Page 83 of Gin and Bear It

“No, I just hate whatever pretentious bullshit Jeremiah finds, like that movie last night.” I open my bag. I got a Danish and a “surprise me” pastry of Sarah Jane’s choosing. “He insists he likes ‘art,’ but a lot of it is just nonsense. The only reason my dad and I haven’t taken away his movie choice rights is because he chooses an amazing movie once every like…five times.”

“Twenty percent of the time, he chooses well?” Ash raises an eyebrow. “That’s a low success rate.”

“My dad and I choose stinkers, too. But we just suck it up and roast it if it’s not good. It’s the law at this point.” I take a bite of the surprise pastry and moan. “Here, taste. It’s like peach cornbread or something.”

I hold it up to Ash, and he leans over to take a bite directly from the other side. I don’t mind.

“I wish I’d gotten that,” he says. “And if you moan like that again, I’m going to have to pull that sound out of you another way.”

God, this man’s voice could make me do damn near anything.

“If you say another word, my hair will not get done.” I press my thighs together and grab my crochet tool, ignoring the wolfish smirk that spread across his face. “Seriously.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“But your face…” I glare at him over my shoulder.

“My face is my face.” His grin spreads even more. “And once your hair’s done, I can bury it between your legs.”

That’s all the motivation I need. He’s actually skilled enough to make me enjoy getting eaten out as much as I like being fingered.

I’m going to get my hair done so fucking fast.

I press play on the show and get started on a section in the back. It takes me a few locs to get into the flow, but soon I’m working steadily. The show is actually pretty good from the first episode, thank god. If any of my friends recommend another show where it takes a whole season to get good, I’m going to scream.

Ash sticks around, even after he clears the table of our empty coffee cups and pastry boxes. Pip comes and goes, presumably to visit with CC through the door.

After about an hour of working, I shake out my arms and blow out a breath. The only decent loctitian I’ve been to is over in Nashville, and I don’t want to spend the money getting a retwist when I can do it on my own.

“Do you want me to help?” Ash asks. “At least in the back? I watched you do some of Jeremiah’s, but if you showed me again, I could probably get it.”

I look up at him over my shoulder. Besides my occasional visits to the loctitian, no one else has done my hair. Much less a white man who, as far as I know, has never dealt with a Black woman’s hair before.

My initial reaction is hell no, but my arms ache. And I want to get this done faster. I can trust him to not fuck it up. He’s being sincere.

“Sure?” I say, unable to keep the question out of my tone. “Here, let me show you a video on what I do, and we can do a few test ones. Then I’ll tell you which ones you can do.”

I find the video that I’ve gone back to over the years, and he does a few test ones in the back with my spare crochet tool. His fingers are surprisingly nimble, and he doesn’t make them too tight or pull at my roots. They lay nicely, too.

“Okay, those look good. You can do this section right here.” I show him which one.

He works on the right side, and I work on the left side toward the front. Every once in a while, he asks me if one is too tight, but they never are. Eventually I give him another section to work on, then another. He finishes the back in record time.

“Wow, you’re really good at this,” I say, using my two mirrors so I can look at the back. It’s perfect. “Thank you. I always hate doing the back.”

“It’s meditative.” He shrugs and crosses his legs. Pip climbs into his lap from the arm of the couch. “Want me to help in the front, too?”

“It’s okay. I’ve got it, and I do the last few in the front a little differently,” I say.

“Alright. So you’ll be ready and naked for me once you’re done?” He stands up, tucking Pip under his arm. “I’m going to get that cleaning done in the kitchen.”

I bite my lip to contain my grin, but it doesn’t work. The confidence and surety in his tone is making me even hotter for him, especially because I know he can deliver.

“Yeah,” I finally manage to say.

“Good.” He throws me a smile over his shoulder and disappears into the kitchen.

I want to rush through the front, but since it’s what I see every day, I have to take my time. Ash cleans quickly and well, so he comes back in as I’m on my last two locs.