Hot Pickle: A Best Friend's Sister Romantic Comedy Read online

Camryn stands, stepping away from me. “Let’s get you sprayed. I have a feeling if we talk about it too much, it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

  She’s right.

  “Into the tent, you scalawag. Time to hose you down.”

  I stand up and set the towels on the stool.

  Everything seems to be in order, and the pouch is in place.

  Whew.

  We can go slow. Not address the attraction too fast.

  It will be fine.

  But when I turn around to glance at Camryn, I’m pretty sure—actually, I’m certain—she’s checking out my naked ass.

  14

  Camryn

  The next day, I find excuses to text Max. I tell him I forgot to mention that I felt the white patch was perfectly fixable.

  I send him a reminder of our appointment on Thursday.

  I suggest he replace his loofah every couple of weeks.

  I try not to stare at my phone, waiting for replies.

  At first, his responses are normal, what you would expect from a client. Thank you, got it, will do.

  But when I text him, look forward to seeing you tomorrow night, his tone changes.

  He writes:

  Throughout the day, whether I’m instructing the staff, helping out on the sandwich line, or greeting customers, you are constantly on my mind. I often look at the door, wondering if you will miraculously appear there, sunshine in your hair, a happy smile on your lips.

  I set down the phone. Whoa.

  I’m not sure how to respond. It’s like he saw through my ruse of client texts and gave me what I wanted.

  And he is what I want.

  I think.

  It’s a quiet workday for me, since it’s midweek before the next set of competitions. So I message my friend Sofia, who I’ve known since my eyebrow waxing days, to see if she’s available to hang out.

  We settle on a seedy bar on South First. Sofia is already there when I arrive, her glossy black hair falling in waves down her back.

  She chats with the bartender, who looks like he wants to gobble her up.

  I can tell from this distance that she’s not interested, even though he seems like her type. Tall, lanky, easily amused.

  Sofia is perpetually single. Her family is large and friendly, and I have often spent a happy Sunday in the chaos, chili rellenos being stuffed at the table, and children running amok. But she feels oppressed by it all. She likes quiet. Men always want to get all up in her space, so she dumps them by date three.

  I slide into the seat beside her. “Hey friend,” I say, a mischievous bolt striking through me. “Where’s your husband? Or did you leave this one, too?”

  The bartender makes a face and steps back. “Let me know if you need anything.” He takes off down the bar like we’re on fire.

  Sofia laughs. “You’re the best anti-wingman.”

  “But that one seemed like your type.”

  She runs a finger along the rim of the glass. “Too pushy. How’s the tanning business today?”

  “Light. But I have a hectic Saturday with two competitions.”

  “Any hot guys you can toss my way?” She always asks, but I’m clear I’m never going to set her up with any of my clients. She would break their hearts, and my business model.

  “No. But one seems interested in me.”

  “Oh? Does dear brother Franklin know about this?”

  I wave at the bartender to try to get a drink, but he ignores us. Great. They always shoot the messenger. “He’s his training partner.”

  Sofia smacks her hand on the bar. “Get out of town! And he hasn’t already castrated this dude for looking at you?”

  “I don’t think Franklin has figured out this one wants to be more than a client.”

  Sofia smacks the bar again. “Camryn! Are you banging some hot guy and haven’t told me?”

  Several customers at the bar turn our way. Sofia likes to be heard. I’m used to it.

  “I’m not banging him. I’m just saying he’s interested. But because of the Franklin situation, I’m nervous about it.”

  “That brother of yours needs to stay out of your business.”

  “I know. But I can’t change how he is.”

  “He clocked that guy last year for talking to you.”

  “I know.” A second bartender, a woman this time, appears from the back and walks along the bar. I signal for her attention. Maybe I’ll get a drink after all.

  “So, tell me all about him,” Sofia says.

  The new bartender approaches, and I order a hard cider before launching into my explanation of Max.

  “He’s a heavyweight. Pure muscle. Gorgeous. Kind.”

  “Oh my God! Does he have a brother?”

  “Two. He’s not unknown around here.”

  Sofia narrows her eyes. “You’re not dating a politician, are you? Because I don’t think I can handle it if you’re dating a politician.”

  “Why did you go for politics? We’re in L.A! He could be an actor.”

  Sofia shakes her head. “No. You don’t go for boys like that.”

  “All right, fine. He owns a deli. L.A. Pickle.”

  “Oh! Right. The Pickle brothers. What’s the name of this one?”

  “Max. He’s forever bringing me sandwiches when he comes for tans.”

  “That’s sweet. I might prefer it if he brought diamonds, though.”

  I elbow her. “We’re not even dating.”

  “But you’re thinking about it.”

  The bartender sets my drink down, and I wrap both hands around the glass. “So, what should I do? Keep this relationship on the down-low? Lie to my brother? Or avoid this man and the drama?”

  Sofia takes a sip, pondering. “You like this one.”

  “I think so.”

  “And he seems to be onboard with not giving your brother any savory details?”

  “He didn’t tell him anything at all until Franklin asked him about his tan.”

