On His Face - Tabatha Kiss Page 0,110
a good bit of sleep before brunch. Two hours later, I get a call from some nurse telling me that my husband was injured at work. Right away, there are red flags. One, husband. And two, work. Robbie’s never held down a job before in his life. I never even heard him say the word unless it immediately followed blow. Obviously, there was some kind of mistake but she insisted on me coming in anyway. So, I dragged my ass down to the hospital and there’s Robbie with a nail sticking through his hand.”
We gasp. “Oh, my god!”
Melanie downs a gulp of her mimosa. “At that point, I realized injured at work was Robbie Code for got wasted and did something stupid so I just stood there while the nurse made flirty eyes at him until the doc patched him up and let him go.”
Trix raises a brow. “Why do you care if the nurse was making flirty eyes at him?”
“I don’t...” Melanie says, sitting up. “I just think it’s inappropriate in that setting for a medical professional to come on to her patients, especially in front of his ex-wife who wants to watch him suffer a life of pain and anguish and die alone. It’s a very complicated emotion. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Trix shrugs. “Good. Because I don’t.”
“And who works on a Sunday, anyway?” she asks. “His lie — much like his hand — was full of holes.”
“I do,” I say with a sigh. “Right after this, I have to go into the office. The new temp screwed up some paperwork again so I have to rush and fix it before tomorrow’s budget meeting.”
“Can’t you just get a new temp?” Trix asks.
“And be forced to re-train another idiot all over again? No, thanks.” I stretch my neck to the side, taking a deep, relaxing breath that doesn’t do its job. “Honestly, I’m blowing it out of proportion. It’s an easy fix. I just need to hold his hand for a little while longer until Ira gets back from paternity leave. He’ll get it eventually.”
Melanie flashes a knowing smile. “That sounds perfectly reasonable of you, Nora.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Patient. Wise.”
I point my thumb at my face. “That’s me.”
She smirks. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”
“Fucking gorgeous.” I fall forward, feeling a wave of heat in my cheeks. “It’s like Gaston had a love child with Captain America. I can barely concentrate.”
Trix chuckles. “Well, in that case, maybe you screwed up the paperwork.”
“You bite your tongue. And...” I pause. “Yeah, maybe. Hot temp aside, I’ve been so damn stressed out lately. I don’t know what to do. Yoga doesn’t work anymore. My massage therapist fired me.”
Trix gasps. “Lenny fired you?!”
“Apparently, four AM house calls are outside of his job description,” I explain.
Melanie creases her cheek. “Have you looked into meditation?” she asks.
“Oh, you mean the sit quietly and reflect on everything I’ve ever done wrong happy hour?” I joke. “Nope.”
“You’re supposed to suppress those thoughts, Nora,” she says with a laugh.
“I don’t want to suppress. My natural state is the exact opposite. I need to project and act out and I can’t do that sitting behind a desk all damn day.”
Trix nods. “Didn’t you join a kick-boxing class?”
“Yeah, but they booted me out for being too scary.”
“Yikes.” She reaches for her glass. “Well, you’re on your own.”
“Not necessarily,” Melanie says. “There’s one very obvious omission from your list, Nor.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask.
She clears her throat and nudges Trix’s arm. “Back me up, cheerleader. Give me a B!”
Trix grins. “B!”
“Give me a D!”
“D!”
“Give me an S! M!”
“BDSM!” they cry in unison.
I glance into the wide, staring eyes of silent patrons around us. “Please don’t ever do that again,” I say. “I really like this place.”
Melanie exhales. “I’m telling ya, girlfriend, it’ll change your life.”
“No,” I say, recoiling. “I don’t want to be that cliché boss who demands control or whatever. It’s so stupid.”
“That’s a myth!” she says. “Statistically, CEOs and other authoritative figures act as subs. Not Doms.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Yeah. They spend all day bossing other people around, barking orders, telling them what to do and where to go. That’s exhausting. They need a few hours a week to let go and submit to someone else’s demands. It’s cathartic as fuck and it’s exactly what you need.”
I pause to think. “That does make a strange bit of sense...”
Melanie nods. “What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?” she asks.
“Shoving a cold turkey sub down my throat at my desk, probably.”
“I’ll pick you