot through the arm of my wheeled office chair, using it to pull me towards her. “In fact… I bet I’m just cute enough for you to indulge me touching your hair.”

  “Touch my hair?” I questioned, frowning. “Why? I thought y’all only wanted to do that when it was the silky curly shit?” I teased. “Oh, and I got plenty of pulls on my locs.”

  “Who is “y’all”?” she asked as she leaned in, sinking her fingers into my thick kinks. “I love this. And you smell good,” she moaned as she leaned in further, putting her breasts right at eye level as she took a deep inhale, the pads of her fingers grazing my scalp.

  I couldn’t lie… this was a good ass moment for me, and I wasn’t particularly inclined to put a stop to it, even once her hands moved from my head to my beard. I was getting ready to close my eyes when she cupped my face, meeting me with a gaze that… said something I couldn’t catch.

  “This isn’t really what I imagined when you asked to touch my hair – which, I didn’t agree to by the way,” I told her, making her grin.

  “Your eyes did,” she said, then finally leaned back, returning her hands to clutch the desk for a different reason than before. “You mad?”

  “Not at all. Just thinking that we kinda suck at that whole “steering clear of each other” thing. Pretty sure this qualifies as a head-on collision.”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder and then bit her lip, looking so damned sexy I considered snatching her off the desk, pulling her into my lap. “Steering clear of each other?” she asked, her faux innocence just making me want her more. “Who said that? I said that?”

  “We said that, remember?” I asked, already knowing damn well that she did.

  “I remember you telling me that I seemed like trouble, and I remember thinking that real recognize real. That’s what I remember.”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m not trouble though. Not… anymore.”

  “Okay, cause I was gonna say, there’s no way you loo
k like you do without having handed out a few headaches and heartaches.”

  “I’ll cop to that,” I admitted, raising my hands. “But, past is the past.”

  “So you’re what, in hoe rehab now?”

  A shout of laughter burst from deep in my chest before I could help it, and I clapped a hand over my heart. “Uh… I guess you could put it like that.”

  “In that case,” she said, getting down from the desk, and closing the top of her computer before she picked it up. “It’s probably time for me to leave.”

  “Why?” I asked, immediately hopping up too. I was enjoying her company too much for it to be over this soon.

  “Because.” She returned the laptop to her bag, and then pulled it over her head before she turned to face me, clear lust in her eyes as she met my gaze. “I’m not particularly inclined to… help you avoid a relapse, if you know what I mean.”

  Did I ever.

  “Your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”

  She smirked. “Yeah. And I mean… to be honest, I’m supposed to be staying out of trouble myself, so it’s probably good for both of us, you know?” she asked, with a little sigh as she lifted her hands, pressing them to my chest

  “Yeah,” I nodded, grabbing her wrists, but not moving them. “But… what if I told you I like being around you, and I think you like it too?”

  That smirk spread into a grin. “Then I would tell you that’s exactly how addictions work.”

  I bowed a little, conceding to her point as I finally pulled her hands down, keeping one in mine to pull her from the office. “I’ll walk you out.”

  We spent that short walk in silence, but after I’d unlocked the door, she turned to me with clear curiosity on her face. “Hey… the cat. What’s her story? Is she yours?”

  “You could say that,” I chuckled. “But she usually stays at the shop. Only occasionally follows me home.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Storm.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Like Ororo?”

  “Like a thunderstorm,” I corrected. “I found her hiding under the dumpster out back, wet and terrified. Felt bad, so I brought her in, fed her… you know the rest.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I do. Never feed a stray.”

  “Right. And just my luck, she’s got the nerve to be a goddamn diva.”

  “I’m pretty sure all cats are divas,” she giggled. “But at least she’s beautiful. Very photogenic.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, maybe for you. Every picture I’ve tried to take of her… looks like a man taking a picture of a cat with his cell phone,” I chuckled. “Maybe you’ll have to teach me something one of these days.”

  “I can teach you something this day,” she said. “You have your phone with you?”

  I pulled it from my pocket, and held it up. “Always.”

  “Cool. Take a picture of me.”

  “Like… right now?”

  Her eyebrow went up. “Uh, yeah? Take the picture, bruh!”

  “I’m taking it, I’m taking it,” I said, opening the camera app to do exactly that, framing her in the middle of the screen before I tapped the shutter button. “See? Look?”

  She moved to stand beside me, peeking over at the screen. “Okay. Let me see. First things first…” she said, turning the phone over, “Is this big fingerprint over your lens,” she laughed. “A lot of people don’t even think about it, but that’s problem number one.” She grabbed the hem of my tee shirt, pulling it up to clean the lens. “And then… you’re using the automatic mode. Most phones these days have pretty decent cameras, with a “pro” setting. So, if we switch you to that, and adjust your exposure a bit here, and fix your white balance, and put it on auto-focus, since you may not be quite ready for manual yet… okay. There we go.” She handed the phone to me, and then moved back to where she’d been before. “Take another one.”

  Again, I framed her in the middle of the screen, and tapped the button. As soon as it had made the little shutter sound, she moved next to me again.

  “Now, go to your gallery, and… look! See the difference?”

