My jaw tensed when Jenni gave me the same excuse she's given me the past two times I’ve asked her out.She doesn’t date players.I don’t want to date her; I want her underneath me. That’s why I went in all gung-ho. I knew the instant I got my hands on her, her defensive wall would crumble.
I was right.
One innocent peck on her neck, and she was melting under my embrace. If we weren’t being spied on by Slater, I reckon I could have taken her on the very beach we were sitting on. Unfortunately, no amount of spark could stop me from feeling Slater’s furious wrath burning a hole in the back of my head.
Confident I had a night with Jenni in the bag, I jumped up from the sand and made my way to Emily and Noah. I nodded at Slater on the way past, ensuring he was aware I knew he was watching.
I waited in my truck for over thirty minutes before Jenni showed up. When I noticed she was with Slater, I figured it was best for me to stay in my truck until he left. It was only when Jenni wrapped her arms around his neck did I feel the need to mark my territory.
I glared at Slater, warning him to back the fuck off. Jenni may not be mine, but she sure as fuck isn’t going to be his either. When Jenni’s lusty eyes took in the sticker on the back of my truck, I gave her a flirty wink. I had every intention of making her scream my name the instant she got her ass in my truck. But for some unknown fucking reason, she left me hanging.
Although my ego is still feeling the sting of her rejection, it will only take a couple of minutes to recover. Then. . . then nothing will stop me.
I just need to get her alone.
* * *
My plan would be a lot simpler if Noah and Emily did anythingwithout our bandmates. Every time I turn up to one of their lame ass BBQs the past three months, Slater and Marcus are there.
Marcus is okay, but Slater. . . he’s a fucking thorn in my backside. He keeps himself so firmly attached to Jenni, he must watch her pee to ensure I don’t get her alone. He never lets her out of his sight—not once. He’s worse than a fucking leech.
Do you remember when you were a kid and you desperately wanted the latest toy or gadget? You did everything in your power to get it. Well, that’s the best way I can explain my wish to bed Jenni. I want it; I need it, and I’ll do anything to get it.
This is why I’ve decided drastic action needs to be taken.
* * *
“I'd like a haircut, please, and I want her to do it.” I point to Jenni, who is in the back of the salon sweeping up hair from the floor.
The lady manning the counter at Aunt Dee’s Hairdressing Salon cranks her neck to Jenni before returning her eyes to me. “She's only an apprentice.”
“That’s fine,” I reply a little too quickly.
My plan was to act cool, not desperate, but that flew out the window the instant I saw Jenni. Even doing something as simple as sweeping hair into a dustbin is a riveting visual.
My heart leaps out of my chest when the lady behind the counter screeches, “Jen, you have a customer!”
Her nasally voice shreds my eardrums and apparently kickstarts Jenni’s heart. She leaps up from her crouched position before skipping to the front of the salon. Her broad grin vanishes when she spots me standing behind the counter, and her brisk pace slows. After crossing her arms in front of her chest, she raises her brow. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. The angry sneer crinkling her forehead speaks volumes. She’s pissed.
Just when I think she’s going to toss me to the curb, she nudges her head to the black salon chair she’s standing next to. The lady manning the counter stalks me when I span the checkered floor separating us. She’s loving the tension. Me. . . not so much.
The closer I get to Jenni, the more her eyes slit. “I just want a trim,” I inform her, talking through the brick lodged in my throat.
Not speaking a word, she grabs my shoulders and yanks me into the chair. While spinning the chair to face the mirror, she places a black apron over my torso. She fastens the straps so tight, she cuts off my circulation. Wheezing, I yank the material away from my neck so I can breathe unaided. With a smug grin, she snatches a water bottle off the cart. She drenches my hair and face before dragging a comb through my blond curls. She doesn’t stop for knots; she just rips straight through them.
Once my hair sits flat on my head, she moves the scissors in real close to my scalp. I freak the fuck out.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
I stare at her in the mirror, praying to god she doesn’t hack my hair to pieces. I’m a confident son of a bitch, but I’m nothing without my hair. I’m not tall, and I don’t have a shit-load of muscles, so when my cock is excluded from the equation, my hair is the best thing about me.
Jenni’s chest thrusts up and down with every inhalation. She appears truly torn. The crazy beat of my heart slows when she lowers her scissors to the tips of my hair. I suck in my first breath in nearly a minute when she trims the smallest snippet of hair from the ends.
“You’re lucky I like your hair.” Her growl reveals my worry was warranted. I was minutes away from being scalped.
Over the next twenty minutes, I watch her trim my hair. The silence unveils even more of her traits, such as, how every time she snips the scissors, she bites her bottom lip, and that her nose screws up more times than her brows furrow. I occasionally catch her gaze in the mirror, but the instant she sees me watching, her eyes dart away.
“There you go, all done.” She flicks off my apron, sending fragments of hair into the air. “Unless you want me to shave you?”