  Sofia twirls her glass. “They’re training partners. That’s one hell of a secret to keep.”

  “We’re doing it so far.”

  “I guess you’ve seen him naked if you’re tanning him, right?”

  “Several times.”

  Sofia shakes her head. “Girl, you know that’s not even fair.”

  “What’s not fair?”

  “You got your hands all over his hard body. He has to prance around naked for you.”

  “It can’t be helped. It’s part of my job.”

  She nods. “It’s still weird, though. Can you pawn him off on some other tanning artist if you’re going to date him?”

  “And let her have her hands all over his naked body?”

  “You’re right. Forget I said that. But I wonder about all that nakedness affecting whether or not you have good chemistry. It’s hard to avoid feeling squishy about a hot naked dude in your living room. You basically control him. You tell him when to get naked, right? When he can cover up?”

  “That’s how it works.”

  “And he probably knows that if he doesn’t obey you, a bad tan can affect his score and his career.”

  Well, hell. I hadn’t thought about it that way.

  Sofia sips her drink. “Until you two figure out what’s what, you should stay professional. Classy. Now, if you want to bang him, then tell him. And get your clothes off, too.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “When do you see him again?”

  “Tomorrow night. We have one more base tan, then he’ll do his final round on Saturday before he competes.”

  “Is there some rule about not having sex on competition day?”

  “You watch too many old Barbara Streisand movies.”

  “No! It’s a thing.”

  “It is not a thing. Besides, we’re not having sex! He’s my client.”

  My phone buzzes with a message. I glance down. It’s Max. My cheeks heat up.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “Just
confirming appointments.”

  “You give that phone to me.”

  I try to snatch it, but she’s too fast.

  She holds it in front of her face and reads aloud. “I’ve got three flavors of pickles here and trying to decide which one you might like best tomorrow night. The sweet one? Let the sugar lie on your tongue?” Sofia looks up at me. “Girl, this is not a professional client conversation.”

  “Give it back.”

  She holds the phone away. “No. This is too good. Here’s what he says next. ‘Or should it be spicy, something that dances in your mouth?’” She gives me a squinty eye. “That’s some crazy shit, girl.” She looks at the phone again. “Holy crap. He says, ‘Or should it be one straight-up hot pickle?’”

  She passes the phone back to me. “If someone was writing me messages like that, I would be all over it. You figure it out. You hear me?”

  I look down at the message. Out of context, I can see how it looks. Like we’re already a thing. It’s suggestive, no matter how you slice it. But in the context of all the things we’ve said to each other, it fits. Max and I have developed a funny way of expressing our strange situation that belongs solely to us.

  And I like it.

  15

  Max

  I run late Thursday evening getting to Camryn’s. A million complications came up at the deli, and at the last minute Camryn texts me to bring my competition trunks.

  So I have to swing by my house and pick them up.

  I’m confused on that score. I thought she told me we needed an even base until the last day. But she’s the professional.

  When I arrive at Camryn’s apartment, she’s dressed differently. She has the usual yoga pants on, this time in a cool sea green. But instead of a fitted yoga top, she wears a loose T-shirt, tied in a knot at the thighs like a big balloon of cotton.

  I’m not sure what it means. I sent her several tentative messages feeling out our relationship beyond the tanning. She’s only responded in emojis, so I’m as clueless now as I was before.

  Still, I’m here for a tan, not to ogle her.

  “Hey, Max,” she says. “Did you bring the trunks?”

  “I had to run home for them. Sorry I’m late.”

  “That’s okay. You’re the last of the day, so it doesn’t matter if we run behind.”

  I consider a suggestive remark about how we have all the time in the world, but something about her demeanor keeps me quiet. Has she changed her mind? Did she decide it wasn’t worth the trouble of poking her brother’s ire?

  I head to the corner to change. “Should I go straight to the trunks?”

  “Yes, please. That way I can see where your tan is landing.”

  I step behind the screen. It’s a big deal that I’m getting dressed today. Or at least wearing something other than the modesty pouch. Maybe she needs to figure out if she has to fix that white patch or not. I shouldn’t be upset that I won’t be standing around with my dick hanging out.

  But something seems off.

  I undress and slide on the trunks. No need for a towel. This is exactly how I will go on stage in front of thousands of people in two days.

  A shot of nerves bolts through me. I don’t have anything at stake here other than competitive pride, but I am nervous. Franklin will be at the amateur show, so I won’t have my best bud with me.

  I haven’t confessed to anyone that I’m competing. So I don’t have anyone else to come along.

  Amy will be there for a pep talk before I go on stage. But mainly I’ll be dealing with my nerves on my own. At least I don’t have to worry about my tan. And other than this photo shoot Camryn talked about, I should know the drill.

  Camryn gives me a quick nod when I come out. “Excellent. Come over to the stool and let’s make sure everything is in good shape. I expect with a week’s worth of quality moisturizing, you’re going to be fine.”

  I take a seat. Even her voice sounds different, like I’m a stranger. A client.

  She takes a quick walk around me, only touching lightly in a few places. Lotion goes on one spot near the middle of my back.

