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“Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t know what the hell, I just felt a little sick when I thought about coffee, which is crazy cause I can’t imagine how I’d get through the day without it.”
“Get back into bed, and I’ll give you the other thing you can’t get through the day without.” He tugs me back to him.
“No. If I don’t get this appointment, I’ll be in a bad mood until I get my hair done by her, and that’s at least a month away, if I’m lucky,” I tell him grouchily, but only because his offer is so tempting.
“I think your hair looks amazing,” he says.
“Because you’re a man and you’re fucking me. You probably don’t remember what color the hair on my head is unless I’m standing in front of you,” I joke and stand up again.
“I’m insulted. You have no idea how much time I spend thinking about your hair. Wrapped around my fists when you’re on your knees in front of me. Draped around my hips when your lips are wrapped around my cock. Falling down around me when you’re riding me …”
“Not when it’s blowing in the wind while we stroll?” I ask and shake my head in feigned disappointment
“What fun would that be?” he asks. His grin is so wide and happy. I snap a picture of him with my phone and stare at it a beat before I look back at him. His eyes are sparkling, his morning stubble is dark and heavy, and his smile is full of contentment that I put there.
“No fun at all,” I agree before I turn to leave.
“Come back to bed,” he calls after.
“No way am I am going to be late for this. I’ll see you soon. Bye.” I chuck a peace sign at him and then walk happily out the door.
* * *
“Well, well, well,” the dark-haired, olive skinned, handsome man behind the reception desk at Blush drawls in the most beautiful baritone I’ve ever heard.
I stop and look over my shoulder to find who he could be talking to. Because it can’t be me. There’s nothing interesting enough about me to warrant that intrigued look on his face. There’s no one there. I turn back to face him and plaster a confused smile on my face. “Are you talking to me?” I ask.
His jaw drops. His eyes bug out of his head, he slaps his cheeks and then he shrieks.
Loudly.
I spin on my heel to get the hell out of there.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he calls in that baritone again and in a display of super human speed, he’s behind me with a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
“Where are you going?” he asks with an amused chuckle.
“Why’d you scream?” I ask him angrily and fold my arms across my chest while I wait for him to respond.
“Because you look like Jayne Mansfield, who is like, my favorite actress of all time, and then you open your mouth and sound like Dolly Parton, who is my favorite singer of all time,” he explains.
“I love and respect Dolly like any good Southerner, but I do not sound like her and I don’t know who Jayne is.”
He actually steps back, grips his chin thoughtfully and studies my chest, “Hmmm, I’m telling you. If we brightened up that blonde all over and gave you one more bra cup, you’d be a dead ringer,” he says.
“This is probably the strangest conversation I’ve ever had in my life,” I say.
“It’s not strange.” He pouts. “They’re my idols. It’s like Dolly Parton and Jayne Mansfield had a baby and sent her to deliver me from an ordinary existence.” He claps his hands together repeatedly in my face.
I smile and step around him.
“Oh, I see. You’re crazy.” I point at him with a knowing smile.
“Totally, sister, and I ain’t afraid to show it.” He winks and then we both laugh.
“I’m Noé.” He sticks out his hand to introduce himself.
I shake his big, warm, very soft hand. “What hand lotion do you use and where can I get some?”
