Cleo pulls back, her eyes bright with excitement. “And just in time for my root touch-up.”
Mercy claps her hands together. “Perfect timing! Pinky, why don’t you go hang up your coat and put your bag in the break room while I mix Cleo’s color? Then you can chit-chat while I work my magic on this wild one’s hair.”
I nod eagerly and head to the break room Mercy pointed out earlier. It’s a cozy space with a small table, a fridge, and a coffee maker that looks like it costs a mint.
Hanging up my coat on one of the hooks by the door, I tuck my bag into a cubby.
When I get back to the main floor, Mercy has Cleo caped and is starting to section off her hair.
“So,” Cleo says, catching my eye in the mirror, “still loving all this snow, Florida girl?”
I wrinkle my nose. “It was cool at first, but now I’m over it.”
Cleo laughs. “Congratulations, you’re officially a St. Louis girlie now. First stage is excitement, second stage is resentment.”
“What’s the third stage?” I ask, leaning against the counter.
“Hibernation,” Mercy answers with a grin. “You stock up on hot chocolate and coffee cake, and refuse to leave the house until April.”
We all laugh, and I feel some of the tension I’ve been carrying melt away. These women are so easy to be around, so welcoming. It’s a far cry from the nervous tiptoeing I did around the Jacksonville clubhouse, always afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing.
As Mercy applies color to Cleo’s roots, Cleo’s eyes find mine in the mirror again.
“So,” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye, “how are things going with Rambler?”
I can’t help the dreamy sigh that escapes me. “So good.”
“Oh?” Cleo raises an eyebrow, clearly fishing for details.
“He, um...” I bite my lip, a blush creeping up my cheeks. “He made me his ol’ lady.”
Cleo squeals so loud that Mercy almost drops her color brush. “Oh my god! That’s amazing!”
“Which one’s Rambler?” Mercy asks.
“He’s a nomad. I don’t think you’ve met him,” Cleo explains.
Mercy shoots me a curious look. “You tamed the Nomad, huh? Good for you, girl. I’ve known most of the Bastard Saints for years. They’re all amazing men.”
My heart swells at their words. I still can’t believe that Aaron chose me.
“So that means you’re here to stay?” Cleo asks, her eyes hopeful.
I smile, feeling a certainty I haven’t felt in a long time. “Looks that way.”
“Well, hot damn,” Mercy says with a grin. “We’d better make sure my girl gets that license transferred fast, then.”
My smile widens.My girl. I like the sound of that.
The rest of the day flies by. Mercy shows me around the salon, explains their booking system, and introduces me to the products they use. I help with shampoos, blow-dries, and mixing colors when the girls start falling behind.
By the time the sun starts to set, I’m exhausted but happier than I’ve been in a really long time.
When Cleo left hours ago, she promised she’d see me later for girls’ night at the Underground. The thought of going to the club’s fight venue makes me nervous, but I’m excited to spend more time with Cleo, Demi, and McKenna.
I’m sweeping up hair from around Mercy’s station when the bell above the door jingles. I look up, and my heart does a little flip when I see Aaron standing there in his cut, looking like sex on legs.
The women in the salon seem to agree. One client under the dryer actually whistles at him, and another one stops mid-sentence to stare.
