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A wide, cheesy smile stretches across my face just at the thought of my new traineeship, and I find myself more than eager to tell this perfect stranger all about it. “So, I’ve always dreamed of having my own hair salon, but I haven’t had the chance to study or learn anything about it until now. I got a traineeship with a local salon, and the senior stylist is going to be my mentor and teach me everything I need to know.”
“No shit,” he says with delight, glancing at me again. “That’s fucking awesome. It’s like you’re getting paid to learn.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” I grin.
“I guess congratulations are in order,” he says, his tone lowering to something a little more intimate. It has a shiver sailing over my body and making me clench my thighs.
“Don’t get carried away,” I scoff, trying to think of anything but how desperately I want to jump him. “I need to wait and see if I’m actually any good first. I might end up fired before I make it past my first day.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he tells me, the way he so casually holds the steering wheel with just one hand making my mouth water. “No one could possibly be that bad.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Apart from doing my own hair, I haven’t really had any practice,” I tell him. “Well, actually. That’s not entirely true. I did cut all my dolls’ hair when I was a kid, but that was before I realized it wouldn’t grow back. That was a really hard day for me.”
He lets out a laugh that wraps around me, the sound holding me captive. It makes me wish I could hear it every day for the rest of my life. My heart starts to race, my hands growing clammy as I shake my head, realizing just how stupid I’m being over this guy. I’ve got to get a grip. I mean, he’s hot, but he’s just a guy. Why am I letting him have this kind of effect on me?
He makes a stop at a red light and turns to look at me. “I think you’ll do great,” he tells me with sincerity, those words making me crumble from within. I’m more than ready to throw myself at him.
I force myself to look away as I feel a blush take over my cheeks, making me so damn happy we’re sitting in the dark. “Thanks,” I murmur as I try to get myself under control, the tension in the truck making it almost impossible. Hell, I wonder if he can feel it, too.
Needing something else to focus on, I turn my attention back to him. “What about you? I mean, you’re a great fighter, but I thought you were a hockey player?”
He lets out a heavy sigh, and I hope I haven’t struck a nerve. “Yeah, I’m a hockey player,” he confirms, “but I love fighting. There’s just something about it I can’t explain.”
“Like?” I ask, hanging on every detail he can give me.
“I don’t know,” he says, thoughtful, turning his intense stare back to the road and allowing me a moment to simply gaze at him. “Maybe it’s the power I have over my opponent or the rush of adrenaline before the fight. I’m not sure. I guess it’s a mix of things.”
“Right, I get it,” I say, realizing it’s probably the exact feeling my stepmom got each time she smacked me across the face. “So, were any of the guys from the team there tonight?”
“No,” he scoffs before turning to me with a cringe. “Look, about the whole fighting thing,” he starts. “You won’t tell anyone you saw me there, right? I mean, if anyone found out, I’d be off the team.”
My eyes widen in shock at his admission, but at the same time, it makes sense. Being found participating in any illegal activities would jeopardize his position on the team, no matter how good he is. “How can I tell anyone when I don’t even know your name?” I say with a cheeky grin.
He matches my smile with one of his own. “I’m Xander,” he tells me, a sparkle lighting his eyes and making my inner goddess pant for him. Hmmm, Xander. I could get used to that. Perhaps I could even get used to screaming it every time I come. “You won’t say a word?”
“No, Xander,” I say, his name feeling like silk on my tongue. “I won’t say a word.”
He stops dead in the middle of the road and turns to face me with an intense stare before his hand lifts off the gear stick, his pinkie finger rising with pride. “Pinkie promise,” he insists, not daring to look away.
A wide grin stretches across my face. “What the hell? Are you twelve?” I laugh.
