Page 72 of Worst in Show

“Don’t ask me. My parents still think I’m going to be a dentist one day.”

“Why?”

“Long story.” I give him a tight smile as we stop outside Happy Paws’ back door. “Some other time.”

He faces me without letting go of my hand. “I’ll hold you to that.”

I look up at him, at his curved lips, half shaded in the weak light from an old, rusted sconce. Is this it? The moment?

I wait, knowing his hands will soon be firm on my waist, not demanding but sure. They’ll find their way beneath my black sweater where they’ll caress the sensitive skin at the bottom of my spine and make me shiver, not from the coolness of the night but from a longing that’s alive and urgent at my core.

Then he’ll pull me closer. Slowly. He’ll savor the approach in that meticulous way of his so that only the greatest self-control will keep me from charging him. His hands will run up my sides and down the length of my arms, circling my wrists where I’m sure my racing pulse will call to his skin.

Maybe he’ll stop there, smirk at me, and lean in close, his breath a gossamer caress against my ear as he murmurs something like “I bet I want you more than you want me right now.” And he’d lose that bet, too, because there’s no chance.

Then, finally, I’ll get a taste, and his flavors will be vibrant life and sweet hops. A case of it would not be enough. I know that for certain.

My mouth waters as his eyes skirt the edges of my face before settling on mine. He blinks. His lips part.

“I’m glad I got to hang out with you guys tonight,” he says, letting my hand go and taking a step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

What the hell?

Micki pulls open the door to the salon as if she’s been waiting for me to show up all morning. “Tell. Me. Everything.” She pulls me inside and takes the jacket off my shoulders.

The place is empty—they’re closed on Sundays—but soothing music still plays over the speakers, and Micki has lit the candle on the front desk. Her eagerness to find out what happened last night only worsens the sinking pit of quicksand in my stomach. Not even a peck on the cheek?

“There’s nothing to tell.” I take a seat in the chair she points to and undo the scrunchie keeping my hair in a bun.

Micki stops what she’s doing with the tray of scissors, combs, and brushes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, nothing happened.” I force myself to meet her gaze in the mirror.

“Nothing?” She frowns.

“Nothing.” I sigh. “I thought he was going to kiss me, but then… he didn’t.”

“Huh. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to?” She pulls out a big brush and starts detangling my hair.

“I mean, I held his hand on the way back.” And I wouldn’t be surprised if I was drooling.

“Okay, okay.” She considers this. “So there was hand-holding at least—that’s good. Maybe you had sauerkraut breath? Or did you say something weird?”

I glare at her. “Why would I do that?”

She shrugs. “Sometimes you’re a bit… I don’t know.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Is that why Al has been MIA too? Because I’m a bit… what? Man repellent? Human repellent even?

She tugs at a knot at the base of my skull. “I’m sure you were fine. Maybe he wanted to take things slow. Some guys are like that, you know. No guy I’ve ever dated, but he could be the unicorn.”

Just my luck then. My phone dings with a message. It’s a picture of Tilly at the farm. With the morning mist in the background, she looks like a movie dog sent to rescue innocents from peril. Halloween Dog, Leo writes. And that’s it. I turn my ringer off and put it away. “But now what do I do?”

Micki rests her hands on my shoulders and looks at me in the mirror. “You sit back and relax and let me work my magic. When I’m done, he won’t be able to resist you.”

“Pretty confident, huh?”

“You know it. And I’ve been wanting to get my mittens on this for ages.” She holds up a long strand. “A trim, a few accent pieces around the face, a mask, big wavy curls, half updo. You’re dressing up as Belle, so I’ll be giving you princess hair. I don’t even care that it’ll be back up in a bun tomorrow.”

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