Chapter Twelve
Fuck you, you fucking fuck!
Being that I excelled at procrastination above all else, I texted Remington the following morning and told him we’d talk later that night. Elle and I had reservations at the spa and apparently, it was a big damn debacle for me to reschedule. So here I sat, beside my friend, while some woman named after a flower rubbed my feet.
“This is exactly what I needed,” Elle sighed.
I frowned as the pedicurist labored over my calluses. “So are we going to talk about you and Barrett?” I was still steaming over what I saw last night.
Resting her head against the massage chair, she grinned and faced me. “He’s so hot, Ray. You should see his abs.”
The entire world had seen his abs, being that he modeled for his sister’s clothing line. “Did you see them in a magazine?”
She laughed and waggled her brows. “I saw them up close last night.”
I flinched as the sadist working on my cuticles clipped a little too close to the skin. “Ouch!”
The pedicurist muttered an apology and I turned back to Elle. “Do you think it’s smart getting close to someone like that so soon after the accident?”
She rolled her eyes. “Look at me, Ray. The fact that he can show any interest in me at all when I’m missing half my hair and a good part of my brain is a freaking miracle. I’m certainly not going to object.”
But what about the meaningful stuff? Elle had always been a little more comfortable with her sexuality than me—okay, fine, a lot more comfortable—but this was Hale’s brother. “I just don’t want him to complicate things.”
“Nothing’s getting complicated. We’re just hanging out.”
“Yeah, naked.”
“I haven’t taken off any clothes. Yet.”
I faced her, trying to judge if she was joking. “Really?”
“Really.”
Her gaze shifted to the mirrors across the salon and her expression turned serious. “I need to feel pretty right now, Ray, even if it’s just superficial fluff. Every day I get frustrated. I still can’t remember simple words and I look like I’ve been scalped. Nothing about my life is how I remember it and it’s hard. Barrett’s helping my self-esteem in a big way. I’m going to take advantage of any chance I have to feel better right now.”
I sighed, feeling like a terrible person. “I understand.” But a part of me still worried how this would affect the usual Davenport dynamic, as selfish as that was. I excused my guilt because I also worried Barrett would use Elle and she’d be too uncomfortable to stay. I wanted my best friend there with me and I wanted Hale’s brother to keep his dick in his pants.
“What’s going on with you and Hale? Did you two have a fight last night?”
My lip curled. “Yes, but I’m not even sure what we were arguing about. I don’t want to talk about it.”
When had I become such a martyr? Last night I’d been bitching that Elle rarely showed interest in my life anymore, and here she was asking if I was okay.
Realizing I was being stupid, I asked, “Do you think it’s weird we’re living together?”
“I think you care about him and your circumstances are what they are.”
But I didn’t want to live with someone just because of circumstances. I wanted to do it because our relationship had progressed and we were at that point.
“I sort of understand what you were saying about dating someone with a child now. It complicates things.”
I could tell by her confused expression that she didn’t remember that conversation. “Elara seems like an easy baby.”
And she was, but now there were nannies involved and schedules and all kinds of grown-up stuff. “I hate being an adult.”
Elle laughed. “A what?”
“An adult. A grown-up.”
“Oh.”
I went with a red polish on my toes. Elle chose a French manicure with a tropical flower painted on the bed of her nail. Once we had those awkward foam things wedged between our toes and wore a set of floppy yellow flip-flops, we moved to the manicure tables.
“So are you and Barrett, like, dating?”
“What? No. We’re just passing time.”
Naked time?
What if Barrett went out with someone else? Sometimes he disappeared for days and shacked up with random women. I didn’t want to tell Elle that, but I worried she’d find out the hard way. Maybe she wouldn’t care. Maybe I was the only person who got jealous over stuff like that. Well, Hale got jealous, too. Maybe jealousy was contagious.
“I think I’m going to go back to work for Remington.”
“He’s a little scary,” she remarked.
“Not really. Once you get to know him he’s just a big marshmallow.”
“I don’t think so. He’s different with you. Why is that?”
I frowned. “I don’t think he treats me any differently than he treats anyone else.”
