Page 59 of His Last Shot
“My brother will do it for me when he’s here. But he’s working, and my sister-in-law is out of town. I thought I could do it myself, but as you can see”—she points to her head—“I failed.”
An idea strikes me like a lightning bolt. “Let me wash your hair for you.”
She jolts back in shock. “What?”
“My mom was a hairdresser, and I used to help during summer break. I would wash her clients’ hair. The older ladies loved me.”
She laughs, followed by a small snort as her hand flies to her mouth. “What’s so funny?” I ask.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, still giggling. “A vision of a younger Johnny working in a hair salon just popped into my head, and, well, it’s a vision, that’s for sure.”
After we both calm down, I plead with her. “I promise to tell you all about it, but please, Rachel. Let me help you.”
“I don’t know…” She turns away, wrapping her arms around her body. She’s still so guarded. It’s heartbreaking.
“I’ve been told that I do a mean scalp massage.”
This catches her attention, and I’m met with a smile. This one changing the color of her cheeks.
“Okay.”
18
Consume Me
Rachel
Before I can even register what’s happening, I’m sitting on one of my bar stools, with my head tilted back over my farmhouse-style sink, a towel under my neck for comfort, and Johnny is using the sprayer to wet my hair.
How is this my life right now?
“Is the temperature okay?” he asks. The water hits my head, warm and comforting.
“Mmm…hmm,” I murmur as my eyes flutter close because I can’t form words at the moment.
My head is a chaotic mess of thoughts, swirling and colliding like cars in a pile-up as I try to make sense of the last twenty minutes.
Johnny knows about my RA. He has known since the day he met me. And he doesn’t care.Ever since his confession, this same thought keeps running through my head in a loop. It’s almost too good to be true.
He knew.
He always knew.
“Oh, wait, hold on a sec,” he says as he turns off the faucet. “I need to roll my sleeves up.”
On instinct, I watch as he unbuttons his wrist collar on the navy blue button-down shirt he is wearing and rolls the fabric up his toned forearms.
Well, well, well, it looks like construction does a body good because, oh, my God, hello, forearms!
Holy crap on a cracker.
The whole thing is happening at a crawl, and I can’t stop staring, unblinking. His brawny hands tug and pull on the fabric as, inch by inch, his smooth, tan skin is being exposed. Blue veins snake along the underside of his arm as my mouth goes completely dry. A flush rises in my cheeks, hot and fiery. I probably look like a tomato.
He finishes the second sleeve and catches me gawking.
Busted!
I quickly jerk my eyes away and squeeze them shut, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Awesome. He caught me staring and drooling.
