“I’m on it, Sarah. Trust me. I’ve got this.”
I say this to get Sarah off my back, not believing it for one second. The more time goes on and Hemi doesn’t make a move, the more insecure it makes me. But I’m not ready to give up yet. If I could pick anybody in the world to be my first, it would be Hemi. As tough and hard and matter-of-fact as he is, he’s shown me a whole different side of himself. The side that’s caring, and wounded, and uncertain about some things. He may not have intended to show me, but he did. And I saw it. And now I can’t forget it.
What I can’t—and won’t—tell Sarah is that this is too important to me for me to just capriciously screw it up over sex. It’s worth more than that to me. Hemi is worth more than that to me. I just can’t tell her that.
“So when do you see him again?”
“Since I’ve got school, he doesn’t want me coming in there so late and being tired the next day, so he said I should plan on coming Thursday and Friday night.”
“How considerate,” she says sarcastically. “He needs to get over that shit and just get this done.”
“Sarah…” I roll my eyes. “You should’ve been a guy.”
“Why? Because I’m honest?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, that’s why I’m not a guy. Guys aren’t honest. They hide things from you and tell you what you want to hear. I don’t do that. Therefore God made me a female. By far the superior gender.”
“You really should put that on a mug.”
“I’m working on it. I’m working on it.” One glance in her direction tells me that she probably really is. And if she does, I’m sure at least one of them will end up under my tree at Christmas time.
I shake my head and roll my eyes again.
Sarah’s one crazy girl.
********
By the time Thursday rolls around, I’m more than ready to see Hemi again. I feel like I’m becoming addicted to him, like time spent away from him is nearly painful. Which is ridiculous, of course, since I haven’t known him very long.
But still…
I dressed carefully for my first night in the “studio” as Hemi calls it. I wanted to look sexy and mature without looking trashy or like I’m trying too hard. I chose some snug jeans that ride low on my hips and a cap-sleeved shirt that makes my boobs look good and my waist look small. When I move a certain way, it gives a glimpse of my stomach, and showing a guy some skin is always a good idea. At least that’s what I’ve heard. It also gives a peek-a-boo look at my butterflies from some angles, which I love.
I park in a spot at the end of the street, so as not to take up any customer spaces, and I climb out, leaving my purse but grabbing the folder with the forms for Hemi’s boss to fill out. Releases for school and stuff, and then Hemi’s preceptor form. It’ll be official then. He’ll be stuck with me for the rest of the semester, a thought that thrills me to the bone.
When I walk in, there are two people in the lobby. By the looks of them, they’re waiting for their turn in one of the chairs. I give them a smile and make my way to the doorway that leads to the back room. I’m not sure whether I should just walk on back or not, so I poke my head in and see if I can spot Hemi. And I do. Immediately. My eye is drawn to him like the earth is drawn to the sun. I can just make out his head behind the partition that divides his area. It looks as though he’s talking to someone, a female most likely, judging by what little bit of her face I can see.
A young guy appears at my side. I was so caught up in looking for Hemi, I didn’t even see him approach. He can’t be much older than me. He has a Mohawk and several piercings on his face. Even so, he’s cute in a punk rock way, with his engaging smile and sparkling green eyes.
“You looking for Hemi?”
“Yes, I see him over there, but I don’t want to interrupt.”
“Oh, you won’t. She’s not a client.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to get him into trouble.”
“How would you do that?”
“Well, his boss might get mad if—”
The guy laughs. “Hemi doesn’t have a boss. He is the boss.”
I’m puzzled. “He runs this place?”
“Yep, he sure does. He’s the manager.”
“Oh,” I say flatly. I wonder why he never told me that.
“That’ll be our little secret, though. He doesn’t tell a lot of people that. I just assumed he’d tell you since you’ll be hanging around here quite a bit.”
“How do you know about that?”
“He told us to expect you, that he’d be showing you the ropes. Some kind of thing he’s doing for your school.”
“Right. Yeah, he’s…helping me.”
“So, what are you waiting for? Go on back,” he says with a pleasant smile. “I feel sure he’ll be wanting to see you.” I’m not quite sure of what to make of his comment, but he distracts me from it when he sticks his hand out and introduces himself. “I’m Paul by the way. I’m one of the part-time artists.”
I return his smile and take his hand. “Hi, Paul. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sloane.”
“Sloane,” he repeats. “It’s gonna be very nice to see you around here, Sloane.”
Virgin or not, I can still spot appreciation in a man’s eyes. And there’s appreciation in Paul’s. Lots and lots of appreciation.
“You’re a flirt, Paul,” I tell him bluntly. “But I like you anyway.”
“I knew you would. Girls can’t help it. Wanna touch my hair?”
He bends his head slightly forward, presenting me with his stiff Mohawk. It’s a silly gesture on his part, but it makes me grin. And I do actually want to touch his hair once he practically shoves it in my face.
“What is that?” I ask as I touch the spikes.
Paul lifts his head, dances his fingers over his prickly hair and grins at me. “You don’t even want to know.” He starts to back away, toward the chair that now has a client in it. “See you around, Sloane.”
I smile as I watch him go greet the heavy man. He offers his hand in an upright handshake, taking the customer’s palm against his and patting the back side like they’re old frat buddies or something.
Paul. What a character.
I turn my attention back to Hemi. I make my way across the room to the little cubby where he works. It’s not until I round the corner that I see how “not a client” the woman actually is. A gorgeous blonde, she’s leaning into him like she’s very familiar with him.