Page 49 of Not on the Same Page

That pulls a laugh out of me that I’m completely unable to hold back. I can picture Trina’s triumphant smile, and I’m struck with the sudden urge to kiss it. Honestly, I wish she would stop by the office. I’d do more with her on this desk than kiss her like I did last time.

“Fine,” she says, humor dripping from her voice. “Want to come over when you’re done there? I want to talk to Imani first, anyway.” She pauses, but the air is charged, like she’s shifting her tone. “I just talked to Suzanna. Full disclosure, she wants me to persuade Imani to shop around.”

“You can.” I channel some of that confidence Anastasios told me I needed. “Do what’s best for her.”

“Yeah, but the promise of an easy deal was tempting,” she grouses. “Anyway, I promised Suzanna I’d see what Imani thought. I just…don’t think she’s going to like the idea, so I don’t plan on trying very hard.”

“That’s my girl.”

Shit. That slipped out. But as soon as I open my mouth to try to correct myself, Trina sighs.

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “No. No mixing work and extracurriculars.”

“I didn’t,” I protest, but I can almost see her glare.

“Would you call any other agent ‘my girl’?”

No, I absolutely would not. It would be highly inappropriate.

When I don’t say anything, she hums. “That’s what I thought.” Thankfully, she seems to overlook the obvious correction she should make, which is that she isn’t my anything. We’re letting off steam. That’s all. Nothing more.

“Won’t happen again.” It’s a promise I wish I didn’t have to keep.

Thankfully, she’s always been willing to negotiate nuance. “We have to be very careful about blurring lines, Casey. That could get dangerous. But…” She pauses, and it feels like she’s warring with herself about whether or not to say what comes next. “I wouldn’t be opposed to something like that during the pleasure part of the evening.”

My dick twitches in my pants as my half smile grows. I’d better end this conversation before someone comes in here and needs me to stand up. “I’ll see you tonight, Trina.”

“Looking forward to it.”

We hang up and I almost immediately swipe over to the app my barber, Jayden, uses. He’s a younger guy who rents a chair in a shop that opened in my neighborhood a couple of years ago. Sometimes I just walk in and wait for an open chair, but Jayden taking appointments is new—a necessity borne of the clientele in the neighborhood needing faster service, and I want to make sure to get in with him today. I’m always feeling my best after seeing him.

He’s got an opening in two hours, and even though I know it’s risky given everything I have to do to reach out to authors, set up campaigns, check in with Starlight’s publicist, and about a thousand other things, I book it. After wrapping up a few quick emails and making a list of calls to make in the car on the way, I pack up my laptop and leave.

“Hey, man.” Jayden clasps my hand before waving at the chair. “Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” I sink down into the seat, the leather molding and curving around me. The smell of the leather combined with the various products is a familiar one that eases something in me. I relax almost immediately.

The shop décor has a modern feel, but it still has all the important qualities that remind me of the barber shop Dad used to take Robert and me to when we were younger. The exposed brick and sleek, black-and-white walls and black leather chairs aren’t at all the same as the faded paint and worn chairs of my childhood barber. But in all the important ways, the shop is the same as the one I used to go to. There is still a bell over the door and chairs in the front where clients wait. Everyone is talking or listening to someone. Even though I don’t know anyone in here besides Jayden and a couple of the other barbers, it doesn’t matter. This is a hub, a place for people to congregate, spend time, talk to each other, and leave feeling rejuvenated in more ways than just having a sharp haircut. Though the cuts are great, too.

“Didn’t I see you last week?” Jayden asks as he drapes the cape around my neck. The buzzing of clippers from the chairs on either side of me create almost a wall of white noise. I can speak up for everyone to hear me and weigh in, or I can keep it a quiet, almost private conversation between Jayden and me.

“Something wrong with coming in every week?” I joke. There’s nothing wrong with it. Many men do if they have the time and the means. But I’m an every-three-week regular. The fact I’ve been coming in more often lately is bound to raise some questions.

Jayden smirks, shaking his head. “Nah. I told you, you can ditch those at-home clippers any time.”

“Yeah, you’d like that.”

“I would,” he responds easily. “Your lines won’t ever be as straight as mine.”

The older man in the chair next to me chuckles, and I join in. “You’re right,” I say.

Jayden turns to his station and starts laying out the combs and tools he’ll need, but his smile turns proud at the compliment. “What do you got going on tonight? Seeing a girl?”

When he faces me again, he’s got an eyebrow cocked and a clipper and comb in hand. If I lie, he could probably sense it. Being a barber means he can read people pretty well. Or, at least, he can generally read me. He might let it pass, or he might give me shit about it for the rest of the time I’m here. But as he starts in with the clippers on my hair, I realize I’m dying for someone to talk to about her. And this is as safe a space as any. No one here knows her. No one could out us.

“I am, actually,” I say.

Jayden lets out an ooo, his grin widening. “Must be something serious if you’re coming in here every week.”