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Seriously have to leave.
I’m already banking on him either blacking out or claiming he blacked out when he hates me again in the morning.
“Come up.” I pat the bed and start tossing the mess of clothes.
Lacy orange lingerie, and the crumpled T-shirt Jett was wearing earlier. Only, when I touch it, hair sticks to my fingers.
Blonde, brown, red.
They’re all mixed strands, all too long and the wrong colors to belong to the guys. “Did you rob a salon?”
“Your present.”
Finally letting go of my ankles, he tugs over a backpack I didn’t see in the rubble on Finn’s floor.
When he tips it upside down, a wireless hair clipper thunks to the carpet, followed by stacks and stacks of what my brain thinks are rats.
Wait.
Not rats.
Bundles of hair bound in rubber bands.
“Are those…ponytails?” I peer over the bed and catch a hint of sharp mint.
“Juniper?” I croak.
“Juniper, Mya, Madison, Rachel.”
“Rachel? Holy shit. JJ. You shaved their heads?“
“They hurt you. I hurt you.” With shaking hands he grabs the clipper and flicks the switch. “One more.”
He moves the clip toward his forehead, and the buzzzzzz fries my brain.
“No!” I grab his wrist. He doesn’t fight, letting me push down his arm and turn off the machine.
“Why not?”
“That’s my hair.” It’s thick and silky and my favorite thing to play with. If he wants to cut it to cut it, then fine. But if he wants to cut it to punish himself?
Nuh uh.
“Everything is yours.” He knocks aside the hair bundles and pulls out a wide, flat box. “Here.”
I want to reject on the principle that whatever’s inside is guaranteed to be batshit, but the box isn’t ticking, smoking, or bleeding.
Still, I hesitate.
“Open it.” JJ’s voice is soft, no bark, but his dark, needy eyes have me moving before I can second-guess.
I pull out a thin length of black leather mounted with a single silver O-ring.
A collar.
“If you think I’m wearing—”
“It’s not for you,” he says dreamily. “There’s more.”