  “That’s probably hard for me to reach,” I say.

  “You’re doing great,” she says. “Makes my job easy.”

  In no time flat, she’s leading me over to the tanning tent.

  “Did you want to check the pale patch?” I ask, kicking my knee out so she can see the inside of my thigh.

  “I think since the color rubs off so easily there, we will have to patch on the last day. I might send something with you in case you need to touch up at the end. I won’t be able to see you right before you go on.”

  She picks up the spray wand and steps forward, then stops, her lips all scrunched. “Can you roll that waistband down a little? And maybe lift them in the back to make sure we cross that tan line?”

  “Sure.”

  I fight with the tight trunks for a moment, trying to get the waistband to budge. It doesn’t want to move down. They are fitted to my skin.

  I hold out my hands in defeat. “I don’t think it’s gonna move. So, I guess that means it’s not an issue.”

  Camryn frowns. “I was afraid of that. This is a lot easier with the physique competitors with their loose trunks.”

  “I don’t mind doing the spray without the trunks,” I say. “The look is the important thing.” I give her a big grin to ease her mind. “I’m not shy.”

  But her face is as serious as it was when I arrived.

  “Let me give it a shot.” She sets the wand on the canister and tugs on my trunks. She succeeds in getting the back part up an inch, but the top won’t roll down no matter how hard she tugs.

  She sighs with frustration. “I’m going to turn around. You pull the trunks down and back up again. I need to see if they ever change position or if they’re steady in their spot.”

  Turn around? When she’s seen every inch of me before? I’m not sure what’s happening, but our old camaraderie is completely gone.

  Still, I do what she says. I slide the trunks down to my ankles, then pull them back up.

  “All good,” I say.

  She turns around. “Shoot. It’s lower than it was the first time. I can see the indentions in your skin from the elastic line.” She taps her bare foot in annoyance. “Okay. The trunks have to go. It probably has to do with your water percentage. Until you’re wearing them the way they’ll sit the whole day, like on Saturday morning, I can’t risk a tan line.”

  This is what she said before. I’m not sure what changed her mind. I grab the waistband, and I’m about to pull them down when she says, “Where’s your modesty pouch?”

  Okay. Something is up. “It’s in my bag.”

  “You might want to put it on behind the screen.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m halfway across the room before I decide that no, I’m going to hit this head-on. “Camryn, what’s going on? Why all the concern? We were joking about it last time. Did someone say something to you?” I couldn’t imagine who. I don’t tell a soul that I’m here or what goes on during my tanning sessions.

  Camryn opens her mouth, then closes it again. “Maybe I was acting inappropriately before.”

  She won’t meet my eyes. I walk up to her. “Camryn, I don’t think anything of the sort. But if you’re more comfortable with me being covered up, absolutely I will do it. The last thing I want to do is make you anxious.”

  That gets her attention. “I’m just, I don’t know. I got some advice. And I don’t know what to do.”

  I want to draw her into my arms, but I know it’s not the right thing at this moment. So I simply stand there. “When we’re here together,” I say, “it’s just you and me. We make the rules. We’re two adults in a professional relationship that partially depends on me getting naked. Even when I have a boner the size of New Jersey.”

  That gets her. She looks down at my trunks. “You don’t have one now.”

  “I’m about to if you keep looking at him.
”

  She rubs the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Okay. I’m fine. I’m sorry. This whole thing is complicated. I don’t want to screw up, or take advantage of you, or whatever.”

  This time I reach out and take her hand. “We’re fine. Coming here and getting naked for you is the highlight of my week.”

  Her laugh is the best thing I’ve heard in days. “Well, get out of those damn trunks, then.”

  “Should I still get the modesty pouch?”

  “We do need to cover your assets,” she says. “Trust me, it’s not pretty covered in tanning oil, especially when it starts to wear off in weird bits like spray tan leprosy.”

  “And…all boners contained,” I say with a laugh. “One modesty pouch, coming right up.”

  I step behind the screen to change, in deference to this hard conversation we’ve had.

  I don’t know what advice she’s been given, what made her feel guilty. It can’t be her brother. He would’ve punched my jaw over it.

  But I think I understand the root of the problem. She wants us to stay in a professional relationship. She just drew the line.

  So, as I tuck my junk in a pouch to protect it from her spray, I also tuck away my disappointment.

  She’s loud and clear. Now is not the time. I remain grateful I can rely on her to help me with my career. Maybe more will come.

  16

  Camryn

  My alarm clock buzzes way too early on Saturday morning.

  I force myself to sit up immediately, or I’ll be tempted to fall back asleep.

  Max is arriving in twenty minutes. And I have to prep him for his competition. Plus, Lora, another female competitor, right after.

  Then six appointments at the amateur open. A dash over to the invitational to do Dahlia.

  And of course, eat a sandwich with Max.

  Except…we arranged that date before our awkward tanning on Thursday.

  I sure messed that up.

  Were we still on for lunch?

  I slide on a pair of charcoal yoga pants and the navy top I laid out last night. Dark colors not easily stained by the oils I will be applying all day.