Home > Hair Balls(7)

Hair Balls(7)
Author: Tara Lain

“Meeew.”

Jimothy picked up the carrier and stared into the door. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll be home in a minute. After Mr. Ronconi tells us what he wants.”

Ronconi did the shoe shuffle that time. “I wondered what kind of haircut I should get.”

“Excuuuuse me?” Jimothy set the carrier on the ground and planted his hands firmly on his hips. “You’re not seriously suggesting that after you walked out on a perfectly good appointment that other people wait weeks to achieve, you want me to give you styling tips?” His volume escalated throughout the speech until he really looked at Rick Ronconi, who stood with his arms crossed and a smirk on his lips, clearly trying not to laugh. “Oh, you’re kidding. You’re kidding, right?”

Rick shook his head. “Not completely. Look, I’m really sorry about my runaway yesterday. I’ve never been in a s-salon before, and I was super nervous. I honestly was really impressed with you and—I’m sorry, okay?”

“Meew.”

Rick bent down, opened the door on the cat carrier, and pulled out Leia. He seemed to do it without conscious thought, bringing Leia up to his neck and scratching under her chin. “She’s really sweet. Likes to dance, too, right?”

“Sometimes.” Jimothy bit his lip to keep from smiling. “But she’s very particular about her partners.”

“Oh?” He started waltzing with Leia. “She seems to like me?” He stopped, looked at Jimothy, and words burst out of him. “Could I maybe take you to dinner or something to apologize?”

“Me?” Jimothy stared at Rick. “I can’t take Leia into a restaurant.”

“Oh right.” He sighed and, what seemed like reluctantly, put Leia back in her carrier.

“Mew.”

Rick looked at the cat through the door. “Not fair is it, Leia? You have better taste than most of us.” He looked up at Jimothy and chewed on his bottom lip. It was a seriously cute gesture that seemed to indicate some inner war going on. “Uh, maybe I could take you to dinner another time? You know, to apologize.”

Jimothy frowned. What in hell was this guy trying to accomplish? “You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Ronconi.”

“It’s Rick. And yeah, I think I do. I mean, like you said, people wait a long time for the appointment I screwed up. You won’t let me pay you. It’s the least I can do.” He took a big breath. “How about tomorrow night? I could take you to the Flying Fish.”

Jimothy blinked. “I love the Flying Fish.” It was his favorite restaurant.

“Well, there you go, see? I picked right. So, tomorrow night?”

Felicia’s words drifted back to him, For once tell me what you want to do. “Okay.”

Rick’s reaction was flat-out weird. He smiled, but the only way to describe it was “deer in headlights,” like he’d done something scary. “Well, uh great. Shall I pick you up or—”

“Why don’t I meet you there?”

“Okay.” Did he look relieved?

Jimothy narrowed his eyes a little. Is this guy for real? “What time?”

Rick vaguely pointed at the darkening sky. “Is this when you usually get finished at work?”

“Somewhere around now, yes.”

“Okay, so is this a good time?”

Jimothy looked at his smart watch. “Six thirty?”

Rick sort of vaguely nodded.

“I’ll meet you at the Flying Fish tomorrow night at six thirty.”

“Okay. Great. See you there.” He waved, gave an uncomfortable laugh, turned, and escaped down the sidewalk, almost as fast as he’d run from the salon the previous day.

Jimothy mouthed the words Felicia had said, “What just happened?”

 

 

Chapter Five

 

 

Jimothy stared in the mirror in his salon bathroom. It was his big indulgence. He’d installed two bathrooms for the clients and staff that he made sure were always well appointed and supplied, but he’d added a little private bath for himself. It was where he kept his kimonos and personal toiletries. And it was his hideout. When he couldn’t smile one more minute, he hid in his bathroom.

Like now.

Why did I do this? What part of my personal masochism led me to say yes to dinner with Rick Ronconi? Am I writing a new chapter on how to get kicked in the teeth for fun and profit? I thought we’d concluded that book, Mr. Castlemane.

It was just that Leia had liked Rick. And he’d been so cute with her. Even dancing a few steps.

Jimothy hung up his kimono and gazed at the plain white dress shirt underneath. Not pink, yellow, or purple. White. Which he’d put on over plain blue jeans—also not pink, yellow, or purple. He’d had his flowered kimono on all day, so no one had really noticed how plain he was underneath. Well, except maybe Felicia, who’d given him a look or two. But somehow, he couldn’t picture showing up at the Flying Fish with Rick Ronconi in his usual Jimothy attire. Rick would probably die of embarrassment. Hell, Rick was just being nice, anyway.

Jimothy hadn’t really meant to tattle on Rick, but when Mary had called to ask how Theodore’s friend had turned out hairwise, Jimothy couldn’t lie. He said the guy had left to think over what he wanted, but that likely didn’t fool Mary. He might have sounded a little upset. Somebody must have told Rick and now Rick was trying to make it up to Jimothy.

I should have said no. The trouble was, then Rick would think Jimothy was really offended and make an even bigger deal out of this whole thing.

He picked up his toothbrush and gave his teeth a once-over, then stared in the mirror again. If he was honest, something he tried to be those days, Rick Ronconi was pretty damned sexy, even with the ridiculous hair. Running his fingers through that thick, silky mane had been—well, Jimothy admitted he’d needed his kimono to cover the evidence. That in itself was a good reason to have turned down the invitation. I do not lust after straight guys—unless they happen to be on the silver screen.

He glanced at his watch. Oh hell. A giant kamikaze butterfly did a loop-the-loop in his tummy. I need to get going. With one final dab to be sure no toothpaste clung to his lips, he walked out of his bathroom into his office, grabbed a leather jacket from the hanger on his door, and headed into the salon.

Two of the stylists were still working—along with Felicia, who ran the salon and seldom let anyone else close up. She sat at the computer going over the day’s receipts.

He plastered on a bright smile. “Good day?”

She looked up. “Excellent. And where are you going looking so very preppy?”

“Uh, to dinner with a client. At the Flying Fish. You know how much I like that place.”

She smiled absently and looked back at her screen, but no matter how distracted she was, there was no way to escape and no chance that Felicia wouldn’t ask. He waited for the inevitable words…

“Which client?”

He let out a stream of air. “Rick Ronconi.”

Still staring at the screen, she frowned like maybe she hadn’t heard correctly. Slowly, she looked up. “What? How—Rick Ronconi’s no client.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to call him.”

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