Rhodes

Chapter Seven Plucked

Mila

“So what’s up first?” I ask, clearing my mind and bracing myself for another day at Catacomb. We’ve had an influx of customers in the past couple of days which has led to all of us being extremely busy, but I couldn’t be more grateful. For a moment there, I thought we were gonna go under our first month.

“Uh...” Jordan clicks her mouse and stares at the screen a little slack-jawed. “This can’t be right.”

“What is it? Did we double-book or something?”

“No,” she says slowly. “Your first appointment of the day is... Roscoe Rhodes.”

My stomach flips and plummets to my ankles. “Rhodes?” I blurt. “Fucking why?”

“He apparently needs his eyebrows done. He asked for you specifically, unless there’s another owner running around here I don’t know about.”

Of course he did. Gut twisting, I consider leaping out the bathroom window and running for the hills, but the little shit would just find me anyway. This is my job. I can be professional.

I can also be petty.

Smirking, I tell her that’s fine and to send him back when he gets here, then head to my room to prepare. I don’t really need much for what I’ve got planned, so I end up standing there like an idiot for a few minutes until the big lug finally comes in.

“Hello, I’m Mila,” I say conversationally. “You must be Roscoe. Welcome to Catacomb.”

The amused look on his face only amplifies. “Nice to meet you, Mila. Can I ask you a quick question?”

“Of course.”

“What exactly does a facial entail for you?” He takes a seat and immediately makes himself comfortable, which is the only reason I don’t slap the shit out of him.

Biting back a snarky retort, I say calmly, “Facials generally involve exfoliation and hydration. The purpose is to cleanse your skin, remove imperfections and dead skin cells, and then rejuvenate what’s left.” It’s an oversimplification, but this is Rhodes we’re talking about. “It’s my understanding you came in for your eyebrows, though.”

“I like how that sounds more though. You want to do one of those with me instead?”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have enough time,” I say with mock sincerity. “Now if you’ll lie back, we can get started and I can get you on your way.”

Far away from here, hopefully.

“Okay, wait. What are you going to do to my eyebrows? What would look good?”

It takes me a second to realize he’s actually nervous about this, making the whole thing even sweeter for me. “They just need a little shaping, that’s all.” And I know just how to do it. Grinning, I step behind him and grab my tweezers instead of the wax I prepared. “How high is your pain tolerance?”

“Uh, I have tattoos. I’ll be fine, right?” His eyes are more green in this lighting as they lock on my hands, so I snap the tweezers a couple of times to make him flinch.

“I don’t know. I’ve got a few tats and I’d rather sit for fourteen hours than get my brows plucked, but I’m not a big, strong man like you. I’m sure this won’t be a problem at all.”

Bending over, I cup his chin with my left hand to hold him steady and pluck one of the smaller hairs growing under the brow line. “Ow! Fuck,” he growls, pulling away, but thanks to the high-back chairs, he has nowhere to go. “That was on purpose.”

“Why would you think that?” I ask. “I’m a professional, Mr. Rhodes. Now sit still.”

I pluck two more in quick succession, knowing they’ll hurt even worse — and the 6’5 giant whines. Whines like a five year old toddler who just stubbed his toe. “There’s no way chicks do this every week.”

“Not always every week, and some go for wax. It’s always worse the first time. Do you want to quit?”

“If I did, are you gonna kick me out and move onto the next customer?”

“My next customer won’t be here for forty-five minutes,” I say honestly. “I can’t really move on.”

He stares at me for a long moment before he nods at me to continue, like this is about more than just plucking eyebrows. “I won’t quit.”

“Huh. Okay then.” A little impressed, I lean over again and try to go a little quicker to make it easier on him. However, I also get a little carried away, not stopping until his brows look like they belong on the cover of an early 2000’s teen magazine. I’ll blame it on old habits and not the fact that I want to take his ego down a peg. “All done.”

“Am I bleeding?” He reaches up to rub his forehead and seems to realize they’re much thinner than he anticipated they would be. “Oh, hell no.”

Jumping up, he rushes over to the mirror and stares at his reflection with his jaw slack, but seeing him like this just makes me angry.

He looks fucking better with thin eyebrows.

Of course he does.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you not satisfied with your service today?”

Frowning, he moves his face around for a while like he’s trying out different facial expressions, and then he stands tall again. “Nah. I think I look good actually. What do you think?”

He closes the distance to give me a better look, and I’m torn between belittling my own talent and complimenting him. Neither option sounds good. “Of course you look good, I’m me.”

That makes him smile. “I like your confidence.”

“It’s blind confidence most of the time, but yeah. You don’t open a business like this without believing in yourself.”

He licks his lips like he’s about to kiss me, but to my surprise, he doesn’t. “I know the feeling. Did your family support you?”

Not hardly. I’m not sure my parents even know I became an esthetician. “My brother does, and he’s the only family I really have. Max is a good guy.”

“Glad you have him then.”

Unbidden, I get a flash of when we were at the bar and Rhodes put his hand on my lower back any time a guy got too close, and I hate what that does to my stomach.

“Should I come back for a facial soon?”

“That’s up to you. I think everyone should get a facial every once in a while, but I know how you macho guys are.”

“Macho,” he scoffs. “I’ll make an appointment before I leave. Do you sit on my face at the beginning of it, or at the end? Just want to be mentally prepared.”

Yeah, there he is. And here I was thinking he could be normal for five fucking seconds. “Just go.”

“Oh, come on, it was a joke.” He chuckles. “I take it that means you guys don’t offer happy endings?” My face has him rushing out an excuse. “Shawn was asking. Don’t kill the messenger.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was Shawn. I really should clean up in here and get ready for my next client, so if you don’t mind...” I gesture toward the door, unfortunately remembering the last text he sent me about my panties not smelling like me anymore. It makes me blush. “You can leave any tips with Jordan.”

“I don’t trust her, I want to leave it with you.” He grabs me by my hand and tugs me in so I stumble into his chest, and then he just hugs me. “Thanks, Winters. I’ll be the prettiest boy at Bad Habits for a while.”

God, he’s strong... and warm... and somehow soft. “Is this your tip?” I mumble into his chest. “I prefer money.”

“Damn,” he breathes. “I prefer this.” Pulling away, he taps my chin with his knuckle and pulls out a $50 bill. “How much do people usually tip for something like this?”

My eyes widen. “Uh... that much, usually. Yep.”

He tucks it into my tiny apron pocket and then tucks some of my hair behind my ear. “Got time for some froyo?”

“No, I don’t. Thanks for your business though, I appreciate it.” Smiling tightly, I gesture toward the door again. “Bye now.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, looking me up and down before he takes his leave, and I have to fight the urge to stop him. The room feels colder without him here, and maybe I do too.

Clearly, I let him get a little too far under my skin.

I’m... plucked.