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“It’s cold out and I had to shovel the sidewalk. Landlord’s a jerk.”
“You should’ve called me. I would’ve taken care of it for you.”
“For starters, I don’t have your number and, like I told you yesterday, I can take care of myself.”
Keeping his eyes pinned on mine in the mirror, he nods and fights a smile. “You could’ve called the station. I was there all night. But if you wantmynumber, just ask for it.”
“No, thanks.” I roll my eyes and point to the row of sinks. “Go sit over there. I’ll be right back.”
In the storage room, I reach into my apron pocket and retrieve my phone. I know it’s crazy, but I want to talk to Tre. I bet if I told him about my attraction to Jack, he’d tell me to run fast. Even though Tre flirts sometimes, I feel like he’d be a mature voice of reason.
Stella214: I’ll meet you at Marcelo’s tonight on one condition. Did you break things off with that other woman?
As I re-enter the washing area, I see Jack scrolling through his phone before he puts his arms back under the cape.
“Head back,” I say as I turn on the faucet and test the water with my fingertips.
Jack settles into the reclined chair, gets comfortable, and looks at me upside down. I grab the nozzle and wet his hair down. “You might want to close your eyes. I don’t want to accidentally squirt water in them.”
He smirks. “A little squirt never hurt anyone.”
“Oops, sorry,” I sing sweetly when I spray his forehead.
He keeps looking back as me even as I pump shampoo onto my hands and rub them together. “You ready?”
“For you? Absolutely.”
Alternating between my fingertips and the pads of my fingers, I give his scalp a deep massage.
“A little harder.”
I ignore him and continue the rhythmic motion which induces his relaxation as his eyes close and he releases a deep, hummed sigh.
“Holy shit, your hands are amazing,” he murmurs before he yawns.
I clutch his hair and twist firmly.
“Okay, okay, I’ll be quiet.”
Thank God, I finally shut him up.
I’ll admit, I massage his head way longer than necessary, but I love the way his lathered strands glide through my fingers as I, unconsciously, work my way from the nape of his neck to his temples and hairline. I drag my nails from his forehead and then back, only stopping to outline his distinctive widow’s peak on the return with my thumb. A stray thought questions if he often wears a hat to conceal it. My eyes continue their perusal to observe his features. Thick eyebrows. Long lashes. Slightly crooked nose. Full kissable lips.
When Jack clears his throat, I realize I’ve been caught taking an unsolicited tour of his handsome face.
“I think it’s clean,” he says with a grin.
I blink rapidly and reach for the nozzle. “Oh, sorry! I’m a little tired.”
“Late night?” he questions with a raised brow.
I raise a shoulder. “Something like that.”
Coating my hands with conditioner, I massage it onto his scalp and run the longer strands on top through my fingers.
“I don’t use conditioner.”
I interrupt. “You should.”
