Page 19 of Coincidentally Kismet

At least it doesn’t smell like vomit or stale beer. Smith has a single candle burning in the center of his kitchen island. The scent of vanilla cupcakes wafts into the air with each flick of the flame.Why does this man own a candle when his décor style screams give me a tent and a gun?I exchange hesitant looks with Lo in which I subliminally ask her if we should go, and she darts back at me a,Hell no, you’re stayingrebuttal. I am grateful for our ability to silently communicate except that she doesn’t seem to understand the messages I am desperately shooting in her direction.

To think I was worried about seeing Will when in reality, I may need a blackout sleep mask to shield myself from the prying eyes of the terrorists dancing on the walls.What the heck did I get myself into?My anxiety spiral is interrupted when a firm arm wraps around my waist, pulling me into a side hug. “Hey, Cam, I’m so glad you came. Between us, I wouldn’t have if I was you,” Butler whispers to me as if we are conspiring partners about to unleash our evil plan. I like this one, he’s a good egg.

“Heyyy, I wasn’t going to miss a chance to see you again,” I say, hopefully sounding a lot more at ease than I feel.That’s it, Cam. You’re doing this.

“You ladies want to play beer pong? Butler and I are reigning champs, but we can take it easy on you,” Smith breaks in.

Okay, I can work with this. Will doesn’t appear to be here, and they have zero idea just how competitive I am or how often Elliott and I used to practice playing with cups of Kool-Aid in the backyard just so we could beat everyone when we left for college. What can I say? Preparation is the key to success.

“You’re on! Just please don’t take it easy on me. A girl has to learn somehow, and watching the masters is the best way, don’t ya think?” I reply, smirking at Lo.

Smith works on setting up the beer pong table while Lo and I quietly strategize about how we’re going to let them think they’re winning and then quickly take them down after we’ve each had three cups of beer. There’s no world where I would allow anyone else to win without it being absolutely fair and square, but we’re trying to get a little buzzed and we want them to believe it’s beginner’s luck.

The game gets going and our strategy is working even better than predicted. Who knew I could actually be pretty good at acting innocent and ditzy? I’m sure the blonde hair helps my cause. Butler sinks a ball in the cup closest to me, and I’m picking it up to drink when there’s a knock at the door. Smith excuses himself, telling us he’ll be right back and that I have to wait to drink because he doesn’t want to miss it. Like I would need to cheat to win? Yeah, in his dreams!

I’m holding the cup firmly in my right hand, flirting a bit with Butler because it’s fun and I can, when I hear Amy. I guess I’m not getting out of seeing the Davenports after all. Lucky me. This whole thing would be far less annoying if Will had gotten worse looking with age. Why can’t he be like the other guys that we went to school with who I’ve seen back home, you know with beer guts and bad facial hair that grows in a little spotty.

No, instead he’s sculpted like a Greek god. Think Thor swinging his hammer around. The muscles in his shoulders and arms are just begging to bust through his too-tight black T-shirt, and his brown hair is cut short but still long enough to be curly on top. Those perfectly coiffed ringlets that I used to love wrapping my finger around taunt me.

My gaze meets his against my will, and I’m struck still by those piercing blue eyes. They’re the color of the sky on thebluest and most clear day, utterly mesmerizing. I could get lost in them for days and not even care about life passing me by. Except, wait—is he glowering at me?I don’t think so, buddy.

“Wright, fancy seeing you here...with my friends.” His comment lands with a thud. Oh, did he think this was his territory? Are we about to get in a pissing match over who is allowed to be here?

“I was invited, Rambo. Cool your jets and get a drink. If I’m not letting it bother me, then I don’t see why you would.” I down the cup of beer that I needed to drink for the game, tossing it gently onto a camping chair where all the other empties have gone to die.

“Oh, it’s not bothering me. Just surprised to see you twice in one day. It’s almost like you can’t help but be around me at this point.” He gives me that irritating lopsided grin, lifting one shoulder to shrug, and turns toward the kitchen, presumably to get a drink.

“Alright, ready to continue,” Smith says, rejoining us at the beer pong table.

“She’s hustling you, Smith. She knows how to play.” Will’s shout comes from across the room, causing Butler and Smith to eye Lo and me suspiciously while Amy takes off stomping toward her brother.You go, girl. Tell him he’s being an asshat.

“Does it look like I’m hustling you?” I point to the even number of cups on the table to dissuade them from believing the truth Will can’t seem to help himself from spilling. I roll my eyes at Will in annoyance. This is the side of Will I hate to love, he doesn’t let me get away with any crap. Not in a controlling way, but when I was with him before, I wanted to be better. Be less petty, less of an overthinker, and more open, more honest, more willing to show love. He made me feel proud to be who I was, not who my mother, or anyone else for that matter, wanted me to be.

Butler and Smith shrug and the game continues. The game that I am most definitely hustling them at. I feel icky inside. Like my own personal judge is sitting in the other room looking on at my behavior, knowing I’m only here to support my friend, that I am once again letting people talk me into doing things that I don’t want to do just because I want their approval. Ughhh...it’s going to be a long night.

CHAPTER 9

CAM

“POKER FACE” - LADY GAGA

“Cam, can you mix two scoops of lightener with twenty volume color developer for me please?” Daveed asks from across the color bar as he scrapes the bottom of a very empty bowl for his next foil. We are going on our third day of back-to-back color clients, and the exhaustion is settling into my bones.

“Coming right up,” I call, grabbing the tub of bleach and bottle of developer to begin my task. This is par for the course with assistant life, always being at the ready and waiting to give Daveed anything he needs. Sometimes I’m pulling and tearing foils, shampooing a guest, or even occasionally doing a blowout. I’m ready for the next step though.

I walk across the room to where he is waiting patiently, handing him the color bowl and standing back to appreciate the finesse with which he slices and weaves this bombshell blonde. Doing hair is not as easy as the home color commercials make it seem. There’s an art to it, knowing the angles and where the shadows would naturally be cast from sunlight. It’s easy to mess up, but I’ve been doing this for almost a year, and I’ve honedmy skills on more mannequin heads than it should be legal to possess.

I start to walk away, off to check the towels and brushes, but Daveed calls out once more. “Cam, I’m almost finished here. Why don’t you grab Micah and meet me out back.” There’s a seriousness in his voice, and I can’t tell if I should be worried or excited.

I swipe a few empty bowls and nod at Micah to meet me in the galley on my way out. He stumbles in before I can even dump the bowls in the sink, the door nearly taking him out on the back swing.

“What’s happening? You never nod at me. What do you know?” His questions aren’t completely out of the blue. We’ve both been wondering when our turn to take the trials would be, he assumes I know something.

“I know nothing, so let’s take the crazy down a notch. Like a half turn at least.” I mimic turning a knob, which is something he routinely does to me when I’m overanalyzing, overstressing, or just generally talking too loud. “Daveed had me mix some bleach for him and then told me to grab you and wait for him out back. The way I see it...we are either both being fired, or it’s our turn.”

“Do you think? I don’t know...Tori and Jenna had to wait eighteen months. But he isn’t firing us, that’s for sure. We do everything around here.” Micah slumps against the counter.

“I think we’ve proven ourselves, and the salon is busier than it ever has been. Let’s go outside and wait. Or actually, maybe we should get this stuff cleaned up first, so he doesn’t think we are slacking off. But he did say to go outside. Shit. What are we supposed to do...” I’m flustered, and Micah’s nerves are making mine worse.

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