Steven is a lukewarm bath. He has blond curly hair that he normally keeps trimmed short, but today I notice a few wayward curls rebelling around his ears. Blue eyes and dimples, he’s textbook cute. It’s the wow factor he’s missing. Only recently, since I’ve experienced wow, have I come to that conclusion.
“Let me clarify; I need sleep. It’s been twenty-four hours and I’m ready to drop.”
“Want me to get you a coffee?”
“I don’t drink coffee, Steven.” He’s known me for almost a year and I’m quite certain we’ve broached this subject before.
“Then black tea, green piss juice, or whatever the hell it is you drink.”
I brush past him to go change my clothes. “I don’t drink tea either, and I don’t want to stay awake so I’ll pass on the ‘green piss juice’ offer too. Bye, Steven.”
After freeing my tangled hair from its ponytail and changing out of my scrubs, I dig through my handbag for my key.
“Crap!” I didn’t drive.
“Something wrong?” Jade asks from around the corner.
“I forgot I didn’t drive in yesterday.”
“Bummer. You might have to resort to public transportation like the other ninety-nine percent of us.”
Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I pin Jade with an unrelenting glare.
Her eyes slip to her locker. “I’m kidding. Don’t look so serious.”
I turn and walk to the door, then stop just as I open it. “You do realize this ‘wealth’ you’re referring to belongs to my father’s wife and it’s securely protected by a mile-long prenup. Aside from the occasional trip I get dragged on or a few designer dresses, I don’t benefit from her money.”
Her locker door slams shut. “Darby I’m—”
“It’s fine … I’m used to being judged.”
Her weak voice rips through the brief silence. “Really … I’m sorry.”
Keeping my back to her, I nod once and leave.
*
I should call Steven and apologize for blowing him off yesterday, but then he’d want to make plans to meet up—hookup. But that’s not what I want to do. For reasons unbeknown to myself at the moment, I want to see Trick again. Maybe it’s too soon, but then again, it’s not like we’re dating so the customary waiting period shouldn’t apply.
I need a reason to stop by, like I just happen to be in his area. Honestly, I’m not in his area unless I have an appointment with Gemmie. That’s it. I should stop by and get some hair products. My nose wrinkles as I glance at the time. Gemmie will be closing up shop in less than an hour.
“Choose it, Darby.” I chastise myself for my expert ability to make hard decisions with ease, yet easy ones debilitate me.
The choice makes itself. I’m in my red beamer heading south before my brain catches up to what my body has already decided. I’m off to see my new friend—my only friend.
“Shoot! Did I forget to put you into my schedule?” Gemmie asks with concern crinkling the corners of her eyes as she mists hairspray over a young blonde’s wavy hair.
“No, I just need some…” Crap! I have to sell this lie better if I expect always-skeptical Gemmie to buy it. “…conditioner.”
Gemmie’s not buying it as evidenced by her bullshit squint. I look at the products assembled with perfect precision on the glass shelf by the window.
“Third shelf down on the far right.”
I grab the bottle of conditioner.
“Still coming on Saturday?”
I turn, biting my lips together as I nod.
“I’ll add it to your bill, sweetie.”
“Um … thanks.” I submit to the nervous smile revealing my lie as I head out the door.
Her knowing glare pierces my back; I can feel the icy burn of distrust. No sense in hiding my next move, so I throw my shoulders back and saunter across the street. With each step my heart palpates, heating my skin, while long fingers of anxiety strangle my nerves.
The security chime of the front door to Rogue Seduction announces my arrival to both Trick and the raven-haired skeleton in Prada perched on the stool. He’s still working and maybe I should have thought of that. Not everyone works the same unpredictable ER hours that I do. The woman stares at me with what I read as an unwelcoming gaze. Trick, however, doesn’t so much as flinch in acknowledgement of my arrival. I wait for him to say something, but then again, I’m the one who walked through his door. This is a poorly thought-out plan.
Holding up the bottle of conditioner, I shrug with a slight grin. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought …” Either the floor is sinking or I’m having flashbacks of my youth being the unwelcome new kid at school. Either way, I feel an inch tall. “Sorry, I should have called or—”
“Sit,” Trick says with a clipped voice, keeping his full attention on Ms. High Cheekbones and pouty lips.