Page 17 of Beauty and the Grease
Jenny
Butterflies. I have honest-to-goodness butterflies in my stomach thinking about meeting Chase at the bar.
I spruced myself up using the free emergency toiletries kit provided by the front desk before layering my cardigan over a stretchy tank top and black yoga pants gifted by Gina’s friend. Apparently, Ameriel brought a suitcase stuffed to the zippers for a two-night retreat. I don’t even know the woman and she gave me a shirt and two pairs of pants. Her only attached string was to ask me to add her party planning business cards to the salon waiting area. She lives in Spring Creek, nearby to Derby, so a good local reference for our customers.
I spot Chase near the bar. It’s positioned in a space off the main lobby near chairs arranged in conversational groupings. A large stone fireplace angles at one corner of the room casting a cozy glow.
Good-looking people surround Chase. Because, of course. Why are sales people so danged good-looking? They’re like catalog models. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a print catalog. Maybe those models all moved to sales.
The moment Chase sees me, I sense it. My body vibrates. I’m twenty-two again, with thicker, redder hair and nothing to lose.
He grins and those butterflies riot. They’re flapping like crazy, wrecking my Zen yoga vibe. How is it he’s graying and older but still as hot as I remember?
“Did you have spare clothes in your truck?” Chase looks me over.
Suddenly, I can’t breathe. He knows me. He knows my body. “No.” The words choke out. “A generous yoga aficionado gave them to me.”
“Why am I not surprised? People love giving you things.”
“They do?”
“Remember your apartment with Amber? You furnished the whole place without spending a dime.”
“The red couch! What a find. The couch, the chairs, and the giant bird lamp all came from guys moving out of the dorms. Why is it girls always take their stuff but the guys leave it behind?” I laugh. “Were we even dating then?”
Panic crosses Chase’s face.
“Sorry,” I say. Nobody here knows we used to date. Then again, does it matter? As long as they don’t know the rest of the story.
Chase runs a hand through his hair and my traitorous body zings to attention all over again. “No worries. What are you drinking these days?”
“Besides lemon water and Ensure?”
“You don’t drink Ensure.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s for—”
“Old people? I’m happy to inform you, health shakes are used for a variety of reasons, at any age.” This is not smooth. Why am I explaining any of this? Oh right, because I rarely go out since I’m always working. “If the bar has any local beers on tap, I’ll take one. IPA, brown ale, whatever.”
He nods and reports to the bar. Linda, Ms. CFO, fills the vacant space. She glimmers in a gemstone green silk shirt tucked into jeans. A Martini glass rests in her bejeweled hand. Linda After Dark.
We chit-chat a few minutes about essentially nothing until Chase returns, handing me a frothy glass of amber liquid. His posture straightens as he addresses Linda formally, but with a charming grin. He’s boyish and mature all at once. How does he manage that? Linda at one point fiddles with her earring and a twinkly laugh escapes. She bids us a good evening and moves on.
“Sooo,you’ve got Linda wrapped around your pinkie.”
“What? No way. She scares me.”
“I don’t believe you. Your charm is impeccable.”
“Impeccable charm? Me? Hardly.”
It’s like he doesn’t even know himself. “I rememberyougetting whatever you wanted with that smile smoothing over your snarky comments. You could offend someone to their face and they’d still give you the shirt off their back.”
“You’re the one someone gave half their yoga wardrobe to.”
“Well, maybe I learned a thing or two from you.” The words are out before I can snatch them back. “I mean, probably I did. Maybe.”
“You didn’t need me to teach you anything. You were always destined to succeed.” He looks away as he says this, like it’s not even debatable.
Chase sees me as successful. This surprises me. Should it?
