Only Trick

Me: FINALLY done. Going home to crash. Miss you.

By the time I stagger into my house twenty minutes later, my phone chimes.

Trick: Want me to come tuck you in?

Ugh! Yes, I want to see him, but I look like crap and feel exhausted.

Me: Yes, BUT I think I’d like it even more if you come wake me in about 6 hrs.

Trick: I’ll see what I can do.

I want to swoon over thoughts of him, but the moment my body hits the bed I’m out.

*

Six hours later I force myself to crawl out of bed, straight into the bathroom. Nearly seventy-two hours without showering is all kinds of wrong. Trick missing out on my oily, matted bed head and hairy pits is in everyone’s best interest.

After drying my hair, I head down to the kitchen expecting an Old Mother Hubbard moment since I haven’t been grocery shopping in over a week. The cupboards are bare, but on the top shelf of my refrigerator is a bottle of Green Lantern with a note attached to it.

I guess this means I love you. Six hours didn’t fit my schedule. Showed up at four—by the way, you snore like a fog horn.

Shaking the bottle of green juice, I roll my eyes. “I don’t snore.” Not even his snarky humor can take away my over-the-moon high the rest of his note gives me. Turning to grab my phone from its charger, I see another note attached to a DVD.

Just in case I was wrong about the juice.

The DVD is Green Lantern. I laugh out loud. A guy who’s not afraid to give his girl a Ryan Reynolds movie, how lucky am I? Now I need to see him, touch him, taste him, smell him. Instinct takes over and within minutes I’m on my way to Rogue Seduction, juice in hand, enormous grin. I see him in the window working his artistic magic as I park my car and pay with my ParkChicago app on my phone.

I wrangle my hair in one hand as the wind fights to whip it in every direction while I hustle across the street and into the building. The admittedly stunning young blonde on his stool glances over at me while he concentrates on her face, not acknowledging my presence.

“Hi,” I call.

“He’s in the zone, don’t expect him to answer.”

I turn, having missed the Gabrielle Union lookalike sitting at the register doing something on the computer. Yep, she fits right in here—flawless mocha skin, dark eyes, brilliant teeth, cheekbones to die for, and long black silk hair.

“Do you have an appointment?” She flashes her beautifully warm and inviting smile.

Between the four of us in the room, without a doubt I’m the one who looks like a troll. Thank God I at least took a shower. “Um, no I don’t. I just stopped by to see him.”

“Is he expecting you?”

I’m ready to collapse out of site and slither out the door. Why do I feel so out of place?

“I am.” Trick’s voice heats my skin and does embarrassing things to me in other areas as well.

I turn but his back is still to me.

The beauty at his desk raises a surprised brow and grins. “Can I offer you something to drink? Wine, coffee, tea, water?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine right now.”

She nods and motions to the two black leather studio sofas by the window. “Feel free to have a seat while you wait.”

I smile and take a seat. Trick never mentioned he has a receptionist and I haven’t seen her before. I mentally add her to the million other questions I still have for my mystery man.

Over the next twenty-five minutes I browse through the tabloids on the side table while listening to soft jazz mixed with the occasional blues when his receptionist changes the album on the old turn table. Walking past me she eyes me with a Cheshire cat grin and the blonde offers the occasional feral cat look that says she might scratch my eyes out if I don’t stop looking at Trick. Meow!

The blonde sashays over to the receptionist while I keep my head down, like I’m in the wrong part of Chicago after dark.

“Come.” I look up just as Trick has already passed me, walking toward a door in the back. Glancing around, I wonder if he is talking to me.

“Now, Darby.”

Okay, he’s talking to me.

I scuttle after him as if I’m sneaking off. I’m met with his stone expression as he holds the door open for me. He flips on the light and shuts the door to a ten-by-ten storage room with shelving along two walls.

“I only have ten minutes,” he says with clipped words.

I look around at the stacks of cosmetics and accessories on the shelves and then at him as he moves toward me. “Oh, well then I’ll come back la—”