  “Damn,” I muttered. Just those few little things made all the difference in the world, turning a decent picture of her into one that was—

  “I look cuuute! Send it to me,” she demanded. “Here, go ahead and hit the little button, to share.”

  “Hold on a second, pushy ass.”

  She wrinkled her nose at me, pressing into my side. “Just send me the picture, okay?”

  “Tell me the number.”

  She rattled it off and then grinned, stepping away to pull out her own phone, from her laptop bag. “Got it! Thank you. And, you’re welcome for the little mini-lesson. Now you can take decent pictures of your lunch for Twitter, post your lil’ haircuts on Instagram, get some ussies with your family, all that.” She stopped talking to narrow her eyes. “Wait… what is it? Did I say something wrong?”

  I frowned. “Huh?”

  “Just now, when I was talking. Your face kinda squinted up for a second, like you got stung by a bee or something.”

  It did?

  “Oh, shit… I… I didn’t realize I did that, my bad.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s my bad. What did I say?”

  I lifted a hand to scratch my beard, trying to figure out how to answer this question.

  “Troy…” She grabbed my free hand, stepping closer and squeezing, eyes filled with concern. “What is it?”

  “Nothing really,” I told her. “I mean… I don’t really have a family like what you were talking about. I grew up in foster care, so I never… never really knew my people or anything like that.”

  Her lips parted for a few seconds before she actually spoke. “Oh. I… I’m sorry for bringing it up like that. I didn’t know.”

  “I know that. Despite whatever alien shit you say my face did, I’m not really tripping on it.”

  At least not with you.

  “And anyway,” I continued. “It gives me something in common with Storm, I guess. Probably what made me help her out anyway. She’s a stray, I’m a stray. We match.”

  Juliet’s grip on my hand tightened, and she let out a sound that was somewhere between a moan, a sigh, and a whimper. “Okay, so… yeah I gotta go now, especially with that.”

  “Wait a minute, what?” I asked, grabbing her hand after she’d released me. “What are you talking about?”

  She sighed, and shook her head. “Seriously? Big tall sexy man who owns a cat that he rescued during a thunderstorm because he saw himself in it? My panties are melting off right now. I gotta go,” she said, completely serious as she pulled her hand from mine. “I’ll see you around, Troy.”

  “I’ll look forward to it, Juliet,” I told her as she pushed open the door.

  She turned, barely suppressing a smile. “You can call me Jules.”

  I nodded. “Alright then. I’ll look forward to it, Jules.”

  With one last smile, she was out the door, and I locked it behind her. Only because it was still relatively early – just after eight at night – did I hold back my urge to offer to walk her home. This was my chance to exercise some self-control, and I was taking it.

  It was also my chance to go back to that picture of her.

  Damnit Troy. Does this girl really already have your mind gone?

  Five.

  Nik was in a good mood.

  I knew this before I’d even seen her face – before I even opened my eyes – because of how I woke up. Smooth, clear vocals that wouldn’t have been out of place on a stage pulled me from the grips of sleep nearly an hour past when I’d set my alarm. I didn’t have plans, I just hadn’t wanted to waste my Saturday morning in bed. Still, I remained where I was, just listening as my cousin sang her heart out to Mariah Carey’s Butterfly album.

  Heartbreaking lyrics she knew plenty about.

  That thought alarmed me enough to pull me out of bed, flinging the door open to find her in the kitchen in her wireless hea
dphones, oblivious to anything else as she did the weekly deep cleaning Aunt Darcy had instilled as a habit. I waved to get her attention, and the smile she gave me when she looked up, pulling her headphones down to rest around her neck, made my shoulders sink in relief.

  “Good morning! Am I too loud?” she asked, and I shook my head.

  “No, I was just worried about your set list,” I told her, pushing my arms out to stretch. “Had to make sure I didn’t need to kick any ass.”

  “Oh! No, none of that,” she laughed, resting on the handle of the mop she’d been using. “The more heartache in the music, the better I clean.”

  “Just like your mama.”

  “You know it. They’re really excited about lunch today. Mama has had her chicken soaking in buttermilk since yesterday morning. She is ready to feed you.”

  I grinned. “And I am ready to eat. We’re going together, right?”

  “Yep, you’re driving.”

  “That’s what I figured,” I nodded. “Let me go wash my face and brush my teeth, and I can help in here.”

  Anika shook her head. “Oh girl you’re late. Once I finish this floor I’m done. And I’m starving now. You wanna come to the coffee house with me, grab a muffin or something before my mother stuffs us full of fried chicken and potato salad?”

  “Hold up,” I said, raising a hand. Her plans sounded good, but I was stuck on the fact that she was telling me she was done with what was a good two hours of work. “You’re already finished? How long have you been up?”

  She shrugged. “Since five or six. I didn’t mean to, but something woke me up and I couldn’t get back to sleep. Some loud thumping and bumping outside.”

  My eyebrows went up. “I heard none of that. I must’ve been knocked out. Slept straight through my alarm too.”

  “Mmmhmmm,” Anika smirked, going back to swirling the mop. “Must’ve been having some really sweet dreams about a certain barber…”

  “Oh shut up!”

  “I will not!” she teased. “Don’t try to act like you didn’t come in here the other night grinning your face off because Troy called your photos brilliant.”