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I sweep up the hair around my area, and stick my combs inside the sanitizing solution. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I should grab a quick bite to eat before my one o’clock appointment. I’m so focused on cleaning up my area that I don’t hear the jingle of the bell as the door opens behind me.
“Can I help you?” Ella asks, smiling at whoever is behind me.
“I was hoping to get a cut.” The deep voice is familiar and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“No appointment?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, let me take a look at the book,” Ella offers.
My brain is telling me not to turn around, but the need to see him is too great. Slowly, I move until I’m facing him. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt that’s slightly dirty and molded to his arms and chest. My tongue practically dangles from my mouth, and I don’t even care. His powerful legs are wrapped in light colored, well-worn denim, and his feet covered with work boots. And those tattoos. My word, the ink on his arms is downright panty-melting. He looks good enough to eat, even though he’s a bit greasy, and that thought just turns my insides to jelly.
“Lex, you have time before your one o’clock,” Ella says.
“I’m going to lunch,” I tell her, turning back to grab my purse. “Have someone else grab it.”
“I promise it won’t take long. Just a quick cut. Ten minutes, tops.” His voice is close, not that my body wasn’t hyperaware of his proximity. I seem to get all tingly anytime he’s near.
When I turn back around, I’m staring at those deep, dark eyes that seem to invade my thoughts continuously. He’s looking at me with a bit of humor, and a whole lot of excitement laced within them. “Did you know I worked here?” I ask, reaching for the cape and pointing to the chair.
“I did not,” he says as he walks around me. “You’re not going to wash it?”
“Do you want me to wash it?”
“Best fucking part of a haircut, Firecracker,” he replies with that devilish smirk.
Without replying, I walk over to the wash stations. The room is fairly quiet, which tells me that everyone is well aware of the effect this man has on me. They’re watching me with their beady little hawk eyes, waiting for their moment to swoop in and use any ounce of my discomfort against me.
I feel his eyes on me as he leans back in the chair and places his neck in the lip of the sink. I make sure the water is warm before I start to wet the dark strands. My fingers already itch with excitement. The first slide of my fingers through his hair is almost orgasmic. No, I’m not in a habit of getting all worked up when I touch a guy’s hair. Even when I’d wash and cut Chris’s. But there’s something about Linkin’s hair that gets me all sorts of squirmy and excited.
With a quarter-sized drop of shampoo, I start to lather up his head. My nails dig and scratch at his scalp, causing him to groan. My eyes fly to his face. His eyes flutter around before closing, a relaxed grin playing on his lips. I’ll be honest: I scrub around on his head a little longer than necessary. I can’t help it. His hair is just so fucking fabulous.
I add conditioner and work it in good and hard. Good and hard. Yeah, can you tell it’s been a while since I’ve gotten any? My face blushes, something that’s completely foreign to me. My twin has a fierce blush like you wouldn’t believe, but me? I don’t flush when I get embarrassed. Hell, I rarely get embarrassed.
When I glance back down, his chocolate eyes are locked on me and I feel the impact clear down to my toes. My gut tightens and my panties are useless. I can’t believe how much he affects me with something as simple as a look.
“All done,” I whisper, shutting off the water. And because I’m weak, I slide my hands over his head, pushing back the water as I go.
“Are you sure? You can wash it again if you’d like,” he quips with a half-smile.
“Get in the chair.”
“I like it when you talk rough to me.”
Rolling my eyes, I can’t ignore the way my heart flutters and my stomach lurches at his statement. My fingers graze the back of his neck when I snap the cape, and I can feel his eyes glued to me in the mirror. But I don’t look. Instead, I grab my comb from the solution and get to work.
“Just a trim?”
“Mmhmm.”
I keep my eyes on his head while I cut off the ends of his hair. We don’t talk, but it’s not uncomfortable. He watches me work, though. I can feel it.
After trimming up around his ears and his neck with my trimmers, I take a look at the results. My hands go to his hair (completely on their own). The tips are already drying, his hair soft and fragrant from the product I used.
Quickly, I remove my hands from his hair and grab the snap. “All done,” I say, lowering the chair and walking towards the counter.
“How much?” he asks, digging some bills from his wallet.
