Page 37

Just not today.

4

RHIANNON

THE BREAKFAST RUSH HAD started, so it was another hour before I could get away to slip into the bathroom to google Sexy Sax Boy.

A video popped up from a few months ago with a 1980s-style thumbnail of a saxophone. I clicked on it and my jaw dropped. It was him—or at least I think it was, he was still in disguise. He was standing on a bar in someone’s house, dressed in black leather pants, a black mullet wig, a heavy mustache he definitely didn’t have in real life, and large aviator sunglasses, playing the saxophone shirtless. And he. Was. HOT. A six-pack, broad muscular shoulders, a well-defined chest. He must have been playing for a bachelorette party or something because the audience was all women and they were screaming.

The bathroom door opened and I closed out the video and put my phone behind my back. It was Laci. “There you are,” she said, coming in.

“I was just finishing up,” I said.

I must have looked guilty because she skidded to a halt halfway to a stall. “Okay, what the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I was just watching a video.”

“AT WORK?”

It took me a moment to realize what she thought I was doing. “What? No! A music video.”

“Is it Zombie Guy?”

I blinked at her. “How’d you know?”

“’Cause you’re all googly-eyed out there.”

I gasped. “I am not.”

“Yeah, you are. It’s like watching a restaurant version of Beauty and the Beast.” She went around me to an open stall.

I wasn’t googly-eyed. I was going to touch up my makeup, though.

“Why the secrecy?” she asked, peeing.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone what he does,” I said, digging in my purse for my red lipstick.

“Is it weird?”

“Kind of? But not in a bad way.” I touched up my lips.

“Hey, I forgot to tell you,” she said. “I hired an Etsy witch to make Tate’s hair fall out.”

I lowered my hand. “What?”

She flushed. “Yeah, like two weeks ago. It’s your Christmas gift. Your ex will be bald by New Year’s.”

“That doesn’t actually work.”

She came out and went to the sink. “Yes, it does,” she said, washing her hands.

I eyed her. “You can’t be serious.”

She shut off the water, dried her hands, batted her lashes at me, and left.

I shook my head at the closed door. God, I loved her. Even if it didn’t work, it was the thought that counts.

A few minutes later I went to clear Zombie Santa Guy’s table. It took him a while to eat the cinnamon roll pancakes. I think he was struggling. “How was round two?” I asked.