The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,113

out the door.

“Well, well, well,” the dark-haired, olive skinned, handsome man behind the reception desk at Blush drawls in the most beautiful baritone I’ve ever heard.

I stop and look over my shoulder to find who he could be talking to. Because it can’t be me. There’s nothing interesting enough about me to warrant that intrigued look on his face. There’s no one there. I turn back to face him and plaster a confused smile on my face. “Are you talking to me?” I ask.

His jaw drops. His eyes bug out of his head, he slaps his cheeks and then he shrieks.

Loudly.

I spin on my heel to get the hell out of there.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he calls in that baritone again and in a display of super human speed, he’s behind me with a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

“Where are you going?” he asks with an amused chuckle.

“Why’d you scream?” I ask him angrily and fold my arms across my chest while I wait for him to respond.

“Because you look like Jayne Mansfield, who is like, my favorite actress of all time, and then you open your mouth and sound like Dolly Parton, who is my favorite singer of all time,” he explains.

“I love and respect Dolly like any good Southerner, but I do not sound like her and I don’t know who Jayne is.”

He actually steps back, grips his chin thoughtfully and studies my chest, “Hmmm, I’m telling you. If we brightened up that blonde all over and gave you one more bra cup, you’d be a dead ringer,” he says.

“This is probably the strangest conversation I’ve ever had in my life,” I say.

“It’s not strange.” He pouts. “They’re my idols. It’s like Dolly Parton and Jayne Mansfield had a baby and sent her to deliver me from an ordinary existence.” He claps his hands together repeatedly in my face.

I smile and step around him.

“Oh, I see. You’re crazy.” I point at him with a knowing smile.

“Totally, sister, and I ain’t afraid to show it.” He winks and then we both laugh.

“I’m Noé.” He sticks out his hand to introduce himself.

I shake his big, warm, very soft hand. “What hand lotion do you use and where can I get some?”

“Oh, it’s my own special blend,” he says with a wink, and I pull my hand out of his.

“Are you making a sexual innuendo that implies that your special blend is your spunk? ‘Cause, if so, that is so nasty,” I say.

“Nasty? Oh, sweet baby Jesus. You said nasty and you sound just like Dolly! Please tell me you’re a customer and you’re going to come in at least once a week.” He throws his head back dramatically.

“I might come back once a week if this is the reception I get. I feel special,” I say with a cheeky smile.

“You are special. And hot to trot, too. But, we can’t stand here gabbing all day. Tanaka is a stickler for time, even for too-hot-to-trot blonde bombshells with great tits.” He gives me an exaggerated wink and grin, grabs me by the elbow, and leads me to the receptionist desk.

I’m totally charmed by him. People who can talk to anyone amaze me.

“What time is your appointment?” he asks as he leads me back to the reception desk.

“It’s at seven-thirty. Color, cut, and blow out,” I say, excitedly.

“Okay. I’m going to need you to fill out all the paperwork again,” he says and hands me a clipboard.

I look down at the stack of papers and recognize the first one. “I filled these out online when I made my appointment. Why did you have me do it if I was going to have to do it again?” I say and look at him quizzically. This is one of my biggest pet peeves, so my good humor fizzles.

He frowns sympathetically, either ignoring or missing my irritation. “I’m sorry. But your submission was all messed up. Your name was off, so we thought there might be other errors. I made the executive decision to delete it and have you do it again.” He pats my hand in more misguided sympathy. “Since we’re worried about the time, just fill out that top form, okay? You can do the rest while you’re under the dryer with your foils.” He winks.

I purse my lips but fill out the form quickly. “Filling out redundant forms will not get between me and the magician who’s going to be like the miller’s daughter in Rumpelstiltskin and turn this hay into gold,”