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“Will you—can you come out here, please? It’s hard to take you seriously when I’m talking to your buttocks.”
“Um . . .”
“Let me help.”
“Okay.”
He grips me around the waist and pulls me out nice and slow. And I’m kneeling at his feet with my cleaning implements, which is never a good look. Dust-stained old tee and yoga pants only enhance my image.
He crouches down at my side. “So. Anna. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“It looks like you scrubbed and bleached every inch of the condo.”
“Sort of. Yeah. Well, no. Mostly just the main room and kitchen. I don’t think I’ll get to the bathroom tonight. I’m starting to run out of steam.”
“What happened to chilling with a face mask and a drink?”
“I did that too. Then I got bored and figured, why not?”
“Okay.” His tongue plays behind his cheek, but his eyes are serious. “Do you find cleaning relaxes you?”
I think it over. “No. Not really.”
“Right.” His gaze runs over my yellow rubber gloves before he too sits on the floor. “Talk me through this.”
“It’s nothing. Everyone has their quirks,” I say, starting to feel distinctly judged. As if rage and/or anxiety cleaning wasn’t a thing. “You haven’t told me how your date went.”
“It was fine. She was nice. The food was good.”
“Nice? That’s all you’ve got?”
He tugs the hair tie out, letting it all hang loose. “We went dancing and . . . I didn’t hate it.”
“Whoa. Gush about the girl, why don’t you?”
A grunt. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just going through an extended no-interest-in-dating period. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There is nothing wrong with that.”
“You know, I don’t even miss sex that much, now that I come to think about it. Maybe the accident damaged by libido. And I’m fine with my own company. Or I have the guys from work, my family, and you to hang out with,” he says. “It’s not like I’ve become a hermit or something.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’m more worried by your cleaning rampage.”
I set down the cleaning implements and wriggle around on my butt until I can lean back against a kitchen cupboard door. Assorted muscles in me ache from all of the hard work and I do not blame them one bit. “Don’t be. My brain was busy, so I figured my hands may as well be too. Get rid of all the excess energy, you know?”
“What was your brain busy with, or is that private?”
Good question. Not one I particularly wish to answer, however. “Mom does this sometimes. It’s part of why I’ve been known to call her house the museum. Everything is immaculate and cleaned to the nth degree. Guess I inherited it from her.”
A nod. “You’re deflecting. But I’m going to let that go because it’s obviously none of my business and you’ll talk about it or not when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He smiles. “The place is so clean. Want to mess it up by baking something?”
I grin. “Sure.”
“Let me get this right, you want to express yourself by getting a large swastika tattooed on your head? That’s what you want?”
The big bald white man smiles down at me in a creepy manner.
Out of nowhere, Ed appears at my side. He doesn’t say anything, he just stands there. And while I don’t need it, I appreciate the support just the same. If I can survive a collision with another car and being cut out of my vehicle and playing Sleeping Beauty for seven months while my life goes to hell, I can handle this repugnant asshole.
“No,” I say.
“I’m not talking to you anymore,” says the man. “I’m dealing with him.”
Ed crosses his arms. “What she said.”
“Are you fucking with me?” The guy sneers.
“No,” says Ed. “We are not fucking with you. Fucking with you would be agreeing to your request and then tattooing a pony onto your head the moment you’re in the chair.”
“I’m afraid Larsen and Sons Tattoo Parlor is unable to meet your needs. And that’s because your needs are gross and wrong and you should be ashamed of them.” I tap a pen against the counter. “Leave now, please.”
His expression morphs into fury and he slams his hand down on the reception desk, making the glass case rattle before about-facing and striding out. What a bully. Honestly.
“Get the hell out of here!” Ed shuts and locks the door after the man. Just to be careful, I guess. “Anna, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I’m shaking, but fine. Random violence happening in my face has a habit of freaking me out. Or maybe it’s just confrontations in general. They kind of make me want to hurl. But I didn’t and that’s a win. I told the asshole off. Go, me.
Tessa just keeps on working at her station. But Leif’s tattoo gun turns off and I give him a wave to let him know I’m fine. No one needs to rush to my rescue, for heaven’s sake. This is the problem with men like Ed and Leif, a protective streak a mile wide. Sometimes I love it, that he cares so much, but sometimes it gets in the way.
