Page 4 of Pretend for Me

Reaching for my phone, I adjust the lights and music to create a tranquil spa ambiance. Based on Dev’s preferences in his online profile, he prefers a spa setting to watching sports, unlike most of my clients. Though, now I’m curious if he likes hockey. Because if he doesn’t like hockey—especially my Bolts—this will never work.

Wait.Whatwill never work? What is ‘this’ I’m even referring to?

Lord, I’m sleepy.

The lights dim just enough that I can still see what I need for his haircut before the sounds of a thunderstorm stream through the speakers.

Returning to my spot behind his chair, I place a hand on his shoulder. “Want me to move my Vajayjay off your lap?” I suppress another giggle at the way Dev visibly tenses under me. “I mean, I don’t have to. She can stay there while I shampoo your hair and massage your shoulders.” I press my lips together almost painfully before adding, “She’s a big fan of massages herself. Feel free to work your fingers in her.”

Dev’s eyes flick to mine in the mirror, and I struggle to maintain an innocent facade.

“I was talking about my pussy . . . cat, that is.”

The blush creeping into his cheeks is priceless, and while I should feel guilty about making him squirm, it’s too fun to mess with him. I wish I could take a picture because I can firmly say I’ve never seen something more endearing in my life.

He’s about to speak when Beaver and Snatch prowl into the room, stirring Vajayjay awake. She cranes her neck to giveher siblings a warning glare, as if letting them know not to encroach on her territory.

To my utter shock, however—twice in the last fifteen minutes to be sure—the other two cats make their way, albeit hesitantly, toward Dev, circling his ankles.

What the hell is going on?Is this man a pussy whisperer of sorts? Does he emit a secret scent that lures felines?Am I a feline?Because I feel pretty damn lured in myself.

I’m transfixed by the scene unfolding before me: my three typically standoffish cats, who shy away from interacting with our regular customers, are willingly cozying up to this one as if he’s their favorite brand of catnip. Beaver even rubs his neck along the leg of Dev’s pants while he watches with unease and a hint of fascination. I’ll give it to him, though, he doesn’t move or wave them away.

As if laying a firm claim on her man, Vajayjay rises to her paws, arching her back and swatting in their direction with a hiss.

Beaver and Snatch finally get the hint, slinking away from Dev and making their way out of the room. A second later, Vajayjay jumps off Dev’s lap and saunters out, giving him a lingering backward glance. I swear there are hearts in her eyes.

Mouth still agape, I stare at Dev. “I have never seen them act like that.”

“How many of them do you have?” Dev asks.

“Just those three. The all-white one is Beaver; he’s not the friendliest, but he adores Nisha. For some reason, Sarina and I haven’t made his shortlist, though. And the overweight one with the brown-tipped ears is Snatch. She’s all about Sarina.”

I watch Dev’s expression during my explanation, realizing he’s likely regretting asking.

“Me and my best friends, Nisha and Sarina, rescued them about three years ago from a terrible situation. It was a wholeordeal with cops and fines. But then the three cats needed new homes, and since we suspected they were siblings, we didn’t want to separate them. I was going to keep all three, but since Vajayjay and Beaver aren’t fond of rabbits, we decided to keep them here. They’ve learned to stay out of trouble, and we make sure to lock away our tools at the end of the day.” I shrug. “Now they’re just a part of what makes this salon unique.”

“Rabbits? Do you have actual rabbits or is that another euphemism for . . . something else?”

“Oh, you mean like my rabbit vibrator?” I ask, placing a cape casually over his shoulders and making him cough unnecessarily. “I do have one of those, too, but in this case, I mean real rabbits, named Natalie Nutbottom and Kevin. I’m trying to become a breeder, you see, but it hasn’t been going well because, no matter what I try, they won’t bang.”

Dev blinks, probably wishing he never stepped foot into this salon. I don’t blame him, because I’m in full-blown oversharing mode again, talking like an auctioneer on crack. It seems Mr. Unflappable in my salon chair knows how to make me feel all out of sorts.

“I see.”

Trying to rein myself in—a task I’ve never been able to accomplish—I ask him to step over to the shampoo sink where he settles himself into the chair before resting his head in the curve of the basin.

I turn on the water, adjusting the temperature. “I’m still reeling from the way my cats took to you,” I say, bemused with what I’d just seen. “Those cats don’t like anyone. Hell, aside from Vajayjay, they can barely tolerate me!”

“I can’t fathom why,” he deadpans.

Ignoring his sarcasm, I press on, determined to crack the shell of my all-too-reserved client, who would be perfectly content not to speak for the duration of his service. “I see inyour profile you were referred to the salon by my friend Hudson Case. How do you know Hudson?”

He steeples his hands over his abs, and I notice a multicolored temporary tattoo peeking from under his sleeve, a complete contrast to his polished attire. “We’re friends.”

I wait for him to expand, but Dev just closes his eyes, dismissing any further conversation.

Well, I’m nothing if not persistent. “Did you attend his and Kavi’s wedding? She’s so beautiful, isn’t she? Big Daddy was such a grump before, you know? Well, he’s still a grump, but?—”

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