Chapter 9: Large Amounts of Sugar Makes Me Spill My Guts

Chloe

"I'm so full," I groan, taking another bite.

He laughs as I slide the fork out of my mouth and swallow down the creamy cheesecake. I'll have to run three extra miles tomorrow from eating all of this. Well, that is, if I was a runner. Instead I'll do some squats or something.

Rex probably runs. Or goes to the gym. Or flips those heavy tires and does rock climbing and pull ups in his sleep. Very little of his body is showing but it's not hard to miss that he's in good shape. His forearms alone are what orgasms are made of.

And I really, really want to see what his tattoos are like that are hidden beneath his shirt sleeves.

"You still haven't told me much about your salon."

"I figured you'd lost interest once you learned it wasn't one of those appointment with a happy ending places."

"Well, obviously, that would have made it much more interesting but I still want to know more about your boring salon."

I smile and fiddle with my fork before laying my napkin on my plate and pushing it away. Everything is so delicious that if I don't do something to stop myself, I'll just continue eating all night long.

"I don't really know how to explain it, I guess. I want it light and airy. A lot of wood and white and green colors for accents. A couple pedicure and manicure stations and a separate room for waxing, maybe massage therapy at some point." I smirk and he grins. "To start, it will just be me so I'd probably only need one station, but at some point, I would want to expand, bring more people in. Eventually I plan to also offer makeup services, too."

"Ahh. So that's what you mean about full service. The works."

"Yup."

"And why were you denied?"

"I don't think I had a detailed enough financial plan. It's the first time I'd ever done anything like that. My house I inherited when my mother passed away and I've never bought a car, either, which will have to change now, obviously. Going to the bank to get a startup loan to open my own salon was the first time I'd ever done anything like that aside from going through my mother's will, which was easy because she left it all to me."

It's embarrassing to admit that to him, and I drop my head, focusing on the table as I pick at the black nail polish on my thumb. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that doesn't have his life together. That wouldn't know how to make a simple business plan and present it to the bank. Hell, he probably wouldn't even have to go to the bank to get the loan like I did.

When Mom passed, she had been not feeling well for long enough that she shut down her own place a few years ago. At the time, I refused to have her hold on to something that was only causing her more stress so I found a job here in Liberty and she moved here with me. Well, she bought a house and I lived in it with her while I worked.

Man, I really am ridiculous. Twenty-nine years old and I have nothing to show for my life except for a home I inherited and the small amount in my IRA that, yup, I inherited. Maybe I shouldn't have put it away in a retirement fund so I could plan a little better.

"So you own your own home and they wouldn't consider you? That seems like bullshit to me."

"I don't know. They said that I was too much of a risk for them to take on."

"What does that mean?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Beats me. Maybe because I don't have any ties to Liberty?"

"I'm not sure that's a viable reason for a bank to deny you a loan."

"Well, whatever the reason is, they said no."

I sound like I'm giving up, because that's exactly what I'm doing. One can only hear the word no so many times in her life before they just can't take it anymore. What I don't tell Rex is that two days ago is when the start of my shitty day actually started.

Receiving a phone call from my grandparents, who I had never met in my life, was shocking, to say the least. They had found out that my mother passed away and proceeded to rip me a new one because I hadn't let the family know. Like they were any sort of family to her, or me, for that matter.

And then, to top it off, Paul, the man who my mother had a son with, came into the salon for a haircut. He pretended like he had no idea I worked there but I know he did. I still don't know how his hair looked when he left my chair. My mind was reeling in a thousand different directions the entire time.

If my mother hadn't left him and his son, would he have been my father? Which, no, not really, because I wouldn't be here. Then I kept wondering why he cared so much. Does he really want to have a relationship with me? Or is he just like my grandparents, looking for something he thinks he deserves after Mom died. If he was looking for money, which is what my grandparents were after, he's definitely looking in the wrong place.

It had been two solid days of my mind wandering and anxiety sky rocketing and I had no one to talk to. My friends know a little about my past but not enough for them to offer any kind of advice or support in the situation. And then

"Chloe?" Rex says my name loudly and snaps his fingers in front of my face. I shake my head, look at him, and realize I'd been having an entire conversation in my head for a while.

"Sorry. I zoned out a bit."

"I noticed. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie, hoping he'll just drop it. By the look on his face, he knows I'm lying, but I think he's nice enough he'll let it go. Or maybe he doesn't care enough to ask more questions. The crazy woman who can't even afford to get her hot water fixed or get a startup business loan is probably not worth his time.

But he doesn't seem like that type of guy to me. He's the one who asked me to Balance for desserts and has seemed genuinely interested in what I have to say all night.

"Sure?"

"Yeah. I think I just fell into a bit of a sugar coma there for a bit."

He smiles a crooked half smile that brings out a little indentation below the right corner of his mouth.

"What happened there?" I ask, pointing to the spot but not touching.

"Where?"

"By your lip. When you smile, I see it. But when you're not smiling I don't. It's a scar, right?"

He watches me for a moment, head turned to the side before he nods slowly. "Yeah. I, uh, was running in the house, tripped and fell, head butting the kitchen cupboards. The handle jabbed into my lip."

"Stitches?"

"Just a couple. I was only three."

"It's cute."

His fingertips rub the small scar, whether it's consciously or not, I don't know, but it's adorable. Every time I mention something on his body, he touches the spot. I want to challenge my theory, test it out a bit. See what else I can get him to touch.

"Well, you know my sad story. What about yours?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me, I guess."

"Hmm. Well, I don't have much family, either. A couple cousins I keep in contact with here and there, but otherwise basically my friends and colleagues at The Flying Goat are my family. My boss is pretty much my closest friend. I consider him more of a brother, really. Didn't grow up here. Originally from Indiana, wanted to leave so I went to school up here and never left. I work out of my home as a computer programmer. I've designed a few apps, too."

"That's so above me. I wouldn't know where to start if someone told me to design my own app."

He chuckles lowly and shifts in his seat. "It's how my brain works. It just comes easy to me, I'm lucky, I suppose. I've never really considered it a job because it's what I enjoy doing anyway."

"I'm glad you like it, then. Do you ever get, um, lonely or anything? Working out of your home and not seeing people?"

He shakes his head. "Nah. I spend my nights and weekends bartending, gets me out in the public, talking to real live people, and it helps because I can't sit still for long."

I raise an eyebrow at him and ask, "So you chose a career having to sit in front of a computer all day?"