Magic Hands (14 page)

“Forget Bree, man,” Cort told him as he stood in the door of the salon.

But Ben only grinned.

Bree sat like a queen perched on the big, fat pedicure chair. She wore a short skirt and tight tee. Her long, bare legs extended as if someone had artful y posed them to look their very best. Her feet were soaking.

She was waiting for him.

Cort strol ed to the back of the salon, trying to remember how despicable she was as those long, brown legs screamed for notice. Miss Chachi was keeping her company and turned to him, her black eyes narrowed. “Miss Bree wait long for you, Cort.”

He shot Bree a careless shrug. “Her feet needed it.”

Bree’s mouth dropped. Miss Chachi grabbed a hunk of his sleeve and tugged him through the hanging beads and into the narrow, dark hal .

“Chil , chil ,” he told her.

“I not chil anything. I kick you out if you talk like that again to client.” Her finger wagged under his nose. “Now I

‘cpect apology.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said.

She shook from head to toe, like a tremor of frustration rumbled through her. “Not me—her!”

Cort fol owed her pointed finger with his gaze, looked through the beads that hung in the doorway. Bree.

“No way,” he said. “I won’t do it.”

“You wil or you lose job this minute.”

Cort looked at the little lady in front of him. She was a teapot ready to blow. Al that was missing was steam coming out of the top of her head. He needed the money and he kind of liked the job, even with her volatile personality, even with the long hours and the headaches of girls like Bree.

Pride lodged in his throat. He had no choice if he wanted to keep his wal et fat.

He pushed aside the beads and strode to Bree’s chair. She looked up and smiled. “Hel o, Cortie.”

“I’m sorry,” he said between teeth.

“Oh, no problem.” She crossed her legs and they shimmered in the light.

Miss Chachi gave him a little shove to sit. Cort looked around for the stool but Bree pointed to where Shaylee sat.

“On your knees, Cortie.”

Cort looked at Miss Chachi. As if she’d do anything to upset the princess, he thought dismal y and kneeled down.

When Miss Chachi final y went up front, he glared at Bree. Primly she lifted a leg, aiming her foot his way. He resisted the temptation to look at where that left her short skirt and took her foot in his hands.

When he started the massage, her head fel back and she let out a low moan. Cort glanced around. “Mmm,” Bree said.

“Nobody has the touch like you do.”

“Is that why you come in here twice a week? Or does Daddy pay for whatever you want?” he hissed.

“Both,” she answered without a pinch of guilt. “Girls, you real y should try Cort out. He’s amazing.”

Cort glanced at Shaylee and Megan who looked at him blankly.

“Of course,” Bree went on, her eyes closed, head resting back. “I found him first.”

“It’s okay,” Shaylee said quickly. “I kind of like Tiaki anyway.”

Megan nodded. “And Misu’s fine for me.”

“Then I get him al to myself.” Bree peered at him.

“Lucky me.”

Cort rol ed his eyes.

“I don’t need to work,” Bree went on. “But if I did, I think this would be a cool place. You like it here?”

He shrugged, and moved on to her other foot.

“How come you talk to your other clients and not to me?” Bree asked.

“I talk to you.”

“You’l get better tips.”

“I listen mostly. Some girls don’t want to talk.”

Bree nodded. “They just want to relax. Because it feels so good. Mmm.”

Her tone caused an unwanted trembling somewhere inside of him. He swal owed a hard knot in his throat and focused on her feet.

“You guys go get me a drink from that Minerva’s place,”

Bree commanded.

As if they were robots programmed to respond, Shaylee and Megan got up and left. Bree’s sharp gaze pinned Cort as he rubbed her calf. “You know what?”

He tried to stay focused. But her smooth leg was in his hands. Her calf, slick with oil, was moving under his fingers, sleek and wet.

“I think we should go to prom together.”

He stopped the massage for a moment, forced to regroup.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“We’re not together.”

“But we’re friends.”

“We
were
friends.”

Bree leaned close, looked around to make sure no one was listening. “We stil are. What’s wrong with you?”

Absently, Cort took her leg in long, slow strokes.

“Nothing. But I might ask someone else.”

