Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Thomas gaped incredulously. “So you’re a professional jock person?”
“Athlete,” I corrected. “No, I don’t play professionally now. Just for kicks.”
“I see,” he said. His tone indicated he didn’t see at all.
I sipped my latte and continued. “I’m a forward on my LGBTQ league. We’re called the Mavericks. Sounds butch, doesn’t it?”
He nodded slowly, clearly thrown off guard. “I suppose so.”
Poor guy. He looked so uncomfortable. I could practically see the wheels in his head spinning as he tried to formulate non-offensive questions. I decided to put him out of his misery. If I only had a few more minutes with him, I wasn’t going to waste them adhering to silly social niceties.
“It’s a casual commitment, but I enjoy it. I’m fast and I’m good. And once upon a time, I was very good,” I bragged, flashing a wicked grin. “Not great, but I could have been.”
He cocked his head thoughtfully. “I believe you. It’s just rather…unexpected.”
“Surprising people is my evil specialty.”
“I’m certainly surprised. But if you love soccer and could play professionally, why stop? And why become a hair stylist?” He held his hand up and continued, “An honorable profession, and one you’re exceedingly good at, I might add. But it’s not soccer.”
Thomas was only asking the obvious, but I forgot how much I disliked those questions. Why stop? Why hair? I had to remind myself that it didn’t hurt to tell the truth.
Well, it only hurt a little bit.
“Thank you. Injury and circumstance ended my stint in professional athletics seven years ago,” I replied with a breezy shrug that was pure Hollywood-style bravado.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I love my job now. I stumbled into it when my friend Easton dragged me with him to beautician school to be a hair model for the day. The moment I walked into the classroom, I was instantly enamored. I loved everything about it…the energy, the creativity, the mousse! Best day ever. I met people I never would have come across in my previous life. Some were tragically hip and cooler than I’d ever be, and others were, well…still hip, but kind too. And so imaginative. My hair was shoulder-length back then—perfect for up-dos, don’t-dos, and everything in between. I walked in with droopy locks and a case of the suds and walked out with a faux hawk, guy-liner, and a new lease on life.”
Thomas smiled. “That’s amazing.”
“Right? Easton thanked me profusely afterward and told me I’d done him a huge favor, but it was actually the other way around. A couple of years later he opened the salon with Jase and recruited me to join their team.”
“I met Easton earlier today. He seems like a nice man.”
“He is,” I agreed. “And so is Jase. How long have you known him?”
“Only a year. His ex married my friend. They live a block away from us. His son, Lincoln, is a mini scientist in the making. He comes over sometimes to do experiments with Holden and me.”
“Small world,” I commented. “You mentioned Holden earlier. Is he your boyfriend?”
Oh, dear. The blush was back, brighter than ever.
“No, no. There’s no romantic connection.”
I lifted my brows quizzically, wondering where the sudden bolt of jealousy came from when I added, “You have a crush on him.”
“No. I admit there are times I’ve thought it would be convenient if Holden and I were attracted to each other. But we tried it once, and it wasn’t good.”
I gasped and sat taller in my seat, making the universal hand gesture for “keep going.”
“Hello! Now this is getting good. Tell me everything. What do you mean? Did you give in to impulse, get naked, and—”
“Oh, gosh. No, no, no. We just kissed.”
“And it was bad?” Say it was bad. Say you hated it.
“It was…awkward.”
I could work with that. And no, I had no idea why my brain was so against the Thomas and Holden alliance, but I vowed to have a stern chat with myself after I learned all the juicy details.
“Awkward? Hmmm. That sounds potentially hazardous. Your lens needs a few more minutes to dry,” I lied. “You might as well tell all.”
Thomas shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell. The short version is that we’re the only single guys left in our group of friends and one night, after partaking of too much wine, we decided we should…you know…”
“Get down and dirty?”
“Kiss,” he corrected, turning a deeper shade of pink. “But it wasn’t very good. My glasses fell off, I missed his mouth, he bumped my nose.…Don’t laugh. It was a terrible one-time experiment.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, but I had a hard time keeping the humor from my voice. “For the sake of argument, don’t scientists conduct multiple experiments to verify results?”
“Not in this case. I’m content with friendship. And I’m not in the market for…amour.”
“Amen!” I raised a hand to the sky like a preacher in the middle of his sermon. “Me either. I’m not good at boy-friending. One of the perks of my job is living vicariously through my clients. I can ooh and ahh over the romance and their salacious sexy stories, then commiserate with them when it all turns to shit…which eight out of ten times, it does.”