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Something told me he spoke from experience. It occurred to me that the two of us had very dissimilar pasts that probably put us in two different situations regarding our willingness to socialize. Especially since our respective relationships had ended quite differently.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I told him. However, I was pretty curious as to what the hell a mixer actually was.
* * *
If I’d thought walkingin heels was torture, a Brazilian wax pretty much said:
Here, hold my beer. You haven’t seen anything yet.
It wasn’t enough that hot wax brutally ripping the hair from your body hurt like the fires of hell. But having to get up on all fours for Olga, the unlucky waxer, in order to spread my cheeks had been hands-down-butt-up humiliating. And don’t get me started on the level of fear instilled when she’d informed me, in a heavy Russian accent, what would happen if I let go of my butt cheeks while hot wax was between them. Visions of having my ass glued shut would not be leaving my head anytime soon.
Haylee was the one who had come up with the last-minute idea to go to the spa on Tuesday afternoon before our night out. After hearing for years from Sasha to just do it already, I’d been stupid enough to agree to my first waxing experience. Haylee assured me my assaulted girly parts would feel better by later tonight, but I’d popped Motrin and decided to ice the area, hoping it would facilitate wearing underwear to the party. Because I didn’t have an icepack, I made do with a package of frozen French fries, applying it over my leggings, directly over my hoo-ha. I had the benefit of privacy since I’d already dropped Tristan off upstairs with Haylee’s nanny, Natalie.
Once the coldness from the bag started to penetrate my leggings, I sighed with relief and held it there a few minutes. I figured I had at least ten more before I needed to start getting dressed for the party.
An unexpected knock at the door meant I had to get up, wincing, and then walk gingerly to answer.
But my smile was instant when I saw Mark’s handsome face through the peephole. Then I realized I was still holding a bag of French fries. After tossing them quickly onto the small entryway table, I smoothed back my hair and opened the door with a smile.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey, yourself.”
I watched his eyes scan down the length of me as if he couldn’t help himself. Oh, no. Please tell me there wasn’t a wet spot from the frozen bag. Then I recalled I had black leggings on and gave thanks to the universe gods. For once, they’d spared me from humiliation. Which meant instead that he was checking me out? Huh.
“Did you want to come in?”
“Sure. I, um, brought something for Tristan. I tried to glue the old one, but it wasn’t holding, so…”
My attention turned to what he held in his hands. A new red train identical to the one which had broken. What a sweet gesture. “That’s very nice of you. He’s upstairs with Natalie because Haylee and I are leaving in—” I stopped to check my watch. “Twenty minutes. But if you want to give it to him tomorrow, you’ll be his hero for life.”
“It’s okay. You’re welcome to give it to him whenever. I happened to be in the toy store.” He put it on the table and then picked up the half-thawed bag of French fries. Yes, the very ones that had just been between my thighs, resting on my practically bald, red, somewhat-angry-with-me lady bits.
“Um, here, I’ll take those,” I mumbled, snatching the bag out of his hands. “Happened to be in the toy store, huh?” Nice try. Clearly, he’d gone out of his way to replace Tristan’s train but didn’t want to take the credit.
“Busted. Trains were also my favorite as a kid. What’s with the French fry bag on the table?”
“Oh, I was icing.”
“Did you pull a muscle?”
It occurred to me a moment too late that I should’ve taken his question as a suggestion and let him think I’d pulled something. But per usual, my words came out before a filter could be placed in front of them.
“I wish. But Haylee talked me into a Brazilian wax in prep for tonight, and it hurts like hell.”
Both his eyebrows arched sky high. Once again, I’d apparently made him lose his ability for speech. You’d think he’d be used to my brand of crazy by now.
“I should’ve gone with muscle,” I muttered, wanting to face palm.
His mouth twitched into a smile. “At least no one could ever accuse you of not always speaking the truth. Um, I might regret asking this, but is a wax customary before a mixer?”
I couldn’t help teasing. “Although I’m unaware of mixer etiquette, I don’t think it’s required.”
He laughed out loud.
“Actually, I did it because I finally gave in to Sasha. She’s been pressuring me to try it for a while.”
“Wh-Why?”
