Claire
I stoodunder the spray wishing I hadn’t let Seth convince me to go out with him this afternoon. I just wanted to grab a tub of rocky road ice cream and a spoon, curl up on the couch, and pretend the outside world didn’t exist. If I thought it was hard listening to mindless gossip and trying to make small talk while I did someone’s hair, working in the service industry was something else. People were arseholes. When they weren’t clicking their fingers demanding attention or sending back perfectly good food because it didn’t look like the picture, then they were muttering frankly inappropriate comments about my appearance. It’d taken all the patience I possessed not to turn around and tell the pricks what I thought. It was a family-friendly café for fucks sake. You didn’t comment about biting someone’s arse while kids drank their baby cino’s in the highchair next to them. If I wasn’t so desperate for the pay cheque, I wasn’t sure I’d be going back tomorrow.
Other than the patrons, the place was awesome. Isla was amazing, and even though I’d done nothing but repeatedly embarrass myself with a clumsiness I usually didn’t possess, first tipping a bottle of water into Seth’s friend’s lap then covering myself in sticky, thick warm yoghurt, she didn’t fire me. Instead of making me feel bad about it, she pulled me aside, helped me get cleaned up and told me about her first day. A day that made mine look like a major success.
After washing the conditioner from my hair, I turned off the tap and stepped out, wrapping a towel around me and knotting it between my boobs. Staring in the mirror, I noticed how much I’d let myself go. My overgrown eyebrows didn’t lie. Digging the tweezers out of my toiletry bag sitting on the sink, I tried to make them match. Ten frustrating minutes later, I threw them down, hearing them ping off the sink while I pouted. This right here was why I was a hairdresser not a beauty therapist. I couldn’t make them even no matter how much I swore at them, and if I kept going, well there was a very good chance I’d end up having to draw them back on. There’d be nothing left.
Giving up, I stomped back to my bedroom, grabbed my phone, and turned my music on, trying to find some energy. Scrolling through my phone I realised I had no idea what we were doing or where we were going, and what’s worse, I didn’t know how to dress for that.
Claire:What are we doing?
Thankfully, Seth was quick with his reply.
Seth:Surprise
Claire:Fine
Seth:Jeans and comfy shoes
Claire:Where the hell are you taking me?
Seth:You’ve got 20min before I get there. Less time complaining more time dressing. We have a 5:30 appointment
Claire:???
Claire:You’re really not going to tell me
Seth:Not a chance
Seth:See you soon
I don’t know if his cockiness turned me on or drove me crazy. Possibly both. There was something wrong with me.
Even though I was resolved to make him wait, I dug a pair of jeans from the overnight bag kicked into the corner and wriggled into them. He may want me in just a pair of jeans, but it didn’t mean it needed to be saggy arsed jeans. I was going to look hot even if it sapped every ounce of energy from my body.
My phone chirped on my bed as I fought with the clasp on my favourite push up bra. Finally snapping it into place, I wriggled it around, stuffed my boobs into it, and adjusted the straps. Yep, I was one of those weirdos who did the clasp up in the front then spun it around. It had to be easier than trying to reach behind you and fight it where you could barely reach.
Bending down, I checked my phone.
Seth:7min
Annoying.
Seth was definitely annoying.
And I was definitely screwed.
It seemed the more frustratingly annoying he was, the more curious I became. Knowing the clock was ticking, I pulled on a pair of tan boots and a cream-coloured blouse with a camisole underneath. It was cute, and I’m pretty sure I could get away with it no matter where we ended up.
After a quick swipe of my mascara wand and some lip gloss, I grabbed my bag and checked I had everything I could possibly need before heading out. Stepping out the bedroom door, I walked straight into my shirtless brother.
“Geez, Isaac! I don’t want to see your gun show,” I scolded while he postured in front of me. For an adult, sometimes he acted like the teenage boy I’d spent years fighting with.
“Everyone wants to see the gun show.” I rolled my eyes so hard, I swear I saw my brain. “You headed out?”
“Yep.” The last thing I wanted to do was stand here and share details.
“How was work?”
