Waxing is for Pussies

“Have you ever had a bikini wax?” Billie asked as she ate.

I laughed. “Do I look like someone who gets waxed?”

With a shrug, she said, “I don’t know. You got a pedicure once.”

“From you,” I added as she lifted a piece of sushi saturated in soy sauce to her mouth. “I just wanted to meet you. Every time I tried to say hi on the street, I chickened out. I get nervous talking to beautiful girls.”

Billie smiled as she chewed. “Want one?”

I waved away the sushi. “Nah, I already ate, but thanks.”

Shaking her pretty head, she leaned forward to kiss my cheek. I knew she’d have left a big red lipstick stain in her wake, but I left it for the moment. “Not sushi, sweety.” She cooed like a crafty little dove. “A bikini wax. Want one?”

Without meaning to, I laughed out loud. There were so many reasons to say no, I didn’t know where to begin. “What, you mean at the salon? Because I’m pretty sure your boss just banned me for life.”

“We could do it after hours,” she said with a sneaky grin. “I’m a key holder.”

What other excuses could I come up with? “I’ve heard it hurts like hell.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” She spread some wasabi on her sushi and topped it with pickled ginger before setting it in a pool of soy sauce. “You have how many tattoos? I think you can handle a little hot wax.”

She sure wasn’t making it easy for me to resist the call of the wax. I tried to think up a better excuse than, “I’m a pussy and I can’t take the pain,” but it wasn’t happening.

“Besides,” she went on, “I think you’d taste great bare. My lips would like it.” When she winked at me, my jaw swung open. Hell, yeah! My lips would like it too! “And—who knows?—you might just enjoy the process.”

Rising from the footstool, she pulled down on the hem of the black cotton dress that served as her uniform. The one last piece of sushi, she left in front of me in its plastic box. I stared at it in displaced awe. After tiptoeing to the door, she turned around and said, “Come down after hours. We’ll have a good time.”