Page 32 of Revenge Puck

“So, are you ready to get started?” she asks.

“Do your worst.”

Her fingers slide into my thick mane, soothing and arousing as hell. She’s not even tugging on it and I’m thinking about her grabbing it when my face is between her thighs.

“You have…a lot of hair. Do you know what Audrey calls you?” Elle asks, forcing me to push down the dirty thoughts.

“Don’t you dare, Elle!” the brunette shouts from the other side of the room.

Arching an eyebrow, I say, “Now I have to know what she calls me.”

Ignoring her friend’s continued pleas, she whispers loudly, “Woolly mammoth.”

“Damn. That’s harsh. I don’t even have any tusks.”

“Well, you are going to be a handsome, groomed mammoth when I’m done with you.”

“And when I get cold out there on the ice without layers of fuzz?”

“You can think of kissing me,” Elle says with a smile. “You said that was hot, right?”

“It was crazy hot.”

“Besides, I seriously doubt you have a moment to get cold when you’re constantly skating back and forth the entire game.”

“True enough.”

Elle wets my hair a little more with the spray bottle, then takes a comb and shears to get to work while I try to sit as still as possible.

As the chunks of hair fall away, I ask her, “Is this what you always wanted to do?”

“Own my own business?”

“That and be a, what do you call it, hair stylist? I don’t know what you call a female barber.”

“Stylist is fine.” She flashes me a smile in the mirror. “And yes, I cut off all my dolls’ hair by the time I was five, so my parents stopped buying them.”

“What did you do then?”

“Cut my own hair, of course.”

“Of course. Bet they loved that.”

“They eventually bought me a mannequin head along with a few cheap wigs after I nicked my earlobe with the scissors and bled all over the place.”

“Wow.”

“But then when I got older, and I was allowed to practice on actual people, the reason for cutting and styling changed. It was no longer about being creative. It became a way to help people feel a little bit better about themselves, to walk out of the salon with more confidence than they came in with. It’s stupid that women especially put so much stock in their physical appearance, but we do. And when we look good, we feel good. Even if it’s only for a day.”

“Only for a day?”

“My clients tell me they can never recreate how I style their hair at home. The same goes for me, too. My hair never looks as good as it does when Audrey styles it.”

I consider her words for a long moment. “It’s bullshit that those assholes were saying awful things about you last night when you work all day, every day, to help others feel good about themselves.”

“You’re pulling out all the stops today, aren’t you, big guy?”

That wasn’t a line. I meant it. Still, I tell her, “Just because we’re fake dating doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get in some practice on how to talk to women without getting blocked, right?”

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