Page 34 of The Boyfriend List
“It’s when you force someone to do something they don’t want to do by threatening them,” London explains.
“So it’s blackmail when Daddy tells me I have to go to bed or else I can’t watch Paw Patrol?” Queenie pipes up.
“What have we done?” I whisper to London as he stands next to me. He fights back a laugh.
“No, because going to bed is good for you,” London says, sounding less and less confident.
“You have really pretty hair,” Hattie declares, marching to a stop in front of me and looking up at my hair. It’s come out of its Dutch braid, flowing over my shoulders.
“Thank you. So do you,” I say with a grin.
“Can we braid your hair?” Queenie asks. “Please?Please? It’s so much longer than Uncle London’s, so it will look nicer.”
My hair falls to mid-waist, slightly wavy, and it frizzes up in humidity. Fortunately, it’s desert-dry out here.
“Sure,” I say with a laugh, because it can’t end up any worse than the time Paulo tried braiding my hair when I was six. I had to cut it into a bob because of how tangled it became.
“But wash your hands first,” London says sternly.
I sit on a bench outside the main building of the ranch, and the two little girls pull out hair ties and barrettes from their backpacks. Standing up on the bench, they start finger-combing my hair. I’m glad London warned them to wash their hands.
“Please don’t pull her hair out,” London adds.
I glance at him, a grin forming on my lips. “Do you have a vested interest in my hair?”
“I have a vested interest in anything that makes you smile.” He blinks, like he’s unsure of why he just said that, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Also that would hurt a lot.”
I bite my lip. As they gently tug at the strands and form it into what feels like two lopsided milkmaid braids, Queenie and Hattie hum theLOTRsoundtrackto themselves.
“Ta-da!” Queenie snaps a hair tie around one braid and clips a pink Hello Kitty barrette into it. “All done!”
“Don’t move, I’m not finished yet!” Hattie whines. She pulls one more lock of hair into place and then secures it with a ponytail holder.
“Picture time,” London declares. The smirk on his face tells me this is his payback. However, he doesn’t know that I actually enjoyed having my hair done by preteen girls. They’re at least brutally honest about how it looks. “Gather around Gloria and show off your handiwork.”
They laugh and the three of us pose for cheesy pictures, giving each other bunny ears, sticking out our tongues, and jumping up in the air with our arms outstretched.
“How do I look?” I ask, getting off the bench and running up to London, who’s still playing photographer.
He gives me a once-over, wearing an expression that combines mirth with smugness and something like… attraction. Hattie and Queenie must have pulled my scalp too tightly and cut off blood flow to my brain.
“Adorable.” London shows me the picture; one braid is behind my ear and the other is next to my temple.
Then he snaps a selfie with me. I step closer without thinking and rest my head against his shoulder. His warmth engulfs me, sending a shiver down my spine.
But it’s only so I can better fit into the picture.
“Thanks.” I watch the girls, who are now linking arms and spinning around so ferociously that they’ll be violently dizzy afterwards. “Should we get going?”
London blinks, like he’s being snapped out of a dream. “Of course. Hattie, Queenie, let’s go!”
Chapter Twelve: London
Afew weeks after horseback riding, my muscles have recovered. Gloria and I still tease each other at work, have mock trials with Giorgio as our fake judge, and carpool home from McMann and Ma together. Gloria’s been busy with her cases, so preoccupied by the promotion that we’ve barely hung out outside of work, which I completely understand.
I miss her. But I’m terrified I’ll say the wrong thing and ruin our friendship. Or ruin any chance of us becoming something more. Especially after the selfie we took together, when she leaned so close to me that I could feel her warmth and smell her creatively-braided hair.
Work keeps me so preoccupied that I forget I’m a groomsman for my sister’s wedding… until she texts me on a Saturday morning.
