Page 87 of Their Property
“I’m here for you too,” I said. “How do your eyes feel?”
“Eh.” He wobbled his hand in the air, then elaborated into my palm.“Less pain.”
“Less pain is good. T-Bone said the doctor will be by to check you out today.”
“Hm.” Grudge released my hands and stretched again, groaning. I was glad he couldn’t see my gaze roving over his body. He was built like an oak tree, so solid and strong, but moved with a fluid confidence that was almost graceful. His fingers dug through his thick hair to scratch over his scalp, then he scratched at his beard, wincing like it was uncomfortable.
“Kah?” He reached for my hand again and spelled out,“Help.”
“Yes?” My voice went a little high and breathy. “What can I help you with?”
“Comb my rat’s nest,”he answered.
“Sure,” I said with a light laugh. “Do you know where your comb is?”
I found it after a bit of rummaging through his saddle bags, then had him scoot forward on the bed so I could sit behind him and comb his hair. After a few minutes, I was genuinely surprised he owned a comb. The man had gorgeous hair, but it was tangled within tangles. I held a section of strands in my fist while attacking the clumps with the comb, trying my best not to pull on his scalp.
“Let me know if I’m pulling on you,” I said.
“Hm,” was his only reply.
Grudge sat between my legs, my knees bent at his sides. His hands remained in his lap when we began but after a few minutes, he draped his arms over my thighs, fingers brushing gently over the tops of my feet.
“OK?”He signed the two letters against the side of my leg.
“Yes, Grudge. I don’t mind. Actually, I…” Nerves clammed up my chest, but I pushed through them anyway. “I really like it when you touch me.”
He stilled for a moment before rumbling a low, “Mm-hm.” His large hands circled my ankles, fingertips touching easily. Just as quickly as he gripped them, he opened his hands and continued a light touch up my calf muscle. What a shame that I wore leggings. I wanted that light, playful touch exploring my bare skin.
Should’ve just hopped in the shower with them last night.
“OK?”Grudge asked again.
“More than okay, that feels really nice.” I released the section of hair I was combing, to give my hands a rest. “How about you? Feeling okay?”
“Heh.” He made a scissoring motion in the air with his index and middle finger, then threw his hands up as if in frustration.
“You want to cut all this off?” I ran my fingers over his scalp to his answering shrug. “I can do that, if you want.”
“Eh?” He turned in the direction of my voice.
“I’m a little rusty, but I took some barbering classes a while back. I can cut these tangles out and try to shape it so it’s not so in your face. Would you like that?”
“Hm?” He stroked the length of his coarse beard, the end of it reaching the top of his chest.
“A beard trim too? I can do that.” I patted his arm, letting my fingers drag over the thick muscle and lines in his tattoos. “We’ll have to get out of bed though.”
“Meh,” he huffed.
Mehindeed. The bed was so much more comfortable.
Twenty minutes later, I had Grudge seated in a chair with a towel around his shoulders and the first clumps of tangled hair had hit the floor. I had to ask around, but one of the service center women found a pair of scissors to loan me. They weren’t anywhere near as sharp as barbering shears, but they would do the job well enough.
I walked in circles around him, carefully measuring, combing, and trimming his hair into a style that was hopefully even on both sides, on top of not looking terrible. He raised a hand to finger-spell a question to me about halfway through.
“Why barbering?”
“Why not?” I answered with a laugh. “I was cooped up at home and bored out of my skull. There was nothing for me to do but wander the halls of the capitol or take lessons to learn new things. Plus, learning weird stuff always got funny reactions from my dad.”
