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 had pretty blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones that would make Michelangelo weep, and a sexy dimple on his chin a la Cary Grant. It was a good thing he’d kept his eyes closed while I shampooed him or I’d have been caught gooping all over his hotness. I couldn’t believe my luck.
Part of his appeal was the fact that unlike every other WeHo diva in this salon, Thomas apparently had no idea he was stunning. He was unassuming, gracious, kind, and…
I broke his glasses.
Ugh!
I swallowed hard and smiled weakly. “Well, I don’t suppose you have a backup pair with you?”
“I don’t own a backup pair, and my optometrist won’t be in her office until Monday.” Thomas took the pieces from me, frowning intently. “I might be able to get an emergency prescription, but driving with one eye isn’t safe.”
“No, it isn’t.” I tapped my chin as my mouth contorted in a variety of “yikes” twists until inspiration hit. Well, it wasn’t a great idea, but it was worth a shot. “I can glue them together for you. They cracked in two pieces, so…it could work.”
“Glue them?” He knit his brows thoughtfully. “Hmm. Over-the-counter epoxy adhesives have polymeric integrity and tensile strength. For a short-term fix, that may be my best bet. I accept your suggestion. Would you happen to have any cyanoacrylate?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Cyano…what?”
“Superglue.”
“Oh, I think I have some in my SUV. If not, there’s a drug store on the next corner. Just give me a minute to clean up.”
Thomas held up a finger, squinting through his good lens like a drunk owl. “Thank you, but I don’t require assistance.”
“I’m responsible for this mini disaster. I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t do something to help out.” I shook my head mournfully. “And I’m a mess without my eight hours, so please…”
He gave in with a sigh. “All right.”
I did a mini happy dance, hoping he’d crack a smile. No such luck. However, there was a decent chance he couldn’t see me and yes, I was vain and ridiculous, but it was better than thinking I’d irritated him beyond redemption. He’d liked me five minutes ago, damn it. Maybe even lusted after me. I wasn’t crazy. I noticed those shy, sideways admiring glances, and I preferred them to his current stoically distant expression.
I tidied my area at warp speed, sweeping up the largest clumps of hair before dousing my hands with sanitizer and pulling my man bag from the mini locker in the corner. I slung it over my shoulder, peeked my head around the partition to say a quick au revoir to Easton, then motioned for Thomas to follow me.
Of course, I immediately realized that tracking me could be a problem in his current state. I returned to his side and slipped my arm through his and waltzed through the reception area, waving to Darcy, who thankfully was busy with a client. Darcy d’Ranged was one of my favorite people, but she was relentlessly loquacious, and there was no time to dawdle.
I pushed the door open and sucked in a gulp of fresh air, pausing to pull my sunglasses from my bag out of habit. I didn’t need them now. The sun was hiding behind a huge cloud, casting us in comically long shadows on the sidewalk. Thomas’s shadow looked bigger than mine…beefier, for lack of a better word. Which really didn’t make sense because he was lean.
Then again, he might have been concealing some serious muscles under the excess fabric of his wrinkled oxford shirt. I shamelessly squeezed his bicep as I steered him toward the corner. Hmm…nicely toned.
“I parked in the lot behind the coffee shop. This way.”
I kept up a steady barrage of inane conversation on the short walk to my ride, ranging from spring weather and the flowers in bloom at the park near my condo to my yearly allergy woes. You know…nonsensical filler designed to entertain the sexy stranger who’d gone ghostly quiet.
His silence made me nervous. I liked it better when we were discussing merman dick. I didn’t know how to restore that mood, but fixing his lenses was probably a good start.
I popped open the hatch of my white Explorer and yanked a giant duffel from under a portable net to reach a small plastic toolbox. In my haste to rearrange the bags, a soccer ball rolled toward me and bounced onto the pavement.
Thomas scooped up the ball before it got away, then held it from his body, his brow furrowed hard enough to leave premature lines on his forehead. “What’s this?”
“My equipment. Just…shove it anywhere,” I instructed, bending to sift through drill bits, wrenches, and tape measures.
“My vision is laughably bad, but this appears to be sports paraphernalia. American soccer, perchance?”
Now, that was kind of cute.
“You are correct, sir.” I plucked the ball from his fingers and wedged it into the open duffel, and returned to my task.