Page 9 of Effortless

“Just like last time?” Camilla asked her friend.

In the mirror, August nodded. “Big pom, but tease it out like a faux-hawk down the top and middle. I need to get my braids in before winter comes.”

Camilla had spent a lot of time with August and her mom over the years of their friendship. Some of that time had been sitting in salons because her friend’s hair needed to be maintained no matter if she wore it natural, in braids, or with a weave. If anything, Camilla figured that’s where she had picked up some of her talent for fixing August’s wild hair, not to mention, her own …

Right now, Camilla’s hair was a platinum blonde mess with a purple fade of curls that needed a good soak in hot oils. August’s mom—Ada—had taught Camilla how to take care of her hair to an extreme given the abuse she put it through monthly.

Next week, it might be red, or back to brown. Maybe Camilla would put colorful streaks through it, or cut it all off.

She never kept one style for long.

“You know you’re going to be amazing today, right?” Camilla asked.

August’s russet gaze met Cam’s dark brown eyes in the mirror. “Kind of nervous. I feel like Dad got me this, and not you know, me.”

“First, maybe your dad put in a good word, but who cares? Graphic design, marketing, and branding—that’s your focus for college. This one-year internship with Bared Brands is going to be fucking awesome for that.”

Plus, August was smart as hell. Skipped a grade in middle school, got a scholarship into the prestigious private school Camilla attended, and a full ride for college. Her friend could and would do whatever she put her mind to.

“Maybe.”

“Keep me updated through the day.”

August cocked a brow. “Girl, did you think I would do anything different?”

Not at all.

“About the club thing—”

Camilla held up a single finger to shush her brother without saying a word. She took a long sip from the coffee he’d handed over in a to-go mug from her cupboards. The creamy, sweet drink perked her up just enough to be agreeable.

“Never talk to me before coffee, Cross. You know this.”

Her brother’s familiar brown gaze rolled upward. He navigated the city streets to head east. Breakfast at a Newport restaurant on Saturdays was a new thing their parents wanted to do ever since Cross came home from Chicago a couple of months earlier.

“How’d you get into the club?” her brother asked.

Camilla smiled slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Do you know the security at the door, or did someone get you a fake ID?”

“Both?”

“Cam.”

She shrugged. “Guess we’re going to pretend like you weren’t the biggest trouble making shit on the planet from the time you were thirteen, huh?”

Cross cleared his throat. “This is not about me. It’s about you. I’m … looking out for you. Yeah, that works.”

“Bullshit. I paid Zeke.”

“I knew that bastard got you a fake ID,” Cross bitched under his breath.

Her brother’s best friend was way off-limits for Camilla in any kind of way—though he was cute, and probably a good time—because the guy treated her like a little sister. A side effect of having grown up around the guy since she was born.

“Be nice. He was looking out for me since you were in Chicago and all.”

Cross nodded. “Right, by getting you into clubs.”