Another Shot At Love (31 page)

I squinted into the sunlight as I turned into Roxanna’s drive. Parked under the portico was a silver BMW. I swung around and parked in front of the steps instead.

“Damn that Blake Mansfield,” I breathed.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Blake, but the guy had issues—he couldn’t figure out what he wanted in his relationship with Roxanna and they’d been dancing the same dance for years now. Their on-again, off-again relationship was dizzying. I didn’t get how she was okay with it, but she was. Leave it to Roxanna to get involved with a guy who harbored as many trust issues as she did. Behind the walls they’d both put up, I was certain they loved each other. At least, I was certain Roxanna loved him, even if she wouldn’t admit it. I wasn’t sure about Blake. They’d been more off-again than on-again in the last year, and I was growing suspicious of his intention.

I was so distraught I hadn’t stopped to change out of my mismatched pjs—little black boxer shorts with red N’s for Nebraska all over them and an old pink tank top. Color coordinating had been the last thing on my mind. My hair was a mess, too. I’d thrown it up quickly, pinning it with clips and bobby pins. I hadn’t even bothered combing the knots out before bolting out my front door.

I knocked with the heavy brass knocker. After the fifth knock and no answer, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed her landline, knowing she’d never pick up, but also knowing she’d hear my message. On the seventh ring, her voicemail finally picked up.

“You’ve reached Roxie. Leave a message,” Roxanna’s recorded voice said.

When the machine beeped, I said. “Open the front door! I know you’re home!”

I hung up and waited.

Roxanna answered the door a few minutes later wearing a kimono and looking groggy and annoyed. Her eyes were still heavily lidded with makeup from the night before. She blinked at me, taking in a full sweep of my appearance. “Wow, you look like shit.”

“Thank you,” I said with an edge to my voice. My fingers went up to touch my chin where, upon awakening that morning, I’d spotted another large zit festering under the skin—a stress zit.
Just perfect.
I stepped past Roxanna and into the house and marched straight for the kitchen.

The kitchen in Roxanna’s house was the size of my parents’ family room and had been designed for a chef, Roxanna’s father. He was an excellent cook, with family recipes handed down from his Italian ancestors. He’d even trained in Italy, which made me think of Matt’s sister, and then of course made me think of Matt. I groaned and threw the refrigerator door open, bending down for the soda I needed since I’d been too worked up to stop at a drive-thru for coffee on the way over.

“Are you sick?” she asked and sat down at the breakfast bar, watching me rummage through the fridge. “You better not be sick; you know when I get the flu it puts me down for at least a week.”

“No, I’m not sick; I’m stressed.” I popped the soda can open.

“Are there any left in that pack?” She pointed to a pack of cigarettes on the counter behind me.

I picked up the box and flipped the lid open. “Yeah, there’re a few in there.” I tossed the box to Roxanna, who missed the catch and dropped it. “You want a soda? Or some ice water or something?”

“Ice water. Thanks.” She climbed from the stool slowly then bent to pick up the cigarettes. “My head’s killing me. I’m never doing another shot of Tequila again. ”

I laughed. “Right. Like I haven’t heard that a million times before. But even for a hung-over mess, you still look great.”

It was Roxanna’s gift to look flawless even after a night out partying. She was one of those irritating people who didn’t need makeup because she’d been born with a flawless complexion. She went heavy on the eye makeup when it suited her and could skip the foundation. A light spattering of freckles covered her nose and high on her cheeks; an odd combination, but quite stunning.

“And you have blue paint on your cheek,” she pointed out.

I reached up to touch my cheek. I’d spent the morning in a stress-painting session. “I think I need one of those cigarettes.”

I didn’t smoke; I’d never gotten the hang of it. But sometimes if the mood was right—or wrong—and Roxanna was around, I’d smoke a cigarette with her.

“Uh-oh.” She raised her brows as I set a glass of ice water down in front of her on the kitchen bar. “This sounds serious.”

“It
is
serious. Shit has really hit the fan.” I didn’t even attempt to mask the desperation in my voice.

Roxanna studied my face, probably reading my emotions to the T after years of practice and finesse. She set the pack of cigarettes on the counter and stood, placing her hands on my shoulders. “You don’t need a cigarette, sweetie. You need salon therapy.” She fingered the ends of my hair. “You promised Lexie to get this back to blonde. I bet someone at Tina’s can squeeze you in. She sent out a text blast about a cancellation. It’s fate. Let’s go fix your life at the salon.”

“What about Blake?” I glanced in the direction of the hallway.

Roxanna rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’s headed out of town for a couple of weeks to visit his mom in Portland. I’m sure I won’t hear from him for about a month.”

I didn’t feel the need to add my two cents about that. She knew how I felt about Blake. I said, “All right. Let’s go fix my life.”

The inside walls of Color Addicts was painted in shades of reds and pinks, with posters of models at hair shows, and celebs sporting the new trends of the season. With a whoosh of air, I collapsed into an empty stylist chair.

Roxanna took the seat at the next station and announced, “Gen is having a crisis. We need your help.”

Tina set a bottle of deep conditioner on her station counter and leaned against the wall. “What kind of crisis?”

“Number one, she’s got this huge zit—” Roxanna began and I cleared my throat.

“Rox, this is serious,” I reprimanded and my fingers went up to touch my zit.

“Okay. Okay. Sorry,” she said and picked up the iced coffee we’d stopped for before coming to the salon. “You know I have a hard time concentrating with a hangover.”

