Page 142 of Goalkeeper
“You never said they couldn’t…”
I give up. Arguing with Paige is pointless. “Look, you can do anything you want to my face. Make me look pretty, just don’t come near my eyes with that medieval contraption. Ever since I was a kid, random old ladies have approached me in the store, on the bus, wherever, to say what nice lashes I have. They always seem pissed about it, too. Shouldn’t that count for something?”
“You do have gorgeous lashes. I wouldn’t touch them, even if we were doing your makeup today. But we’re not.”
“Uh...are we dying my hair?” Not gonna lie, but I like my hair. I was teased as a kid for my red locks, but they’re mine and I like them.
“Sweet hell, no. That’s sacrilege,” she says, looking horrified at the prospect.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“We’re waxing your eyebrows.”
Oh, fuck.
“I have serious reservations about this,” I say to her about twenty minutes later. She’s tidied her work area, I’m shirtless, and the wax is in the warmer. So much feels off to me about my current situation.
“Don’t be a baby. This is nothing,” she brushes off my anxiety.
“Uh, it’s not nothing. It’s hot wax. On my skin. My virgin skin. This has disaster written all over it.”
“Are you trying to tell me hot wax play doesn’t do it for you?” she says with a wink.
“Because if wax is your hard limit during sex...”
“Pretty sure hot wax is my hard limit at all times and in all places.”
“It won’t be that bad, I swear. It feels kind of good going on. And ripping the strip off stings for a second or two, but then I’ll put a cooling gel on and you’ll be fine. I promise. I also don’t understand why the idea of pucks flying at your body at 100 miles an hour doesn’t freak you out, but a simple brow wax has you quaking.”
“Because I’m in full gear on the ice? Maybe if I put pads on, I’d feel better. They’re like my security blanket.”
“Sorry, I’m fresh out of goalie pads,” she jokes, “But... hang on. And don’t leave.”
Don’t leave. Where the hell would I go? I’m in a damn closet, souped up though it may be. Besides, I have no doubt Paige would track me down. And as much as I really don’t want to have hot wax poured on my skin, only to be removed along with the hairs that grow out of my face like nature fucking intended, I did promise her that I’d do whatever she needed.
I take a deep breath. How bad can it be? People do it all the time. She walks back into the room, holding something behind her back. Jesus. There’s already a bowl of melting wax in front of me. How much worse is this going to get?
“Are you holding tweezers? Because I have just now realized tweezers are, in fact, my hard limit.”
She shakes her head and brings her arm out from behind her back. Clutched in her hand is a small, ragged, formerly-pink bunny. Yeah, we’ll go with bunny, though it’s only got the one ear.
“This is Mr. Cottontail.”
Her tone makes me feel like she’s just introduced me to the most important man in her life, so I go with that vibe and say, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cottontail.”
“Do not mock him.”
Ok, wrong approach. “He’s really cute,” I lie. “Is he your stuffy from childhood? I think my mom still has the bear I slept with when I was a kid.”
“I got him when I was ten.”
Wow. This is just weird now. Ten feels a little old to be getting a stuffed animal. And that thing looks like it’s had a rough life, especially if it’s only been around ten years or so. Also, the woman holding the bunny is getting ready to pour hot wax on my skin. I feel a little bit like I’ve entered a parallel universe.
“Yeah? For Easter?” This feels like a hostage situation, though who the hostage is, I can’t really say. All I know is there’s a voice in my head that tells me to keep Paige talking, so I’m just gonna go with that.
“Jake stole him for me and I love him and I know he looks rough as shit, but he’s my favorite and you may hold him while I wax you,” she says this in one long breath and then turns to that little melting pot thing and starts dipping a tongue depressor into it.
“Mr. Cottontail is stolen property?” is all I can think to say.
