NICOLE – SIXTEEN AGAIN?

I spread my fingers and hands on the little table in front of Juju. Then I pull them back and look at my hands and fingers closely. I can feel my heart rate speed up a little, thinking about that dinner. Adam. I hate that he saw the little cracks on my fingertips. But it affected me more that he noticed.

“Isn’t there something more you can do for my dry hands, Juju? I can’t stand them.”

“I do my best, Dr. Nic, but you scrub them too much. Maybe the chemicals? Too harsh?”

“Well, I can’t help that. Do something.”

“Ok, ok, I do some extra things. Come back to the recliner with me. You can take nap while I work on hands.”

While Juju is putting my hands through multiple steps of treatment, my thoughts are whisk away to him. I thought dinner was going to be food with some verbal sparring. It would have amused me to counter the typical double entendres, shoot down cocky posturing, even dumb down and swoon at his advances. It was a surprise that there was actually none of that. That was the scary part. I think we both realized there was a seriously risky chemistry in the air. I can’t get over the authenticity of the evening. I replay parts of it over in my mind. I keep hearing the lowering of the pitch of his voice, how it got a little husky when he contradictorily said “go home.” I keep feeling the solid pressure of his lips on the corner of my mouth. I wanted to turn a little to kiss him, to feel those warm, firm lips on mine. I want to know what his lips would feel like on my skin. I didn’t dare.

“Dr. Nic, wake up. Sorry. I removed the peel. Now you dip hands into the wax. Very hot, careful.”

I sit up and refocus. I do as Juju instruct and sink my hands into the hot paraffin wax. I watch her wrap my hands in the huge heated mitts.

“Ok, very good. You lie back now and take another little nap.”

I watch her cover me up in a cozy blanket. I close my eyes after she leaves. I wonder if I should dig out his card from the sub-sub compartments of my wallet and call him. I am asking for trouble. No, it is really only polite to thank him again for dinner, for keeping me company. Right? That’s the decent thing to do. You already thanked him. You know you call, it starts something. Why does it have to mean starting something? Because you want more and that is going to start something. He knows I’m married. He still gave you his card. You call, it starts something, and you know it. I sigh and wiggle my fingers inside the mitts. I picture his face, his eyes looking at me. I feel his hand holding mine. What are you? Sixteen?