*****
“Uncross your legs,” Gayle said, pointing her sharp scissors at Julia.
“You have the weapon. I do as you say,” Julia said, following orders. “But why is it that I see you every six weeks and I still can’t remember to uncross my legs?”
“Maybe because you have too much else on your mind,” Gayle said, patting Julia’s shoulder then widening her stance so she could trim the ends of her hair.
The stylist dressed in black as she always did, and today’s homage to the shade of midnight was a black tunic top and tight leggings, with black cowboy boots on her feet. Down her arm was her permanent mark – a tattoo in a swirling script that said I want to be adored. Julia loved the boldness in branding her own body with a wish for love. She longed for that sort of daring. The wish had come true; Gayle had met someone recently who she’d fallen hard and fast for, and he for her. There were no issues, no problems, no pasts in the way.
Of course, you never knew what was coming. When someone would turn on you. She would never have predicted Dillon would be a world-class douche. A knot of anger was set loose in her body at the thought of the ex; like a marble in a Rube Goldberg machine, it rolled down the tracks, picking up speed. Her insides were twisted, and Dillon wasn’t the sole cause. She’d been wracked with tension since she left Clay behind in a swirl of dust in New York. Every night she’d been tempted to text, to call, to chat. Every night she’d resisted.
Her chest felt like a pressure valve inside her. The valve was stuck, so the pressure kept building. She tapped her toe on the hardwood floor of the salon as Gayle cut.
“What’s the story, Jules? You’re jumpy today.”
She sighed heavily, as if the weight of the last week were pouring out in that one breath. “Oh Gayle, it’s getting harder,” she said, because she couldn’t take it anymore. Her stylist was the only person who had a clue about the troubles Dillon dumped on her doorstep with when he skipped town with Charlie’s money, claiming she’d be paying it off. Julia reckoned a stylist was akin to a shrink. Maybe even a priest. A stylist was the one person you could pour out all your secrets to. Gayle wasn’t a part of her regular life – she was someone she saw every six weeks. Neat and cordoned off, safe from the harm that was circling her on the other side. “I still owe a crap ton of money, and the people I owe it to aren’t making it any easier for me, and on top of that, I met someone I really like, but I can’t let myself get close to him because of all this stuff going on, and I want to trust him, but he might screw me over too, but I miss him like crazy, which makes no sense because it was only one weekend. Okay, it was two weekends, but still, they were both spectacular,” she said, the words spilling out of her. Julia stopped talking for a second, stared in the mirror at her friend’s reflection. “Wow. That was like a confessional or something.”
She squeezed Julia’s shoulder, then continued snipping. “I’m so glad you met someone you like. It’s been so long since Dillon, and even then you weren’t terribly fond of the douche. With good reason, of course,” she quickly added, with a wry smile.
Julia narrowed her eyes. “He is such a douche. And I feel so stupid for ever trusting him, or even getting involved with him.”
“That’s the thing. Sometimes you just can’t know how someone is going to turn out,” Gayle said as she ran a comb through Julia’s wet hair, appraising her work so far.
“Right? So I guess it’s all for the best that things aren’t happening with this other guy. He might turn out to be just like Dillon. I was an idiot for getting involved with him, and an even worse idiot for the way he scammed me.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean, you can’t beat yourself up for not knowing Dillon was going to con money out of his employer and pin the debt on you,” she said, because that’s the extent of what she knew. Not that Charlie was a gangster, but that Dillon had swindled money from him. “That man should have his balls chopped off.”
“If I ever see him again, can I borrow those scissors?”
“I’ll order a better pair. A ball-snipping pair. But let’s talk about happier fates for balls. What’s this other guy like?” Gayle said, stopping her cutting for a moment to bump her hip against Julia’s shoulder, giving her a salacious wink in the mirror. “I want to hear all about him.”
She couldn’t help but grin at the memories that came racing back – images that warmed her heart, and sent her body soaring. Clay’s strong hands holding her down. His tongue working her over. His mouth claiming hers. Okay, now she was doing more than grinning. She was tingling something fierce. A sharp bolt of lust shot straight to her core. And then a burst of warmth surrounded her heart as she flashed on all the sweet things he’d said to her. “He’s the sexiest, dirtiest, smartest, and kindest man I have ever met.”
Gayle’s eyes widened. “More, more. Tell me more.”
She told her about their weekend. Not every detail, but enough to make Gayle’s jaw drop, and the tension to loosen momentarily in Julia. Just talking about him felt good. It was as close as she was going to come to being near him, because once she left this salon she was going back on lockdown. She’d tie her hands behind her back if that’s what she had to do to resist him.
Chapter Fourteen
Flynn’s jaw dropped when he saw the gift. A new set of five-irons that his junior partner had been eyeing for a few weeks. Talking about. Showing him pictures on the Internet. It had damn near gotten to the point of golf p**n . But Flynn had sealed the deal with Pinkertons yesterday, and with the kind of dough the film producers were raking in, he was contributing quite nicely to the firm’s bottom line. That kind of dedication and drive needed to be rewarded.