“A friend is having a party,” he says and my heart sinks. “Why? Do you have plans?”
“Kind of. My parents own cabins and boats and stuff along the lake and have a huge hillbilly boat party thing.”
“Did you say boats?”
I nod. “And a few jet skis. They rent them out to people who rent the cabins. But they always save a few for the party.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It is, actually. There’s more food than you can eat and everyone is drunk. Even my mom, and she’s a trip once you get enough wine in her. I haven’t been home much lately. I’m kind of looking forward to it,” I confess as it hits me. “Erin always goes. And makes a tasty cake.”
“The one who owns the bakery?”
“Yeah. I should have mentioned it sooner so you could have gone with me.” My eyes are closed and the steady beating of Ben’s heart is relaxing. I don’t want him to leave.
“My friend’s party isn’t something I’d be sad to miss,” he says slowly.
“Really?” I sound too hopeful.
“Really. When are you leaving?”
“Sometime that Friday evening. I intended on spending the weekend there, since the Fourth is on Saturday and all. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I know it’s a long time to be with me and all…”
“I do want to,” he says. “I like being with you, Felicity. You act like it’s a surprise.”
“Just making sure,” I add quickly. I smile, and wrap my arm tighter around him.
“I have to go to an art exhibit opening Wednesday night, and I should spend tomorrow getting ready,” he says. “I’ll be at the gallery late, and Thursday I have to drive three hours to another gallery and be gone the whole day. So I won’t get to see you the rest of the week. I’ll be looking forward to the whole weekend together.”
“Good. Because I am too.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tissue paper crunches under my ass, which is hardly covered in a disposable thong. I shift on the foam bed, nervously looking at the door. My heart is racing. Fuck. I shouldn’t have done this. I can still get up, put my pants back on, and dash out of the salon before someone comes in, covers my cooter with hot wax, and rips my hair from my body.
There’s a knock on the door. I smooth out the white robe I’ve been given over my lap. Crap. No time.
A pretty esthetician with her hair in a tight bun comes into the room. She looks like she could be my mother, which is both reassuring and awkward at the same time. Please be gentle with me. I’m a wax virgin.
“Felicity?” she asks, looking down at the paper I filled out at the front desk.
“Yeah,” I say and swallow hard. The smell of the wax fills the air and my thighs clench shut on their own accord. I’m nervous as fuck and feel like I’m about to get a PAP smear or something invasive like that. Though, in the end, that’ll probably hurt less.
“You forget check box,” she says in a thick Russian accent. I can hardly understand her. “You want backside wax too?”
“Uh, sure,” I say. After an hour-long debate Monday night, I decided to call and make an appointment today for a wax after getting my hair dyed back to its original color of brunette. That way I won’t have to worry about shaving or having an unsightly bikini line while on the lake. And I thought it might be a nice surprise for Ben when he sees me tomorrow night, since his head is frequently between my legs.
And I hate shaving with a passion.
“First wax?” she says and sets the paper down.
I nod.
“Relax. Pain over quick.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
I lay back and squeeze my eyes closed. I’m about to freak the fuck out. Over a wax. Get it together, Felicity. I need to channel my inner Black Widow. Pretend I’m being tortured for info. Yes, that works. I’ll think about how utterly messed up that is later.
The esthetician puts on gloves and gets to work. My fingers dig into the foam bed as she cleanses my skin, dries it, and preps for the wax. My heart is pounding when the hot wax is spread onto my skin.
The strip goes on next.
Holy crap, pain is coming. I start the countdown in my head. Three, two—she pulls that sucker right off. Oh, that wasn’t so bad. I let out a breath. She spreads more wax on my skin and rips up another section of hair. I’m tempted to look but, having the feeling it will resemble something torn off Chewbacca, I don’t to save myself the embarrassment. I had to forgo shaving all week to get this wax.
It takes longer than I anticipated, and when I’m told to roll over and spread my thighs, the realization that “backside” means “butt crack” hits me like a sucker punch to the stomach and I’m so stunned I can’t do anything but lay there in terror and hope I don’t fart.