Field of Pleasure by Farrah Rochon

tonight,” he returned.
    â€œThanks,” she said. “Goodbye, Jared.”
    â€œGoodbye, Chyna.”
    After a beat, she said, “Are you hanging up, or what?”
    â€œYou go first,” Jared prompted.
    â€œAnd we’ve both just landed back in the sixth grade,” she said with a droll snort. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She disconnected the call.
    He’d smiled so much in the last ten minutes, his jaw ached, yet Jared still couldn’t wipe the stupid grin from his face.
    He went into the kitchen and pulled out the turkey on wheat Maggie had left in the fridge for him. Unwrappingthe clear plastic wrap, Jared ambled over to the phone on the counter and dialed into his voice mail.
    He deleted the first three calls, two from his agent and another from the building concierge. The fourth was from his mom, letting him know she’d made it to Okinawa where she was spending the month with his sister, Sharon, while his navy doctor brother-in-law served his fourth tour in Afghanistan.
    He skipped to the fifth missed call. It was from his business partner, Patrick.
    â€œWe got the go-ahead,” Patrick’s excited voice said over splotches of cell phone static. “Inspection is Monday. I’m meeting the contractor at noon tomorrow. Come over if you have time.”
    Jared finished off his sandwich and headed to his bedroom to change. He’d made an attempt to help out more with the Red Zone, but he was so used to being a silent partner in the many ventures he invested in, he had never gotten around to giving Patrick a hand. If he’d been thinking clearly, Jared would have gotten more involved. Helping Patrick bring his concept of an upscale, sports-themed barbershop to life would have helped to keep his mind off Samantha these past six months.
    Of course, now that he’d started whatever it was he and Chyna had going on, he didn’t need anything else to occupy his mind. She had taken up all available space and then some.
    Jared locked up his penthouse and hopped into his car. A half hour later, he spotted Patrick’s car parked in the alley beside the two-story brownstone Jared had purchased in Upper Manhattan’s Morningside Heights neighborhood. A contractor had gutted the interior and completely renovated it.
    Patrick Foley greeted him just inside the entrance tothe barbershop. Jared clasped his college roommate on the shoulder. “Give me the grand tour.”
    â€œPrepare yourself, my man,” Patrick said with a gigantic grin. They set out on a tour of the shop, Patrick pointing out the features that had been added since the last time Jared had visited. “The waiting area has four televisions dedicated to four main sports—football, basketball, baseball and hockey. Unless there’s a major golf or tennis tournament going on.”
    They walked up three steps to the main area of the barbershop. Dark hardwood floors gleamed. The right side housed seven barber stations separated by clear, shoulder-high partitions. Each station was comprised of a heated leather massage chair, a stainless-steel sink, and a nineteen-inch flat-screen television extending eye-level from a long metal arm.
    The left wall held a bar with a movie-theater caliber popcorn maker and three beer taps, along with two additional stations for shaving and a towel warmer the size of a refrigerator.
    â€œI would live here,” Jared said.
    Patrick laughed. “Well, there’s an extra bedroom upstairs. You are always welcome to it if Sam ever puts you—” His friend stopped. “Damn, man, I’m sorry.”
    â€œDon’t sweat it,” Jared said.
    â€œIt’s just that you two were together for so long, it’s easy to forget that she’s gone.”
    For months he’d had that same problem, but Jared realized he hadn’t thought much about Samantha this past week. Not since he’d looked across the practice field at the