Pretty Hurts (Left 1.50)

“Speaking of commitment, how’s the missus?” I ask, thinking of Liv, whom I’d loved for years.

“She’s good, man. Six months pregnant and her belly just popped.”

“You in the single digits for kids this time?”

He laughs. “Yes, one, and that’s plenty when you already have three at home.”

“I’ll leave that procreation to you,” I say.

“No kids in your future?”

“I already have five … Trisha, Maria, Jorge, Joseph and Eduardo.” I reply, laughing.

Chuckling, Houston shakes his head. “And what a handful they were.”

“Still are. It’s hard to believe, but Trisha just graduated nursing school. We’re getting old.”

“I remember when she was still following you everywhere and annoying the hell out of us,” Houston says.

“I know. She did her thing traveling for a few years before she decided to go back to school, and I can respect that. She paid her bills and kept her nose clean, so I had no complaints.”

We sit and reminiscence, killing the time.

“Here she is.”

I stand and follow Houston’s gaze to the black car parked in front of my shop. The door of the black sedan opens and long legs clad in a pair of faded, ripped blue jeans and white heels emerges. She stands and my jaw drops. The statuesque, ebony-skinned beauty with a round necked T-shirt that shows the swell of her breasts has my tongue all but hanging out of my mouth. The white head scarf she’s wrapped in an intricate style highlights her beautiful skin tone and puts the focus on her oval-shaped face, high cheekbones, and full lips.

She moves with a fluidity that speaks of confidence and poise. She doesn’t need a full head of hair to be sexy. Her attitude conveys that, and she hasn’t spoken a word. I hurry to the door to unlock it and see her almond-shaped eyes are a rich medium brown. I twist the lock.

“Hi.”

Her voice is a honeyed whiskey, sweet and soft with a huskiness that seduces the eardrums.

“Hi. Welcome to Gilborn’s,” I say.

“Thank you.”

I step by and she walks inside and waves at Houston. There’s a nervous energy that exudes from her as she shifts her weight from one leg to another.

“Edgar, this is Efia. Efia, this is Edgar, the owner of Gilborn’s and my friend since … hell, grade school?”

I hold my hand out and we shake. Her skin is soft and her handshake is firm.

“Thank you for opening up early for me.”

“My pleasure. I hear you want to be clean shaven today?”

She nods. “I’m ready. I’m sure Houston explained the situation.”

“He did. Are you sure you want to take it all off? I can think of a few different styles. There are some where the sides are shaved on the sides and in the back.”

She shakes her head. “I thought about that, but it feels like I’d just be delaying the inevitable.”

“Whatever you want to do. All the way down or just buzzed?”

“All the way. I … I want to know how it’s going to grow back in, if it does …” She trails off with a shrug.

“We can do that,” I say, quick to reassure her.