Trick’s whole body visibly relaxes. I grin, relishing in his reaction to my unexpected confession. I’d hate to be predictable.
“How long’s it been since your last chewing?”
I laugh. “I’m not sure. I probably still take a little nibble when I’m watching a scary movie or something like that.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over my short, neatly-trimmed nails. I hold my breath that’s so easily lost to his touch, then slip my hand from his when I need to breathe again.
“So how’d you become the ‘it’ man in the world of makeup artistry?”
“My partner dragged me into the business.”
I clear my throat. “Is he a makeup artist too?”
“No, he owns several salons, but when he met me he saw ‘untapped’ talent and decided to open Rogue Seduction.”
“You must be quite the couple. Your business looks like a hole-in-the-wall from the outside, but Gemmie said you cater to the rich and famous.”
He nods. “It’s not supposed to attract anyone, hence the ‘hole-in-the-wall’ appearance. We don’t exactly take walk-ins. The business is all Grady Cross, my partner. He knew everyone who’s anyone before I was old enough to vote. I can’t explain the decor. It’s just … Grady.”
I inwardly smile, thinking of Etta James and my Grandma Carmichael. “An older man, huh?”
Trick raises a single brow and smirks. “Yes, he’s older than I am. Forty-five to be exact.”
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter interrupts.
I order a salmon dish; Trick orders lamb.
I can’t believe Trick’s boyfriend, partner … whatever, is seventeen years older than him. Taking another sip of wine I try to mask my shock.
“So you know I was a junkie and that I live with an older man … and that I’m not an asshole, so what’s your story?”
Pursing my lips, I squint one eye. “The asshole part is still up for debate.”
“It’s not—”
“It is.” I insist. “So you and Grady live together?”
“Yes.”
“Where was he last night?”
“LA”
“Oh?”
“He only lives in Chicago a few months out of the year.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Trick takes a sip of his water. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. Long distance relationships don’t usually work.”
He dips his chin into a slow nod. There’s something in his eyes that tells me for every word he does say, there are a thousand caught inside that tell his real story.
I wait to see if he wants to add anything, but he seems mesmerized by the flickering flame of the votive in the middle of our table. “Okay, me … let’s see … I love working in the ER, and I like riding in vehicles with at least four tires.”
Trick laughs and it’s such a beautiful sound. It’s like this frigid wall that’s been between us is beginning to melt one laugh, one smile at a time. “That’s it? All I get are two things that I already knew about you?”
“You know I work in the ER, but you didn’t know that I love it. And don’t forget about the nail chewing.”
He shakes his head as the waiter brings us our salads.
“Thank you,” we both say to the waiter.
“What’s your favorite part about working in the ER?”
“The smell.”
He squints, stopping mid bite.
“Yeah, it’s the refreshing mix of alcohol, saliva, and dried blood. Some rooms smell like fresh plastic tubing. The nurses’ station smells like coffee grounds, and the rest is just …”
Trick still hasn’t brought his fork the rest of the way to his mouth. “Don’t stop, now. You haven’t completely ruined my dinner yet.”
I laugh. “Well if you insist. There’s nothing like the smell of a freshly incised abscess, 80-proof vomit—”
“I get it!” Trick’s eyes bug out.
I giggle. He didn’t let me get to the good stuff like the ammonia and fishy odor of lady parts in need of help, or the pungent stool smell from a GI bleed. I’ll save that for dessert.
“So what are you dying to know if it’s not about my disgusting fingernail habit, my favorite mode of transportation, or the aroma of the ER?”
He stabs his lettuce. “I’m dying to know what you would be doing tonight if you weren’t with me.”
I chew my bite then dab my mouth. “That’s easy. I’d be on my back getting a subpar lay.”
Trick chokes on his food to the point where I scoot out of my chair and wonder if I need to do the Heimlich maneuver.
“Are you okay?”
He nods with his hand fisted at his mouth.
I ease back into my chair with apprehension. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he says with a hoarse voice before taking a sip of water. He clears his throat. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Really? What else would my ‘rich-bitch whore ass’ be doing?”
He flinches. I know it’s a low blow since he’s trying to make amends, but I’ve been judged my whole life and I’m tired of the Darby the Doormat role. “I’m sorry. I have trust issues with women and I shouldn’t have said it.”