Bree sat back. Her thumb went between her teeth and she started biting.

“That’s why your white tip is always gone on that thumb,” he pointed out.

As if she hadn’t heard him, she kept chewing nervously.

“It’s our last prom, Cort. I real y want us to go together.”

“There are tons of guys who would go with you Bree. Ask one of them.”

“I don’t want them, I want you.”

He looked at her for a moment. Months ago, that statement would have blown him away. But he knew her too wel now and could never look at her without seeing beyond the synthetic veneer.

Gently he set her leg back on the foot rest. “I can’t say yes.” He oiled his hands and took her other leg.

She leaned close. “What? You want me to beg? Okay. For you I wil .”

“I didn’t ask you to. I just said no.”

“It’s that Rachel chick isn’t it?” She glared at him with mean in her eyes. He only looked at her for a second; afraid his face might give his heart away. “What do you see in her, anyway? I’m so much cuter. Besides, I told you, she’s a—”

“She’s not.” Unconsciously, he squeezed her leg.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Be careful. My skin’s very delicate.”

Cort tried not to laugh. When he rol ed his eyes, the gesture infuriated Bree more. “This is your last chance,” she told him.

“I wouldn’t go to the bathroom with you, Bree, let alone prom.”

She slapped him.

For a second, he was so stunned, he didn’t move. He was frozen, his face turned to the room for al to see as it bled red with color. Then he reached up and touched his jaw, as if he stil couldn’t believe she’d hit him.

“You deserved it.” Bree hissed and scrambled off the chair, gathering her things. “You’re a loser. A virgin and a loser.” She leaned over so that she was close to his face. “And you’re going to lose your job. I just hope she’s worth it.”

Bree marched to the front. Her voice pitched like nails on glass. Miss Chachi nodded, looked at him, and nodded some more. Then Bree stormed out.

Cort didn’t lose his job but Miss Chachi once again dragged him back behind the dangling beads and chewed him out. She wanted him to apologize to Bree but he flatly refused. Even after she told him how much revenue Bree brought in monthly, he stil refused.

He pointed out that Bree didn’t deserve anything after slapping him. He could refuse her his services forever more.

Miss Chachi tried to talk him into being reasonable and it was then Cort knew he carried more cards in Miss Chachi’s deck then he realized. He thought about it the next day as he walked to Miss Tingey’s class in a rare moment of being alone.

Then Bree appeared out of nowhere. He didn’t expect her to talk to him ever again, let alone walk alongside of him.

“I want you to know I’ve forgotten about how rude you were yesterday,” Bree started sweetly.

“Too bad.” He kept walking. “I was hoping you’d stay away from me.”

“I could never do that, Cortie. We’re too good of friends.”

He snickered, turned the corner and took the stairs up to Miss Tingey’s classroom.

“Besides.” She was stil at his elbow. “I thought maybe I should apologize for slapping you.”

He stopped and looked at her. It was the first time he’d ever heard her say she was sorry for anything. He tried to find the lie in her eyes.

She stood close, so her body brushed his.

“Forgive me?”

“We’re stil not going to prom,” he said.

“Oh, that’s cool. I just wanted you to know I’d never hurt you.” She touched the side of his face. “Did it hurt?”

He was confused by this repentant, nicer Bree.

Something wasn’t right. “No,” he lied. He went up the stairs to class, relieved she didn’t fol ow. Eyes desperate for something normal searched for his friends as he entered Miss Tingey’s class. He looked for Rachel. She was already seated and she didn’t bother to look up at him.

Miss Tingey wrote the day’s journal entry on the board.

Contention—how it makes us stronger.
Is that what it does?

Contention made him feel like he’d swal owed a bag of ticking explosives.

He buried his head in crossed arms and let out a sigh.

What was Bree’s problem? She’d turned into this monster he didn’t want to have anything more to do with. But the more he pushed her away, the stronger she came on.

He couldn’t understand why she was doing it. They’d known each other for years, been friends once. She stil thought they were friends. But his perception of friends and friendship had changed. Friends didn’t try to manipulate each other.

