Chapter 8: Who said happy ending?

Rex

"No, you terd." She throws a brownie at me and I catch it and pop it into my mouth.

"Hey, you were the one who said full service."

Another sparkle of happiness pops through the dark. Her face tips down, a long lock of deep red hair falls over her shoulder, which starts to shake before she's laughing so hard a snort slips out. Her head jerks up, eyes wide when she stares at me, hopeful I didn't hear it. Of course I did, though, because I'm paying attention to everything she does.

"So no happy ending, then. I got it." I don't mention the snort but it's out there and I won't be able to not tease her about it at some point in the future.

"Well, it's not as if we send our clients out unhappy, though. It's just not that kind of happy ending."

"Bummer."

"Oh, you frequent those?"

"If you were my masseuse? Hell yeah, I would. In fact, I'd probably be your most loyal customer."

Those deep, dark eyes roll and she takes another bite of The Cookie. I'm glad she's not a woman who would balk at my idea of feasting on desserts at nine o'clock at night. In fact, if anything, she's embracing it.

"Well, sorry to tell you, massage therapy isn't in my bag of tricks. But if you wanted me to get rid of your grays, I'd be the woman to call." She smirks but I don't know if she's teasing me or being fucking serious.

I stare at her as she calmly munches away on sugary goodness, sips her tea with her damn pinky up, glances around the room all coy-like. I narrow my eyes, hold them on her for several beats, hoping she'll crack.

Not that I'm a conceited asshole or anything, but I do look in the mirror and I've never seen any gray hairs. I'm only thirty-two years old, for fuck's sakes! That's too young for gray hair, right?

My hand lifts to my head as if I'll be able to feel the difference in a strand of brown or gray hair, and I'm trying to be as inconspicuous about it as possible but I know that I'm basically outing myself. Her lip twitches just as mine did earlier when I was trying to hold back laughter but I still don't know if she's just being a little shit or if she's actually serious and I'm turning gray and she's laughing at my expense.

I'm also completely unsure why I care so damn much whether or not I have a few gray hairs. Silver foxes are actually a thing now, right? Women gush over how sexy they are. Of course, I think they're talking about men as old as Sean Connery, but still.

Her laughter explodes from her lips and soon she's leaning over, slapping the table as she wheezes to catch her breath. Just as she did earlier, I toss a brownie at her. But she's too far gone to notice and it just smacks her in the forehead and falls onto her lap. She doesn't seem to care, though, as she continues laughing.

"You. Should. See. Your. Face," she says through laughter. She's wiping away tears and sucking in her breath, holding her chest with her hand, her nostrils suction in as she tries to gasp in more air.

"I think you're the terd, not me."

One more swipe at my head and she falls right back into a fit of giggles. The few other patrons in the restaurant are staring at her but she doesn't seem to care. And if I'm honest, neither do I.

Earlier tonight she was so damn sad. To the point where she seemed like she was giving up and now she's laughing so hard she can't breathe and it's all because of me. I always knew I held some kind of magical powers. This just confirms it.

I'm fucking awesome.

"Oh my gosh, Rex. You're so, man, that was so good. Are you really that worried about gray hair? Your face turned Casper the ghost white! You looked like you were about to puke!"

"I'm not vain or anything! But be honest with me here, I'm a little young for gray hair, right?"

"Nah. I know some people who go gray pretty young. But you don't have to worry. I was just giving you shit. And I'm glad I did because that was amazing."

I don't tell her I'm glad she did, too. Telling her how much I like seeing her happy would likely freak her out, rightfully so.