“Yes, well, I’d appreciate if you’d focus.”

“Gen is having a meltdown,” Roxanna informed Tina and I glowered at her.

“I do love a good meltdown,” Eddie said. He bore a strong resemblance to the young Antonio Sabato, Jr. and most women sighed in disappointment after realizing Eddie batted for the other team. The perturbed expression on his beautiful face was captivating. He really should have been a model, but hair was his calling—he was amazing at it.

“First, do either one of you have time to fix Gen’s hair while we get started on fixing her life?” Roxanna asked. She pointed at my head. “Her roots are not only growing out, but Lexie has turned into bridezilla and insists Gen be blonde for the engagement party.”

Eddie winced. “You really shouldn’t have waited so long to come in for a touchup, love.”

I sighed. “Can you help me or not?”

“Help you? I’m going to change your life, love.” Eddie patted the stylist seat at his station. “Come sit. Tina’s got a cut in a few minutes. Tell us about your crisis.”

“So there’s this guy,” I began while Eddie mixed up the color for my hair. The story was long—I had to fill them in on all the details. I left nothing out, mostly because Roxanna didn’t allow that to happen. They heard it all, even about how Matt’s kisses made me lightheaded and how my knees went weak just being near him.

“It’s romantic,” Tina said as she lopped off a large chunk of her client’s glorious black hair. Horrified, I watched another chunk follow the first piece to the gray cement floor. The woman losing hair by the second flipped through a People magazine, unconcerned.

“Butterflies in the belly?” Eddie exhaled a deep breath and settled the cape around my shoulders, fastening it behind my neck. “Doesn’t sound like a crisis to me.”

“It’s a huge crisis. I like him.
A lot
,” I stressed, looking at Eddie through the big mirror at his station, my eyes wide and panicked. “And he doesn’t want a relationship.”

“Did you sleep with him last night?” Roxanna picked up a hair magazine and began flipping pages. “God, this headache is killing me. You have any aspirin here?”

Eddie nodded over to the cash register counter. “In the top drawer.” He caught my eye in the mirror. “I want details of this passionate sex-isode.”

“I didn’t sleep with him.” I hung my head. “I chickened out.”

“I knew you would,” Roxanna said, rummaging through the drawer. “It’s because you like him. You weren’t supposed to like him like this. You were supposed to let him be your rebound sex.”

“Rebound sex always ends badly,” Tina said, now snipping the woman’s hair into layers.

Eddie shook his head. “No. Rebound sex is
hot
.”

I glared at Roxanna. “This is all your fault.”

“I just told you to sleep with him. Not fall for the guy.” Roxanna swallowed down the pills with coffee. “So if you didn’t sleep with him, what’s the big deal?”

“He walked into my guest bedroom.” I said and Roxanna’s eyes snapped up to meet mine.

“You showed him the painting of the two of you?” she asked.

My image in the mirror was pale, the frown twitching at the corners of my lips. I looked like I might cry, actually. “Why do you ask that?”

I didn’t have to ask. I knew what she was thinking—I’d been thinking the same thing ever since Matt walked out of my apartment the night before.

“
Oh no
.” Roxanna’s eyes were wide and as horrified as I felt.

I moaned, my stomach sick. “God, this is bad.”

Eddie fumbled with a curling iron he’d been putting away and it dropped to the ground with a crash. He bent to retrieve it. “You painted a picture of the two of you? That’s so romantic! It’s about time you found a nice guy. That Brent you dated was a…” Eddie grimaced. “Gross.”

“I never did like him,” Roxanna added. I probably should have listened to her when I introduced her to Brent and she told me she didn’t think he was right for me. My best friend would know.

“You and everyone else,” I said.

“The problem isn’t that she painted a picture of them,” Roxanna said and sucked down the rest of her coffee. “The problem is that he saw the painting, which pretty much told him you’re interested in having babies with him.”

“What?!” I gasped and shook my head. “God, do you think he thinks that?”

“Yes,” Roxanna said.

“No,” Tina said.

“He’s
divorced
,” Roxanna added. Eddie gasped and clutched at his chest. His muscles strained against his skin-tight t-shirt. Roxanna’s dramatics incited by Eddie’s reaction, she added, “And Gen has fallen for an
emotionally unavailable man
.”

In one breath, Eddie asked, “You
must
tell me one thing.”

We all leaned forward in anticipation as he grasped the arms of the salon chair and stared deep into my eyes. I whispered, “What?”

“Is he handsome?” He groped his vest and waited for the answer and I blinked back at him.

“Eddie, you are the only person I know who would think handsomeness is the only point that matters in this situation.” Roxanna threw up her hands. “Painting a picture of them together is like Gen writing a journal entry about her aspirations of baby-making with him, ripping the page out, and then letting him read it.
The guy she wrote about read her journal entry.
It’s like proclaiming her ever-lasting love.”

“It’s just art,” I said, my voice weak and tired.

“Is it?” Roxanna stared at me intently, daring me to answer.

It wasn’t just art; it was my life, my soul, everything that made me who I am. Matt had to know that. He’d taken one look at that painting and walked out.

“What did he do after he seen the painting?” Tina asked. The woman sitting at her station now had a short bob, the floor covered in her long black hair.

“He left.” Saying it out loud made me want to cry.

Eddie scowled. “The bastard.” He applied the color cream to my bangs. “Do you have a picture of this scoundrel?”