And what about Rachel? She’d al but given him the brush off the other night. He looked at her, felt a jab that she wasn’t even looking at him.

He had to figure this out somehow.

He sat up, rubbed his hands down his face, picked up his pen and started writing.

The room echoed with the sound of frantic scratching as students wrote. Rachel snuck glances across the room at Cort.

His face was twisted. Was he upset? Could she help that the sight bothered her? For al she knew, he was troubled because of her.

She tried to think herself out of it. He was mad at her, she figured that much, after being so harsh that night he’d come over to talk.
Don’t flatter yourself, honey. It’s not like you two had anything.

She was stil trying to decide if she liked that. What she did like was that he went out of his way to impress her. Cort Davies tried to change her mind about jocks. For however long it lasted, was a very cool thing.

Concentrating on the assignment, she decided to push thoughts of Cort away—for her own good.

Sure, contention makes you have a tougher, thicker skin and
every teenager needs that just to make it through. I don’t mind it either. With every situation I learn new ways to navigate. When I finally get out of school and into real life, I’ll have a compass and some skin that can’t be penetrated with insignificant darts from losers like those who give us grief in high school.

“Who wants to share?” Miss Tingey asked.

Cort raised his hand and she nodded at him. Rachel’s nerves ripened as she waited for him to speak.

“Contention sucks,” Cort started. The class agreed. “If it makes us stronger, I guess we need it. But how much is enough? Does the more we have mean we’l be that much stronger? If it does, I should say, bring it on. But I hate it at the same time. Am I the only one that feels this way?”

“Anybody else feel overwhelmed by contention?” Miss Tingey asked.

“I think it overwhelms when you can’t figure out what to do about it,” Rachel suggested.

Cort shot her a look. “You’d just shrug it off with a maybe.”

“Maybe,” Rachel said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Sometimes that’s what you need to do because some things aren’t worth it. But when something is worth it, you take it head on, no matter how bad it is or how bad you think it might get.”

“Even when somebody’s screwing you over?” Cort’s tone rose.

Rachel looked around. Did he think she was screwing him over? She was being careful, taking it slow. “Maybe you don’t know what’s real y happening,” she offered.

“Oh, I know what’s happening,” he said and didn’t look at her again. It took every bit of courage she had inside not to let his mood drive her in the opposite direction.

Rachel wasn’t sure what made her approach him at the end of class. Maybe it was the hope that whatever friendship had started to bud wouldn’t wither and die.

“You okay?” She stood by his desk as class filed out.

He looked up. Pleasure tried to break on his face but whatever was bugging him, smothered it. “Yeah.”

They walked down the hal together.

“Did I say something to make you mad the other night?”

she final y asked.

“I just got the impression you didn’t want me there anymore.”

“Because I didn’t sit with you on the hammock?”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

Rachel laughed and was glad when he did too. “Okay, so I messed up. Sorry about that.”

“Forgiven.” He stopped at the top of the stairs. Suddenly, he reached for her hand. His was warm, strong, as he lifted hers and looked at her nails.

“They look good,” he said.

“No air bubbles.”

“I was hoping you’d broken one or one was lifting.”

He ran his thumb across her knuckles and she almost lost her train of thought. “Uh. They’re stil perfect. I can come into the salon anyway.”

Gently he let her hand go. “I have some clients who come in for a hand massage.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded and started down the stairs. “But you could so easily do that yourself.” She stopped suddenly. “Hey, I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Would you consider coming with me to Countryside Manor and giving hand massages?”

“Sure.” She looked so genuinely pleased, pleasure seeped into him. He couldn’t wait to spend more time with her.

“When?”

“Tomorrow night. Wil you be able to get off work?”

“I didn’t think of that.” But he’d do whatever it took. “I’l be there.”

“Meet me at six.”

“I’l pick you up?” He offered as they parted in the hal .

“Okay.”

Rachel stood in front of her mirror with a frown working its way onto her face. She never thought much about what she wore to Countryside Manor.

With Cort picking her up, she mused over her jeans and long-sleeved black tee.

Maybe black is too goth
. But then she looked great in the color. In fact, color was tel ing. Guys that liked her in black were often the ones she clicked with.