Page 30 of Friendshipped
“Don’t worry,” she assures me in a way that totally does not settle me even a little. “I won’t reply to any messages or tamper in any way. I’ll just peek in at times.”
“What if I say no?” I dare to ask.
“No what?” Felicia asks, oblivious to the concept of boundaries as usual.
“No, you can’t be the secret member of my profile, spying on the interactions between me and potential dates,” I say.
“Oh,” she says, a slightly wounded look passing across her face. “I hadn’t considered that. I thought we were on this mission together.”
I can’t tell if this is Felicia’s manipulative side, or if she’s seriously disappointed by my need for privacy. Probably a mixture of both.
“Just stay in the background,” I say. “Like gagged and bound and incapacitated.”
“Nice imagery,” she says, bumping my hip playfully with hers. “I promise to behave.”
She leans in and gives me a side hug. I collapse into her and return the embrace by wrapping my arms around her.
Felicia whispers into the top of my head, “Some guy will be so lucky when he captures your heart.”
10
Lexi
The sound of the door opening echoes through the Dippity Do salon when Felicia and I walk in. The room is empty aside from the four of us who are here on a day they are usually closed.
You wouldn’t know from the small brick storefront on State Street how large the interior is. The single-pane window facing the sidewalk has the logoDippity Dowith a pair of scissors cutting the curly end off theYin Dippity.
The whole salon takes up one long room extending from the hot pink reception desk and funky couches off to the left of the entry all the way to a row of five black shampoo bowls lining the back of the room. Six evenly spaced, identical stations, each with their own black swivel chair, black mirror and hot pink counter line the wall on the left side of the room.
The owner of the Dippity Do, Frieda, has to be in her sixties, though she says she’ll never tell her exact age. Her obsession with color rivals Laura’s. About six years ago Frieda had some local artist from a nearby town come paint a pop-art mural of various women’s heads across the back wall. The rest of the walls are this airy teal color.
Laura’s at her station and Shannon sits in the booth next to hers thumbing through an entertainment magazine.
“Can you believe Chris Stinson who plays the sober son inA World Revolvingactually owns a whiskey distillery in real life? I feel so conflicted!” Shannon says to Felicia. “It’s like I want to scream at him to stay on the wagon, but then I realize he’s not really Jeff, our favorite character and off camera he probably can handle his liquor. At least I hope he can.”
“Hey you two!” Laura shouts out even though Felicia and I are only probably twenty feet away from her.
Turning back to Shannon she says, “He’s so hot. Does he have a girlfriend?”
“Why does it matter?” Shannon asks. “It’s not like Chris Stinson’s going to amble through Ohio, somehow land in Bordeaux for a big night on the town of bowling and burgers and discover all he’s been missing in life is the love of an adorable hairdresser.”
“Haven’t you ever seenPretty Womanwith Julia Roberts?” Laura says with an air of finality. “These things happen.”
“You’re right, they happen,” Felicia chimes in. “Don’t entertain limiting thoughts.”
“I think you’d have to meet him and get to know him before he’d date you. Just sayin’,” I say, trying to tether us all to reality, even though I know it’s a losing battle.
“Ever the voice of reason,” Laura laments. “We’re running out of viable options here in town, and the surrounding towns.”
“So, the next feasible option is a famous actor?” I ask.
“Options for romance?” Felicia asks, her eyes widening and her brows slightly lifting.
I almost see drool forming in the corner of her mouth. Maybe it’s lip gloss. Either way, she’s salivating at the thought of more victims—or whatever we are—in her mad matchmaking missions.
“Yes, for romance,” Laura says.
“We’ll talk,” Felicia says with a glint in her eye.
