The Hot One

“I did indeed. I was accepted into all but my first choice, and I declined them all.”


I’m rarely speechless, but this new intel just surprises the hell out of me, and I take a minute to gather my thoughts. “Why did you turn them all down? Because you only wanted your first choice?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t want to go, Tyler,” she says, but her tone is so light, so even, that I can’t figure out if her answer is good or bad. The problem is this is how she used to segue out of tough conversations before, too. I’m not sure if I should push her. Or just accept that my crime was worse than I thought. That my winner-take-all attitude played some part in derailing her dreams.

I chew on that pill for a half mile or so as we run in relative silence. Then, her hand darts out, and she smacks my ass. “Payback, slowpoke.”

She takes off, racing ahead of me.

It’s clear the school conversation is over, and maybe I’ve made too much of it. Maybe she’s not pissed anymore. Either way, the woman is sprinting, and I’m chasing, and at least that means I’m still in the ballgame. She’s a blur, just like last Sunday. But this time I won’t let her get away. I pick up my pace, my long stride eating up the dirt path, and seconds later I’m by her side once more. “Are you running away from me, sexy angel?”

A mischievous glint twinkles in her eyes as we reach the top of the hill. She stops, grabs my shirt, and tugs me close. For a second, I think she’s going to kiss me, but instead she says, “I was, but you caught me.”

“I’ll catch you again if I have to.”

“Will you now?”

Double talk. Tap dancing around the topic. Sometimes, that’s how she rolls. How she needs to roll. I get it; I respect it. The woman had a shitty hand of cards dealt her in life, and then again by me. She protects herself with flirting, with banter, with playful words.

It’s all armor to protect her heart.

“I will absolutely catch you,” I say, my voice confident, and my meaning clear.

She arches an eyebrow then flashes a quick smile. “Good,” she whispers, and hell if that doesn’t sound like an invitation.

We start running again. “Why’d you choose massage instead?”

“That is a very good question,” she says, arms swinging back and forth as her breath comes faster.

“Then give me a very good answer.”

A shrieking lands on my ears as a slim woman with a short, sleek, black haircut runs at us, arms wide open. “Delaney!” the thin woman shouts, practically barreling into her.

“Gigi! How are you?” Delaney beams, too, as the women clasp each other in a massive hug.

When they separate, Gigi runs a hand over her cropped hair. “Worlds better.”

“Really?”

Gigi nods. “I swear.” She gestures to her midsection. “I put on weight. I look better when I’m not a skinny chicken.”

“You were adorable as a skinny chicken, and you’re adorable as a fluffy chicken, too,” Delaney says, then turns to me. “Tyler, this is one of my clients. Gigi. She’s a cancer ass-kicker.”

“Nice!” I hold up a fist for Gigi, and we knock.

Gigi juts out her hip and punches the air, understandably proud of herself.

“This miracle worker helped me through,” Gigi says, planting her hands on Delaney’s shoulders. Gigi lowers her voice to a stage whisper. “She was like my marijuana.”

I crack up. “Delaney’s a natural high. She makes everything feel better.”

Delaney waves a hand as if to say she had nothing to do with it. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“So well,” she says, then drags a hand through her spiky hair. “Especially since my locks are coming back nicely. Speaking of, I’m having a wig party this week. Did you get my invite? I dropped it off the other day at Nirvana.”

Delaney snaps her fingers. “Yes! I meant to RSVP. I should be able to make it. But . . . confession. I don’t have a wig.”

Gigi points at Delaney and gives her a stern stare. “No, my dear. What you have is an excellent reason to go shopping.”

They both laugh, then Gigi meets my eyes and gestures to Delaney. “Make sure she goes shopping, you hear me now?”

I salute her. “Your wish is my command.”

Gigi bumps shoulders with Delaney then pats my arm. “By the way, he’s super cute.” Gigi doesn’t whisper the compliment. She says it while looking at me.

Delaney snaps her gaze to her client. “No, he’s not super cute, Gigi. Super cute is for kittens, hedgehogs, and dogs that wear bow ties.”

Dogs with bow ties? I mouth.

“Work with us,” Delaney whispers, and all I can figure is this is some inside joke between them. Fine by me.

Delaney returns her focus to Gigi. “If he’s not cute, then what is he? Hint. He’s the very definition of this word . . .”

Gigi claps once in excitement. “Can I say it?”

“You better.”

“He’s fuckhot,” Gigi says, and they laugh, while I, meanwhile, feel like a million bucks. I square my shoulders and smile a little wider.

“Why thank you very much. Especially coming from such lovely women,” I say, complimenting them too. Because they both deserve it. I’m struck with the realization of how easily Delaney connects with her friends—not just Nicole and Penny, but now Gigi in this unexpected and unguarded moment. Delaney’s gorgeous on the outside, but a woman who has friends like this is beautiful inside too.

Gigi explains. “We had many conversations on the massage table about anything and everything, from life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, to levels of attractiveness, ranging from bow tie-wearing dogs to ridiculously good-looking men.”

“I.e., fuckhot men,” Delaney adds.

“Glad I received that ruling rather than the bow tie one,” I say, because I am 100 percent clear on this point and 100 percent A-OK to be talked about like a piece of meat.

Gigi holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Tyler.”

I shake hands with her. “You too, Gigi.”

She jogs in place for a few seconds before she takes off along the path. She calls back, “See you with your wig on.”

After she disappears, Delaney points her thumb in the direction of the flamboyant woman. “Does that answer your question about my change of heart in careers?”

I nod, instantly getting it. “Yep. I can see. You really can touch people’s lives.”

“Not all my clients have battled medical issues. But for those that do, I’m glad I’m able to give them a little relief, a little peace from what hurts. I’m not a doctor or a nurse, but in my own small way I like to think I can make a difference for some. That’s why I switched to massage.”