Page 13

thirteen

troy

Leather-Wearing Females

I show my ID to the security guard wearing a Menon Inc. -embossed shirt outside of Haircuts and Heartthrobs the following Saturday. I remember him from the last time I came to the salon with Pearl.

Apparently, it’s one of the first things Dev did after meeting Piper last year—beef up the salon’s existing security. There are not only cameras outside the door, but several more installed inside as well. Given the salon’s clientele of celebrities and business moguls, it makes sense to have heightened security, but I’m positive Dev’s protective streak held nothing back, taking it to the next level.

The security guard gives me a friendly nod before verifying my arrival on his iPad and clicking a button to unlock the door. “Thank you, Mr. Winters. You can go right ahead.”

“Thank you,” I respond, placing my ID back in my wallet.

I’m wearing a light pine-green sweater and jeans, along with a white cap—purposely not wearing team merchandise. Years of being in the public eye have taught me a couple of things about maintaining privacy. While I can’t always get the paparazzi off my back, I’ve learned to make it a little harder for them by keeping a low profile, which includes wearing nondescript clothing, avoiding any team gear in public, and keeping a cap handy at all times.

I’m even more rigid when it comes to Pearl’s privacy, keeping her off my social media and ensuring the Blazers’ PR team and various media outlets keep her out of their coverage. While I get that being a pro athlete means I have to sacrifice my privacy at times, she didn’t choose this life for herself. The last thing I want is for her to grow up with cameras in her face.

I’m about to enter the salon when the security guard’s hesitant voice halts me.

“Uh, Mr. Winters?” He shifts in place, sheepishly. “I don’t usually ask such things, but, uh . . . could I get your baseball card signed for my son? He’s a huge fan.”

“Of course,” I say, taking the pen and card he hands me to sign before handing it back to him.

The guard thanks me again and I finally step into the salon, with my heart rate slightly picked up. I suppose that’s become the new normal for me where the fiery and stubborn Rina Spicymustard is concerned. Even with her “just friends” stipulation hanging over my head like a dark cloud, I can’t help the way my pulse jumps at the prospect of seeing her.

She’d argued with me over texts about meeting me at the restaurant I booked, but finally gave up when I didn’t budge. In truth, I never booked a restaurant; I have something different planned. And “just friends” or not, I wanted to squeeze every minute with her. So, when she mentioned finishing up with a VIP client—a celebrity insisting on treatment before the salon’s official opening—around eight this morning, I told her I’d pick her up here.

The salon foyer is empty, which isn’t surprising given business hours don’t start for another hour. The area boasts beautiful marble floors, a large crystal chandelier, and comfortable leather seating along the walls. The clean scent of shampoo mixed with something woodsy floats in the air while music filters softly through the speakers, along with the hum of a blow dryer from somewhere down the hall. I assume Sarina is still finishing up with her client.

I decide to use the bathroom while I wait, pushing open the door to the spa-like space. Like the rest of the salon, it’s beautifully decorated with both a masculine and elegant flair.

It’s when I’m mid-stream that I feel the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I look in the mirror and nearly lose my fucking aim—Snatch is sitting on the sink right behind me, wearing what looks to be a cat-sized leather motorcycle jacket with a hood pulled over her head so her brown-tipped ears peek out, and a gold chain collar.

Where the hell did she come from?

Her piercing gaze stays fixed on me, and I don’t have to understand cat language to know the little demon is making nefarious plans. Before I can say anything to thwart her, Snatch jumps off the counter, landing on her paws soundlessly, and that’s when I feel it . . .

The wrinkly goblin runs up my back— my back! —onto my shoulder and paws off my cap.

“What the—” I start, unable to move without making a mess. “I swear to God, Snatch!”

But it’s too late. The little devil leaps off my back and lands on a nearby shelf, causing the potted orchid on it to wobble precariously. Christ!

“Listen here, you little terrorist,” I hiss, finally tucking myself in. “I don’t know what sort of beef you have with me—” The orchid goes over the shelf before I quickly catch it, thank God! But as I’m putting it back on the shelf, the cat that must have been spawned in hell is onto her next target, the toilet paper. With the speed of a coked-up cheetah, she unravels the entire roll in less than ten seconds.

“Goddammit, cat!” I roar, quickly flushing the toilet. I rush to the sink to wash my hands before lunging toward her to grab her. But she scurries past me, scratching at the door. I do the best I can to ravel the toilet paper back, but it’s a lost cause.

When I continue to hear her meowing and scratching at the door because the alien-monster overlord has finally decided she’s gotten her fill of making my life miserable, I swing the door open with a huff, coming face-to-face with Sarina and a woman I assume is her sister, Nisha.

