Page 24 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“Hell yeah, we do. Best salon in the city,” Lessy sings happily, swinging a pair of scissors around like they couldn’t kill any of us with one wrong move.

We have the longest day, but just like every day when you get to work with your best friends, it’s full of laughs and happiness.

Bea manages to duck out before our final clients so she can rest her swollen feet, but Rachel, Lessy, and I are here to the very end.

“I’m beat,” Rachel says as I lock the front door behind our last client of the day, while she flops into Lessy’s hairdressing chair.

“Tell me about it. But this is only day one. We’ve got the rest of the week to manage yet.”

Rachel looks at me, and I look at Lessy, and as if we planned it, we all cry, “Cocktails!” in unison before collapsing into delusional laughter.

“There’s a very good chance we’ll have lost our minds by the time the end of the week gets here,” Lessy points out.

“I’d rather that than have the flu,” Rachel states.

“Right. Ten minutes to clean up and grab your stuff. Margs and tacos are calling.”

That gets them both moving, and ten minutes later, we’ve turned out the lights, locked the door behind us, and we’re on our way to the Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks over. It’s a regular stop of ours, and as we walk, I message the manager to preorder our drinks.

By the time we walk inside, my feet have a heartbeat all of their own, and the only thing I can think about—other than the margarita with my name on it—is sitting down.

“Oh my god, Si,” Rachel squeals when she sees our drinks waiting.

“Best boss ever,” Lessy agrees, both of them taking a huge sip of their cocktails.

“Damn, I needed that.” Rachel sighs as she sinks back in her chair.

“It might be hard going at times, but I’d never change my job,” I confess. “I love it.”

“Same,” both girls echo. “But maybe a little more help wouldn’t go amiss every now and then.”

“Sophia was a godsend today,” I say, mentioning Lessy’s sister. She spent four hours answering calls, changing appointments, and greeting clients with a big smile while we all ran around like headless chickens.

“She loved it. Happy to help whenever she can.”

“And we’ll be taking her up on that.”

We have a great night unwinding from our manic day, but we don’t linger at the restaurant; we’re all too keen to get home to relax before doing it all over again tomorrow.

I’m dead on my feet by the time I push through my front door into my apartment.

I’m used to living alone, I have for years, but now that Garrett has left, I can’t help feeling a little lonely. It was nice having someone here to hang out with, even if he spent most of his evenings out with old friends and new hookups.

Silence greets me as I walk through to my bedroom, strip out of my clothes, and step into my shower.

It’s hands down the best shower I’ve ever had in my life. The head is huge, raining water down on me that’s so powerful it makes my skin tingle. It could possibly be the best thing in the entire apartment.

When I’m worried my legs are going to give out on me, I wrap myself in my big fluffy robe, work through my skin care routine and brush my hair before curling up on the couch with a bottle of water and my cell.

I’ve got a whole stream of messages from Bea checking in on how the rest of the day went. I reply, giving her the CliffsNotes, but refrain from broaching the idea of expansion for now. I think that probably needs to be an in-person conversation. And then once I’ve found a home makeover show on TV, I set about doomscrolling on my cell.

It’s calm and peaceful for almost an hour. Then, the banging starts.

“For fuck’s sake.” I groan, hating that there’s something that annoys me about my new slice of heaven. This apartment is supposed to be perfect.

I turn the volume up to try to drown it out. It kinda works, but every now and then⁠—

Thud.