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“There it is,” she sighs.
I mentally roll my eyes and reclaim the towel in her limp hands. “Concentrate,” I order, swinging it around my shoulders.
“Right.” She claims her scissors and gets to work, making small talk that I’m not interested in. It’s your usual salon chitchat bullshit, like holidays and weekend plans. It’s pretty intolerable at the best of times, but now, when I just want her to be done and fuck off, it’s becoming unbearable. I’m fidgeting, zoning out from her blabbering.
Lainey, Lainey, Lainey.
“Done,” Betsy, declares, pulling the towel away and blowing a cool stream of hair across my naked shoulders. It’s a move I wouldn’t have minded pre-Lainey. Where’s that stupid little brush she uses in the salon? She smirks knowingly as she makes quick work of sweeping the floor.
“Thanks.” I go to stand, but two palms push into my shoulders and stop me rising.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asks, circling me quickly and straddling my lap. “I said I was done with your hair. I’m far from done with you.” Her mouth is on mine before I can blink, her tongue trying to gain access.
“Betsy, wait.” I take the tops of her arms, pulling my head back.
“I’ve waited long enough.” She fights me and links her arms around my neck, forcing me to her.
“For fuck’s sake, no!”
She withdraws, looking at me with an expression somewhere between shock and disgust. I grit my teeth and wait for the hissy fit I know is on its way. Her eyes narrow and she grinds down into my lap, slowly and surely. “Why aren’t you hard?”
“I’m not in the mood,” I answer quickly, hearing how ridiculous that sounds.
“Give me a break.”
I should give myself a break, too. Part of me is screaming to get a fucking grip and do what I do best. Fuck her. Hard. Own it. But the other part, the fucked-up misplaced part, is telling me not to. Crazy as it might seem, I’d feel like I’m betraying Lainey. And I hate myself for thinking like that.
Just fuck her. Just take what’s in front of you. After all, Lainey is.
I growl, suddenly fuming at the notion, and reach for Betsy’s top, yanking it up her body. And I kiss her. Hard. Possessively.
You’ll regret it, Tyler. Two wrongs don’t make a right.
Fuck. I drop Betsy and push her off my lap, getting up and stalking away. “Leave.”
“What?”
“Just go,” I roar, slamming the kitchen door behind me. I head for the nearest wall, feeling an excruciating sense of hopelessness powering to the surface, and smash my fist into the plaster. “Fuck!” My knuckles split, and I shake my hand on continuous curses, circling on the spot like a deranged fool. “Fucking bastard.”
“I’ll be going then.” Betsy’s quiet declaration seeps into the craziness of my mind, and I turn to see her, top half still bare, edging toward the door. She looks wary, but the guilt I’m feeling for losing the plot has no chance of puncturing the anger consuming me.
I close my eyes and encase my bleeding fist with my good hand, applying some pressure to curb the pain. It works. I only wish I could adopt the same approach to the aching muscle in my chest. “I’ll call you,” I breathe like an idiot, following my normal etiquette. I’m a fucking joke. Nothing about my life in the past few weeks has been normal.
“Don’t bother,” Betsy replies.
I open my eyes and find her standing by the door, flapping out her top. “Betsy, I’m sorry. I’ve had a . . . a . . .” How can I put it? “Strange few weeks.” That’s the understatement of the century. I feel like my world is spiraling, and I’m all out of control.
She shakes her head, bemused, and pulls the door open. “You owe me forty quid.” Turning away from me, she hurries out, fighting to get her top on. “Oh, sorry,” she splutters, just as she disappears from view.
“No worries.” Lainey’s calm voice drifts into my apartment and reaches me on the other side of the room, and my eyes nearly fall out of my head when she appears in my doorway, but her head is turned to watch Betsy rush away. Instinct loads my mouth with a ton of words, all those of a defensive nature—It’s not what you think. Nothing happened. She’s my hairdresser—but my excuses remain on the tip of my tongue, unwilling to spill out and back me up. A woman just ran out of my apartment half-dressed. I’m standing here shirtless. This couldn’t look any more suspicious, but despite nothing happening between Betsy and me, my need to tell Lainey disappears the second I remind myself of why I’m angry. She’s out there, spreading the love, blatantly and with no conscience, while I’m fighting to keep myself together.
