“Thank you. I had lots of practice withmy clients in East LA before I opened this shop.” Armandotucks the blade into his leather satchel, right next to combs of all sizes, then grabs a tray with lotions and potions. “Pick your scent.”
I sit up a little higher and smell the bottles. “This cedar one is nice.”
“That’s citrus,” he says with a chuckle.
“Citrus, cedar. They’re both in the C family,” I say.
“Close enough,” he teases, then pats some aftershave on my face.
When he’s done, he holds up a hand mirror, and says with a wicked smile, “Go Mercenaries.”
I shake his hand. “Hell yeah.” I glance around his busy joint.“And I'll be back.”
Carter’s done a minute later, so I corral him with our barbers and snap a pic, then post it on social. Stephen should be happy with that. Theonlything I’m doing wrong is hanging with a rival, so I caption it that way.Hanging with the enemy, kicking it old school.
We take off, heading to the main drag in Venice to meet Maddox for lunch. He wanted to catch up on some sponsorship deals for both of us. Carter flew down for his mom’s birthday party this weekend, then he’ll head back to San Francisco to go into the final week of practice.
“How was your date last night?” Carter asks as we pass a weather-worn bungalow, its shutters beaten from the ocean air over the years.
“It was the best and it was the worst,” I say.
“Are you Dickens now?”
“You’ve heard of Dickens?”
“Yes, asshole. I studied literature in college,” Carter says with a scoff.
“And they made you study Dickens?”
“Dude, we were in the same English class.”
“I tried to block out memories of Dickens.”
He gazes skyward. “Why do I ask you how anything is? Hell, why do I share nice things with you? Why, universe, why?”
“That is an excellent question,” I say, then I dropthe give-him-hell routine and go for the truth. Carter has always been the easiest to talk to about dating. More so than Patrick or even Milo. Carter just wears his heart on his sleeve, the big teddy bear. “…and it turns out, womp, womp, she works for my team now,” I say, finishing the story of woe.
He frowns. “Oh, man. That is the worst bad news ever. Almost makes me want to pay for your beer for the rest of time.”
That’s friendship for you in the face of the universe’s seriously rude sense of humor. “I know, and I really like her. Is it weird to like someone that quickly?” I ask as we turn on Abbot Kinney, passing a trendy men’s clothing shop.
Carter shoves a hand through his messy hair. “Honestly, I think it’s weird if you don’t. Especially after two dates. And your first date was all day long. I’d hope you knew you liked her after that much time. It’s a vibe thing, you know?”
I nod, glad he gets it. I had a feeling he’d be the right one to talk to. “Yeah, so it sucks that nothing more can happen.”
With a hopeful shrug, Carter says, “Maybe in the off-season?”
“She’ll still work for the team in the off-season,” I point out.
“True, true. I was trying to find a silver lining.”
I pat his shoulder. “I appreciate that. But I guess the silver lining is I am going to laser in on footballand only football. First game is next weekend. Your sorry ass will be back in San Francisco by then.”
“Fuck yes. Gotta get started on my plans for a threepeat,” he says, running his fingers through his hair so the sunlight glints off his two rings—his signature move. And hell, I’d do the same if I had even one ring to flash.
“Asshole,” I mutter, then we reach the Sunlight Café, a new bowl-centric spot with stark white tables and more kale than a garden patch.
Inside, Maddox orders for us, pays, then sits us down. “When I signed you both, I hardly knew it was a package deal,” he teases.