Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
“Lunch,” I stated, feeling that further explanation was unnecessary.
Lorna poked her head around the freestanding shelf behind the front desk. When she spotted the bags, she gave me a knowing smirk that I ignored.
Silently, I unloaded sandwiches wrapped in butcher paper, little containers of pasta salad, a stack of brownies, and a tray of cut fruit. The food was for everyone, but I kept one extra item. It was a salted caramel bar that Ivy had once mentioned in passing, saying that she loved the salty-sweet taste and smooth texture of the caramel.
She was still at her station, so I sauntered over to give her the special treat. She was in jeans and black ankle boots today, a black top under a soft gray sweater, and her inky hair was in a high twist that bared the pretty slope of her neck. My lips tingled at the thought of running them over the velvety skin, and my cock twitched.
She looked up at me with surprise, trying to squash it and failing.
“For everyone.” I nodded toward the counter, then put the candy bar in her hand. “For you.”
Her mouth curved, and the reaction hit her eyes this time. She was pleased and a little undone. “You remembered.”
“I told you, sunshine. I remember everything you tell me.”
“That’s dangerous.” She tried for a teasing tone but didn’t quite pull it off because her cheeks had blossomed with a pink hue. “You’re going to end up with a list.”
“I like lists.” I winked. “They keep things from getting lost.”
Her eyes twinkled as she traced the edge of the wrapper, her thumb stroking the gold foil. Then her gaze collided with mine once more, and her breathing shifted—barely—deeper, just enough for the pulse in her neck to begin fluttering. That small tell did more to my body than it should have. I felt a pull low and heavy in my shaft, the kind of ache that made denim and a metal zipper feel like a poor fucking choice. I smoothed my face so she wouldn’t see my grimace, and instead of shifting to find a more comfortable position, I made myself go still so it wouldn’t show.
She glanced toward the front desk, then leaned closer like she might say something else, but her attention was snagged by the jingling of the bell over the door.
“My client,” she murmured with a gesture to the man who stepped inside and glanced around in that expectant way people have when they assume the world will pivot for them.
“Right on time,” she said briskly, switching gears like a pro. “Come on back.”
He was young and good-looking in an eager, mirror-checking way. His jacket was designer, his watch expensive, and his hair was already styled like he was auditioning for a commercial.
I stepped back from her station to give them space, but I didn’t go far. I took the same spot as yesterday—leaning against the wall just out of the main line of traffic, arms folded, and my eyes on nothing in particular and everything at once. I didn’t interrupt. I simply watched.
She draped the cape with a practiced snap and went to work—comb moving fast and sure, scissors flashing, the clean metallic click echoing under the low salon music. He tried to turn toward her more than the chair allowed, with the telltale shoulder tilt of a guy who wanted attention. And expected it.
He asked questions with too much confidence in the rightness of his own voice. Pride popped in my chest at how she handled him by being brisk and funny. She glanced at me in the mirror once, almost as if to make sure I was still there, then went back to her client when he asked her something about products that would give him “more lift.”
I probably should have left.
I didn’t.
Watching her work did the same thing for me that film study did. It quieted my mind while sharpening every edge. I registered the precise angle of her wrist as she cleaned the line at his temple. The way her brow pulled in the slightest bit when she was focused. The half smile curving her wide lips when she smoothed his hair, and it fell exactly where she wanted it. That small satisfaction looked good on her, and I wanted to see it every day. I wanted to be the one who put it there.
She finished faster than he expected. Efficiency always surprised people who mistook talk for talent. After one last look at her work, she spun the chair and lifted the hand mirror to let him see the back. He made a show of checking every angle—seriously, this little shit needed a fucking ego check—and then reached for his wallet like it was a performance. He slid a tip into her hand and leaned in with a grin he obviously thought was charming.