Mouths agape and eyes wide, they both stare at the scene behind me—toilet paper pooled on the floor, my cap lying upside-down near the sink, and the orchid sitting crookedly in its spot.

“It was Snatch!” I blurt, knowing my neck and face are a shade of pink. I point at the path I saw her streak like a goddamn rocket. “Didn’t you just see her? She scurried out of here like her tail was on fire.”

Sarina raises her brow, and I make a mental note to tell her how beautiful she looks in her skin-tight, ripped denims, along with an unzipped red leather jacket that’s similar to her cat’s over a simple white top, after I ensure this whole bathroom debacle isn’t pegged on me.

“You guys saw what happened, right? That fucking soggy bagel with legs tried to frame me . . . again!”

“This again?” Sarina asks, arms wrapping around her chest. Her hair is up in a knot on the top of her head and a few curly tendrils frame her face. “You’re telling me my anti-social cat, what? Has it out for you?”

“Yes!” I exclaim, running a frustrated hand through my hair. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! How else would you explain this mess?” I gesture behind me. “First, the hair products in your suite, and now this? Do you really think I like to vandalize people’s places of business?”

Sarina’s lips quirk. “Well, I don’t know, maybe? I don’t know you that well.”

I stare at her, speechless. “Are you serious right now?” I point down the hall where the hellion disappeared. “Your cat literally looked like a henchman from The Godfather , and you think I’m the one who did this?”

Both Nisha and Sarina purse their lips, but only Nisha covers her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

Clearly, these two think I’ve lost my mind, and somehow the fact that I’m terrified of their psychotic cat is funny to them.

“You know,” Nisha says, her sleek black hair swaying when she turns to look at her sister. “Snatch has been acting strange lately.” When Sarina shoots her a look, Nisha shrugs. “She has. You’ve said it yourself.”

“Strange? Strange how?” I ask, latching onto this potential ally. “Do you mean terrorizing-unsuspecting-men-taking-a-piss kind of strange?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Sarina warns her sister when Nisha giggles. “Guarantee, his cap fell off because it couldn’t fit over his big head anymore. I’m surprised his neck can even support it.”

“I’m Nisha, by the way,” Sarina’s sister says, extending a tattooed arm my way after I retrieve my cap and place it back on my perfectly proportioned head . “Though, I feel like I already know you, what with how much my sister talks about—” She grunts when Sarina elbows her, cutting off the rest of her sentence.

Sarina’s cheeks flush pink when she looks at me. “Shouldn’t we be going on this non-date now?”

“Nice to meet you, Nisha.” I shake her hand, grinning with the knowledge that Sarina talks about me. “Would love to chat more, but as you can see, your sister’s antsy about getting me alone.”

“No, I’m just worried about additional property damage if you stay any longer,” Sarina retorts dryly, though her flushed cheeks betray her snark. She grabs a handbag from the reception desk, opening it to check for something. You’d think it was to make sure she had her ID or keys or other essentials, but no. Instead, she’s counting mustard packets, mentally tallying them before dropping them back inside. Her eyes flick up to meet her sister’s stare. “Don’t you have a client to prep for or a scarf to knit or something?”

“Don’t you have pancakes that need buttering?” Nisha fires back, and the tips of Sarina’s ears turn red.

I get the feeling there’s an inside joke there between them, but I decide not to ask, watching Nisha head down the hall with laughter trailing behind her.

“Ready?” I ask, placing my hand on the small of Sarina’s back to guide her toward the door. Just that simple touch has my skin buzzing, especially when she doesn’t pull away.

My eyes trail down her back, admiring the way her perky ass looks in her jeans. “You look beautiful, by the way,” I murmur, finding the shell of her ear. “I was going to tell you earlier, but then I got distracted saving my honor from your cat.”

The sound of her giggle—throaty, yet soft—has me wanting to press her against the wall and feel her laughter against my mouth. “Thank you. But Troy?”

“Yes?”

“Given the way you’re looking at me, I should remind you that this is just a friendly meal between two people who happen to know each other.”

“Yes, of course. A friendly meal between two people who know each other.” My voice lowers as I wrap my hand around her waist and pull her to my chest. “In the biblical sense.”

At that, I get an elbow into my abdomen, but I don’t miss her suppressed smile. “Keep that up, and I’ll have Snatch really make your life hell.”

“So you admit your cat has been trying to murder me!”

“I admit nothing. Though, I’d advise you to keep your guard up around leather-wearing females in the future.”

My head falls back as I laugh. “Your veiled threat has been duly noted, Ms. Spicymustard.”