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The first truly relaxed and wide grin appeared on Ryanne’s face as she teased him. “You mean you don’t listen to them?”
Gesturing at his uniform, Reid frowned at her. “Does it look like I’d listen to my brother narrating sex and shit?”
“Oh, there’s no shit in those books,” Rockie informed him. “That’s a whole different level of erotica, and I’m not sure it’s a good one.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, but it was finally broken by Cyn, who came in carrying a tray with mugs on it.
“Okay, I wasn’t sure who took what, and I couldn’t find your coffee, so I just made everyone tea.” Placing it on the table, she sat down next to me, effectively shoving me into Rockie, who huffed and moved to the far edge of the couch. “Now, what did I miss?”
“We were just telling Ryanne about Jarrod narrating filthy books and correcting Reid’s assumption that there’s shit in them,” Rockie said absentmindedly, his eyes on the cups of tea. “Okay, confession time. I’ve never had hot tea in my life. How do I do it?”
That one comment created a bond between Cyn and Ryanne, who both jumped up and went about schooling him on how to make tea, what were the best kind of teas, and how he should never heat the water for it in the microwave.
By the end of it, Reid’s eyes were slightly glazed over—most likely with boredom or information overload—but he was smiling as he watched his girl making friends.
Once they were done, Rockie moved, so he was sitting closer to Ryanne.
“Do you know why we’re here, precious girl?”
“Uh…” she glanced nervously at Reid. “To meet me?”
“That’s right. We’re doing makeovers for people who have….” For once, he was lost for words.
“Scars,” Cyn said, rolling her eyes at Ryanne. “Sorry to be so blunt, but him flapping around, looking for a word, would just make you more nervous and self-conscious.”
“You’re right,” Ryanne snickered, surprising me. “I’m okay with you saying I have them.”
“Well, all right. So, we’ve been helping people who have scars and other issues that make them feel self-conscious,” Rockie explained. “Up until today, we’ve videoed them and put them online for other people to learn from—with the permission of the person getting the makeovers. Our mission statement is that perfection is a myth because beauty exists regardless.”
Ryanne blinked at this, and I can’t say I blamed her. It was a lot for her to take, and if I were in her shoes, I’d be wondering about what our angle was.
“Are you saying you want to give me a makeover?” she finally asked.
“If you’ll allow us, but we don’t want to record it, so please don’t worry about that part of it. Whatever people could learn from us showing you how to embrace all of you, we’ll find another way to do that. This is just for you,” I told her honestly, almost begging her with my eyes to say yes.
Ryanne’s fingers lifted to the scar under her eye automatically.
“Babe,” Reid called. “You’re fucking gorgeous, but you’re hiding yourself because you think there’s something wrong with how you look. These guys are geniuses when it comes to this shit. Let them bring you back to life.”
“I-I…” She turned to Cyn. “Will you be there?”
“With bells on, doll. I’m eating my heart out over your hair, and I would pay a fortune to have your eyes. I can’t wait to see what these guys do with everything you bring to their beauty tables.” Then, glaring at us, she snapped, “Don’t cut her hair. I will hurt you if you cut it short.”
Ignoring the glares coming from Reid as it occurred to him finally that this makeover could involve Ryanne having her hair cut off, I held my hand up. “I’ve got no intentions of cutting it off. Maybe a trim and some layers?”
“You also don’t need a lot of makeup, precious girl. I don’t know what you use on your face, but your skin is divine.” Rockie leaned in and whispered, “What do you use? I need to order it right now.”
“Soap and water.”
I swear, if a man could faint and still be awake, Rockie achieved it at that moment. His gasp would have been audible in a rock concert, and the way he clutched his chest genuinely worried me.
“Y-you… Soap?” He spat the word out, like it was the most repulsive word he’d ever come across.
“Yeah. I didn’t need a lot, so I just used hand soap and water. I do moisturize, though.”
“You’re stripping your face of everything it needs, I should hope you fucking moisturize,” he snapped. “What brand do you use?”
“Just the stuff I put on my body. It’s an oatmeal one I got out of one of the local ‘everything for a dollar’ type stores near my stepdad’s house.”