Elle snorted. “Oh, come on, Ray. He definitely does. He treats you like…”
“An employee?”
“No.”
“A colleague?”
She shook her head. “Like a daughter.”
I couldn’t help my smile. Sometimes he did look after me and offer me skewed fatherly advice, but I was curious what Elle saw that made her say such a thing. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, did he ask you to join him in the hot tub?”
“What?” Scowling, I faced her. “Did he ask you that?”
She shrugged. “You went inside to see Marta and he made a few comments. He’s a bit of an old perv, but I can see how women fall for him.”
“I can’t believe he said something like that to you.” He would definitely be hearing about this. “Stay away from him.” Jesus. And she was passing time with Barrett. Couldn’t this man find his own women and keep away from his sons’?
“Relax. It was funny. He knows I’m not interested. He’s old.”
“He’s a pig.” I couldn’t believe he hit on my friend.
“My point is, he’d never look at you that way.”
I didn’t know if I should be flattered or insulted, so I remained disgusted.
Once we were finished with our manicures we went to another part of the salon where we changed into robes and had tea sandwiches and champagne.
“Hale’s awesome. This is nicer than any spa I’ve ever been to,” Elle commented and then laughed. “I think.”
I didn’t have a point of reference when it came to girlie places like this. “This robe is nice.” I shifted. “Are you wearing underwear?” They said to take everything off. I removed my underwear, but maybe they meant for me to keep them on.
Two men appeared, dressed in black. When they announced they’d be giving us a massage, I panicked. I probably should have left my underwear on. Damn it!
“I’ll see you in an hour,” Elle waved, following one man into a private room.
I stared at the other man. “I’m with you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He led me into a dim room with soft music playing and a very intimidating table. “Once you remove your robe, lay face down on the table and use this sheet to cover your body. I’ll give you some privacy.”
But there was nothing under my robe. I stared at the table.
Shit.
Working quickly, I stripped and climbed onto the table with the grace of a hippo mounting a tall rock. I rushed to cover my body before anyone came in. Fluffing out the sheet, I draped it over my back, covering my body, shoulders to my ankles, totally out of breath and sweating.
There was a light knock. “Ready?”
No. “Yes.”
My face wedged into the padded hole as I heard him enter. The music was soothing but I was far from relaxed. The slick sound of oil being lathered between fingers had me looking nervously side-to-side, but all I could see was floor. Wait… The man’s shoes came into view. Oh, god. He was going to touch me.
“So are you vacationing or do you live around here?” His feet disappeared and the sheet lifted off my ankles.
Oh, God. He was definitely touching my leg. “We just moved here.” Well, that felt kind of nice, but I panicked when he reached my upper thigh. “Do you live here?”
Of course, he lived here. He fucking worked here. I was an idiot.
“All my life.” He switched legs. “I like the color on your toes.” His fingers slithered through said toes as he massaged my feet.
“Thanks?” No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t relax. A man was touching me. Stranger danger!
He came extremely close to my bare butt and when he worked on my arms his fingers brushed my armpit. Not that the armpit was any sort of erogenous zone, but it was neighboring Boobie Boulevard. I was obviously too immature to enjoy a massage.
A cool breeze crept over my entire back as he lifted the sheet. “Turn over.”
Christ! I flipped to my side, unable to see his face behind the sheet, and rolled to my back. When he covered me I screwed my eyes shut, because I never intended to look him in the eye again.
He returned to my legs and this time when he passed my mid-thigh I started to laugh nervously. “Crazy weather here,” I blurted.
“What was the weather like where you’re from?”
I couldn’t remember, on account of him being six inches from my hooha. “Frigid.”
He chuckled and moved to my shoulders. “Is this your first massage?”
“Yes.”
“You seem tense.” He lowered the sheet, not exposing anything, but my nipples got hard. What is wrong with me?
When it was finally over I was edgier than before. Elle, however, looked like she’d just had sex.
“That was incredible,” she sighed, with half-lidded eyes.
I frowned because now I regretted being too in my head to enjoy the experience the way she obviously had. Still in our robes, we waited in another room as the masseuses handed us two heavy menus.
