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"Really committing to the mermaid look," he said as he flicked open a cape, and draped it around my shoulders, reaching under to free my hair.
"So did you give him a ride in that hearse of yours?" Kennedy asked, half-distracted by the blowout she was doing, and therefore clearly missing my 'don't go there' signals.
"Well, since my horse-drawn carriage was in the shop..."
"It came with a coffin when she got it," Benny informed everyone around us, smirking because if there was anything Benny liked, it was being in the know.
"No shit," Sugar said, lips quirked up. And, damn it, I knew this because my eyes totally found his face in the mirror. I mean, not that anyone would blame me. It would take superhuman skills to avoid looking at that perfect freaking face of his. "Where is it now?"
"Bet she sleeps in it," Benny said as he carefully parted my hair.
"I do not," I objected, but only because I was a sleep roller. "I have it set up in my guest room as a dog bed."
"In case anyone is not aware at this point," Benny announced to anyone within earshot, including the girl, Aven, leading someone into the back room for one of her specialty facials things she had finally talked Kennedy into letting her do instead of waxing. And after having to do my own wax at home, I really missed her ass. I mean, I don't know how familiar you are with pouring hot wax on your lady bits and ripping the little hairs out with a strip of paper. But let me tell you from personal experience, I am pretty sure I ripped half my labia off with it. It was truly a skill for which I did not have a hand at. "Peyton is a character."
I couldn't be absolutely certain, mind you, but I was pretty sure I heard Suga Suga mumble Got that right under his breath. And if I wasn't mistaken - and I usually wasn't when it came to the hot-as-shit opposite sex - he said it in a way that sounded a bit, well, interested.
Of course, I didn't want him to be interested. Or, more accurately, I knew I shouldn't want him to be interested. Because of all of the reasons I let roll around my head the night before while I was not sleeping. But there was no denying the little swirling sensation in my stomach that said I did want him to be interested... and that I liked it more than I should have.
Why did all the hot guys have to be outlaw bikers? And hitmen? And hired muscle? And mob members?
And why did my damn sister have to get herself shacked up with a man who had a loanshark family who didn't approve of me dating outlaw bikers, hitmen, hired muscle, and mob members?
With a sigh that I hoped only I could hear, I forced my eyes closed as Benny went to work. I thought about what I was going to wear to go out later with Savvs. And what I could force her to wear that wasn't a roomy tee and jeans. And where we would go. What we would drink. If there would be some hottie there that could distract me from the man just a few feet behind me who - when I occasionally peeked - was either glued to his phone with a tight set to his jaw, or glancing over at me, not even bothering to look away when he saw me catching him looking.
An hour and a half later, I was dyed, washed, dried, and styled, but didn't have the usual light and happy feeling I got when trying something new with my hair. I just felt sluggish and frustrated. Sexually. And otherwise.
And since I was not someone who often suffered from down moods, it was weighing heavy on me as I paid, avoided Sugar's gaze, and left the salon, making my way to grab something to bring to the library with me for my short shift that I spent reading a snuff erotica that did manage to lift my mood for a few hours.
As I drove home, though, it was still settled there, heavy and oppressive, something Jamie picked up on and kept casting drawn-together-brow looks at me as I moved around the apartment getting ready and waiting for Savea to show.
"You coming tonight?" I asked after I finally got Savea into the sexiest outfit I could make her wear - super tight black skinny jeans and a wine-colored tank top that slipped up ever so slightly in the front to reveal a sliver of stomach. I had slipped into a deep purple club dress, heavy on the down-to-fuck vibe even if I knew I was forcing myself to feel that way rather than feeling so organically.
