I’d thought about what the best approach would be while we were heading over, and I didn't think that question set off any red flags.
"Oh certainly, I can give you the last name on the card that was used to purchase the certificate. Would that help?" she asked with her same calm smile.
"That'd be great," I answered, handing it over to her. She typed away on her computer for a minute before smiling.
"All right, it looks like a Mr. Wilder purchased the certificate, but that was only a few days ago. Were you mistaken about when you received it?"
Her voice drifted out after the name “Wilder” passed her lips.
I couldn't even process the second half of her sentence.
Holy.
Mr. Wilder.
Liam-freaking-drop-my-panties-Wilder had taken the time to give me a belated birthday present.
My breathing sounded awkward when I finally muttered a response. "Oh, ha-ha, I guess I was confused about another gift certificate. Thanks."
I didn't even wait for her to say anything else before darting toward the changing room. I fumbled through the process of changing into a robe and slipping on the spa's sandals. My brain felt frozen in shock; like that bit of information had thrown a cog into my whole system.
When I caught up to Becca, she'd already changed into her robe and was lying with cucumbers on her eyes in the relaxation room.
"Is that you Kinsley?" she asked when the door closed behind me.
"Yep," I murmured, all of a sudden scared that she'd ask me about the gift certificate. I didn't want to tell her it was from Liam because I wasn’t sure what his motives were yet.
"These cucumbers burn. Isn't that weird? It's like they're so cold that they're freezing my eyes off."
Leave it up to Becca to make me crack up in the "relaxation room" of a spa.
"Take them off then, dufus."
She smiled but didn't move to sit up. "No. I want my money's worth."
I reclined next to her just as a spa attendant came in and offered us warm towels and jasmine-infused water. To our credit, we acted as civilized as possible until the attendant left the room. The second she was gone, I leaned over and ate one of Becca's cucumbers.
"Ew! That's sick. That had my eye cooties on it."
"Tasted minty," I joked and waggled my eyebrows.
“Hey – have you thought at all about what you’re going to major in?” she asked.
I groaned. She’d just asked the dreaded question. “Oh god, do we have to talk about this at the spa? I have no clue. I just want to play soccer.”
“Yeah, same.”
“We register for classes in a few weeks, right?”
“Yup,” she nodded, taking a sip of her water. “We have like three months left to enjoy sweet freedom.”
“You mean three months to go to as many parties as possible.”
“Exactly. We won’t have time once the semester starts.”
Just then, the door clicked open and a pretty, petite woman stepped in quietly. "Ms. Bryant, if you're ready, I'll be taking you to your waxing room."
What?! I’d had no time to relax my chakra. If anything, my chakra felt even more panicked. What kind of spa was this?
"Can she come with me?!" I begged, pointing to Becca.
Becca groaned. “I don’t need a full-frontal view of your no-no zone.”
"Not like on that side of the table,” I clarified, “I just I don't want to go in by myself."
The petite woman smiled and nodded. "If you'd like your friend to hold your hand that's perfectly fine, but I promise it won't be too bad. I'm very good at what I do."
She sounded extremely confident, which was good considering she was about to be working with hot wax around a very important part of my body. Would it be rude to ask to see her degree? She better have graduated from Harvard Cosmetology. Yale Cosmetology just wasn’t what it used to be.
I reluctantly followed her toward the waxing room while Becca giggled next to me. She was enjoying my misery way too much.
Once we were inside the room, the petite woman walked me through what to expect and I tried not to break Becca's hand off in the process.
"You have to ease up. She's not even starting yet and my hand went numb about two minutes ago."
"Okay, sorry, sorry. Just tell me when she’s about to go," I apologized, staring up at the ceiling and feeling like I was sweating out of every pore on my body. "Why did I agree to this? I've never had any complaints in that area before. I mean, I'm not like a wildebeest, but I groom myself... I swear. Oh god, do I look like an Amazon compared to the other women that come in here?" At that point I was just rambling to keep myself preoccupied. I could hear the petite woman shuffling around and I automatically imagined the worst. Like what you do at the dentist's office when your eyes are closed and they start up the drill.