“Latisha will be right with you.”
“Who’s Latisha?” I whispered to Elle, who was frowning at the menu.
She closed it and put it aside. “I think I’m going to get everything. My eyebrows are in horrible shape and I don’t even want to tell you what’s going on downstairs.”
“You mean wax?” I looked up, trying to see my brows. “How are my eyebrows?”
She glanced at my face. “You need them done. While we’re here, you might as well take care of everything.”
“Why? You think I need to do my lip?” Shit, was I getting a mustache?
“Not that. I mean your bikini line. I’m getting a Brazilian.”
My eyes widened. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Yes, but I’m tired of shaving every time I put on a bathing suit. Trust me, it’s the way to go.”
I smiled at her, momentarily speechless.
“What? You’re creeping me out, Ray. The mention of my vagina shouldn’t put that grin on your face.”
“You remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“That you used to get Brazilians and how much they hurt.”
Elle paused, her confused expression morphing into one of pleasant surprise. “Alicia waxed me. Oh, my god. She’s probably wondering why I missed my last few appointments.”
It was the silliest thing to get excited over, but it was also a monumental moment. I gripped her hand and squeezed. “You’re getting there, girl.” I was certain. All because of Elle’s once impeccably maintained and well-groomed vagina.
Latisha arrived and I sent Elle back first. No sound came out of the back room while she was in there and when she returned, her brows were defined and she appeared unharmed. A little rosy in the face, but at ease.
I followed Latisha back to the room. There was a white leather chair and a little pot of hot wax.
“So what are we having done today?”
“Um, just my eyebrows.”
She examined my brows, combing them into place and staring through a magnifying light. The wax was warm, but not hot. However, when she ripped that first piece of fabric away it stung like a motherfucker.
I endured the process because I was a girl and Elle said my brows needed this. But then I started thinking about my vagina. My vagina and I had a newfound bond. We’d come to an understanding of sorts, and both benefited from my new sex life. I’d done a little landscaping before I went back to Oregon, but since returning to Florida, I’d let things go.
Hale liked when I was smooth, but he didn’t complain when I had hair either. Maybe he’d like me waxed and if I got the Brazilian I might not have to shave as frequently.
“Does waxing last longer than shaving?”
Latisha applied some lotion to my brows and plucked a few strays. “You mean with a bikini wax? Yes. Are you grown out?”
I twisted my lips. What kind of question was that? “I’m regular.”
Without any sort of invitation, she parted my robe and looked right at my twat.
“Uh…”
“You could use a wax.”
Apparently, my curiosity was consent. She reclined the chair and shifted my legs, once again parting my robe. My eyes went wide as she slathered wax on me. There was no getting that shit off now.
Biting my lips, I frowned and held my breath, anticipating the pain to come. Why had I opened my mouth?
The strip of fabric pressed into my skin and then—
“Fuck you, you fucking fuck!” I cupped my poor vagina and glared at Latisha. “Are you crazy?” Fuck. I was going to pass out from the pain. Why the hell did women do this?
The sadist with the wax weapons laughed. “I have cooling gel. I’ll put some on as soon as I do the other side.”
“The other side!” I practically fell off the chair getting to my feet and knotted my robe. “I’m good. I’ll shave the rest.”
Then I frowned. My vagina was closing up. Literally locking together like some sort of sea mollusk in the deepest abyss of the darkest part of the ocean. Glancing at my pelvis, I turned and opened my robe and whimpered. Sticky shit was all over me. I lifted my leg and whimpered again.
“I haven’t removed all the wax yet.”
Oh, God. I was going to have to finish this or walk around with Venus flytrap pussy for the rest of my life. Reluctantly, I slid back onto the chair. As Latisha got back to work I tried to think of anything this painful that men might go through to make their genitals more attractive. There was nothing.
We women got the shit end of the stick all the way around, period cramps, childbirth, hot flashes. The next time I heard of a man complain about getting a finger up his ass for a prostate exam I was going to laugh. This girl had no sympathy for the opposite sex after this.
The strip tore away.
“Goddamn it! Fuck!”