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)
Halt!
No! I refused to allow my traitorous penis to rule the day. I opened my eyes, gritting my teeth as I stared at the nondescript ceiling and listened to the lilting voices around us.
“…and he was at that party too. With another man.”
“The nerve!”
“He’s totes the worst.”
Hmm. I wondered who was the worst. I listened a little harder to distract myself from the effects of the super sexy scalp massage. Apparently, the man next to me had broken up with an unfaithful lover who was determined to make him jealous by parading a string of twinks under his nose and—
“You ready?” Noah nudged my elbow.
I sat up so fast I made myself dizzy…and almost lost my glasses again. I pulled my arms from under the smock just in time and carefully adjusted them. “Yes, of course.”
Sharing private trials and tribulations must have been the norm, because everyone seemed to be doing it. I heard more personal snippets on the way back to Noah’s station, involving lip fillers, a divorce, and…holy bejeezus, an X-rated account of an unprotected sexual encounter.
“Don’t mind Clark. He was born without a filter, and he loves to get his clients talking about…you know.” Noah dried my hair with a towel and tossed it into a wicker basket in the corner.
“Promiscuous exploits?”
Noah chuckled. “Not always, but sex seems to come up a lot, now that you mention it.”
“Why?” I asked, immediately giving a dismissive wave. “Never mind. I don’t need to know.”
He reached for a pair of scissors and met my gaze in the mirror. “It’s not a secret. It’s Clark’s favorite topic and his choice of tea. We decided to leave it longer on top, right?”
“Yes.” Snip, snip, snip. “Tea is gossip…is that correct?”
“Mmhmm. That’s why the salon is called Stylin’ Tea. We cut hair and kibbitz.”
“About sex?” I squeaked.
“Not necessarily,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “Anything at all. But since we don’t know each other, let’s start with basics. Tell me something about yourself.”
“I…wh—what do you want to know?”
Snip, snip.
“Everything. Where are you from?”
“Uh…here. Ca-california,” I stammered. “I mean, yes. I live in Pasadena.”
“By yourself, or do you have roommates?”
“I live with my best friend and two other gentlemen, who are…friends of a friend.”
Noah stilled his hands. “You don’t like them?”
“Oh, no. I do. It’s just that Ezra and Cole aren’t like Holden and me. They’re lawyers in training…and jocks.” My nose twitched in distaste, and Noah didn’t miss it.
He barked a laugh. “So you don’t like jocks.”
“I like them fine. We just don’t have anything in common.”
“Ah. You’re not a lawyer then, either.”
“No, I’m a scientist,” I pronounced, adding, “and a professor at Caltech.”
“Wow! I’m impressed. I thought professors were a lot older than you.”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
He cocked his head and squinted. “That’s young. And I would have guessed you were even younger, but it might be the hair covering your cheekbones. I can finally see your face.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I blurted, “I’m working toward my PhD, too.”
“Cool. Pretty soon, you’ll have to grow a beard and start smoking a pipe.”
I smiled. “I don’t think so. I’m not a smoker, and I haven’t been able to grow a real beard yet.”
“Probably just as well. I have a feeling you’d be Rip Van Winkle by now.” He paused and set his hand on his hip. “Isn’t he the guy who hit his head and conked out under a tree for a hundred years?”
“Twenty years, actually. According to the story, he passed out from excessive alcohol consumption, fell asleep, and woke to a whole new world.” I fidgeted with my glasses as I processed the incongruity of discussing a three-hundred-year-old classic short story with a bedazzled beautiful man with electric-blue eyeliner and a calming touch. I cleared my throat and continued. “But yes, you’re right about me. I’d have a beard to my belly button by now, and my sister would actively be looking for a way to have me thrown out of the family.”
“Now why would she want to do that?”
Ah-ha!
So that was how they got you to, um…spill the tea. They asked a series of innocuous questions until you were comfortable enough to air dirty laundry to a veritable stranger. I’d met this man less than twenty minutes ago. It made no sense that I felt perfectly comfortable telling him about family drama I’d only shared with my closest friends.
It had to be the atmosphere. This place was like an open-forum therapy session where seemingly everyone spouted their most intimate secrets. Some were salacious in nature—like the loudmouthed patron nearby detailing his naughty exploits with a go-go dancer last night. My tale of familial angst had nothing on neon-pink fur-lined handcuffs and cherry-flavored lube, but Noah’s casual tone and soothing presence made me feel…safe.
He wouldn’t laugh or judge me. He’d listen.