Page 138 of A Better Place

“James. For the love of all that is holy. Stop messing around! Obviously, I planned to wax. Myself. Because I didn’t want to go to a salon and kick the torture specialist in the boob when she rips the hair off me, I decided to save my time, and money, and do it on my own. Apparently, I need help.”

“Okay, I got this.” I crack my neck, reach my left arm over the other, then bend it behind my head to stretch out. I repeat the process with my right arm then shake my body a bit while bouncing on my toes.

She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re such an idiot.”

I grin. “Want my help or not?”

“Please,” she says on a sigh.

“That’s what I thought.” I slap my hands and rub them together. “What do you need me to do?”

“Well, I’m not really sure.” She blushes, “Umm… okay, this is beyond awkward. You may have to… umm… look?” Her arms flail a bit as she points at her actual bits and then spreads her little fingers apart again making a weird awkward-as-hell motion that actually looks like she’s mimicking a dog barking or something.

“Look… where?” I just love messing with her. From the moment I met her, she has kept my life interesting. Keeping a straight face is downright painful.

“James!” Her scream probably reached the neighbors— Was that a dog howling?

“Okay, okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with.” I rub my hands together again in anticipation. Damn. I’m like a surgeon performing a heart transplant.

“I’m not a damn horse, James!” she snaps.

“Ha! Oh, trust me, I realize that. But I need to know what got you to this place. Tell me a story, Carly,” I croon, folding my twitchy hands and crossing my arms.

Her eyes narrow. “You’re really not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“And I’ll never live it down?” she says quietly while looking at me from under her lashes.

“Nope. We’ll be telling this story to our grandchildren one day.” Her eyes widen at my statement. Not that I’ve hidden the fact that I plan for us to be together for the rest of our lives, but neither of us have really said anything that solidifies it, either. But I’m not going to be sidetracked with my slight blunder.

“Grandchildren?” she asks, her voice small as she ducks her head.

“Well, yeah. Blended families still get to share grandchildren. Don’t distract me, woman. Tell me.”

She blows out a breath, her hair now sticking to the wax that’s on her forehead. Hot mess doesn’t even cover it. It is a good thing she’s beautiful — because we may have to shave her bangs. Maybe it would be the start of a new trend?

“Obviously, like I said, I decided I would try waxing myself. For the first time. I warmed up the wax in the microwave, just like the back of the jar said to do. But when I got it out of the microwave, it didn’t seem like it was hot enough. I put it back in to zap it for a… bit.”

I keep my expression indifferent. “How long, babe?”

She waves me off. “Not important.”

By the looks of her, I’d say it’s pretty damn important, but I keep my mouth shut. I actually want to live past today.

“Let’s just say, the second time, might have been a bit too long. See, I didn’t realize that once I used the little stick to stir it up, it would warm the rest of the jar. So, by the time I got it stirred up, it was a little runny. But I thought, well, it’s better than too thick, right? I’ve heard that if you put the wax on too thick, it won’t yank the hairs out. Which is kind of the point of all this anyway. So, I got undressed then sat on the edge of my bathtub…”

This time I do smirk. “Where you haven’t moved from since.”

“Right,” she keeps talking as if I said nothing. “Then I lifted my leg and gave myself a little pep talk.”

“I would literally give up cooking to hear this pep talk.”

Her eyes narrow a second time. “There was a bit of stretching, a few jumping jacks, and I took a shot — or two — of whiskey.” She exhales a curse.

“But you don’t drink,” I remind her not being able to stop my eyes from drifting to her forehead covered in wax.

She glowers in my direction, again. “Don’t judge me, you ass, and for the love of God, stop staring at my forehead!”

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