Page 39 of Into The Light
"Never hadyour hair professionally washed and cut, I assume?"
"Nope. Before prison, Gerard's mom would buzz me every couple of weeks. once I went in, I just sorta…forgot about it. Didn't care what I looked like. So it just grew."
"So you've not touched it in ten years?"
"Nope."
"Well, I'm honored to be your first proper haircut." She shifts to stand over me, looking down at me as she begins rinsing the lather away. Her breasts hang a few inches from my face. "There's nothing like a good scalp massage, though, is there?"
I shove my hands under my thighs before they do something stupid, like touch her. “Best thing I ever felt,” I admit.
She sniffs a soft laugh. "I find that hard to believe."
“Nah. It's the truth."
She pauses her rinsing to look down at me. "I mean, it can’t be better than sex." Her eyes fly wide and her cheeks flush bright red. "Forget I said that?"
I swallow hard. "Been so long I barely remember. All I know is that scalp massage was fuckin' incredible."
I hope she doesn't look at my crotch—I'm fighting arousal. Not sure what it is—her proximity, her smell, the massage—but I’m rocking a partial erection that I can't do shit to hide.
She smiles and resumes rinsing. "Well, good. I'm happy I could give that to you."
She repeats the lathering process with some other product—conditioner, I guess, whatever the hell that is. And then the scalp massage again, and then more rinsing.
Eventually, she's satisfied with how rinsed my hair is and squeezes it out, snaps a towel open, uses that to squeeze my hair dry some more, and then guides me to sitting up before working the towel over my hair a bit more.
"Alright," she says. "Come on over to my station."
She leads me by the hand to a station along the lefthand wall near the middle, littered with jars of scissors and combs in blue liquid, a tangle of cords, a hair dryer, clippers, and a clear plastic tray full of neatly organized guards. There are several framed photographs of Noelle, with who I assume is her family. One is her with her mom and dad—her mom is short and somewhat bottom-heavy, with long, wavy gray hair and a bright, happy smile and the same green eyes and freckles that Noelle has; her dad is tall and whipcord lean, with smile-lines at the corners of his dark eyes, graying blond hair in a neat, classic side part, and a short, neat beard. The other two photographs are of Noelle with her sisters and Noelle with her brothers; her sisters are so alike it’s almost freaky, with long platinum blond hair and dark eyes. They’re stunningly beautiful in a slender, model-type way—not as sexy as Noelle, though, if you ask me. Her brothers are as identical as her sisters, and they too are tall and lean and blond, with pretty-boy good looks.
Once I take a seat, Noelle drapes a black plastic cape over me and buttons it behind my neck. Standing behind me, close enough that her breasts press against the backs of my shoulders,she runs her fingers through my hair, which is dark, damp, and heavy.
"So, unless you wanted it short, I was thinking I'd just trim some of the length off and give your hair some shape," she says, playing with my locks with a professional eye. “Thoughts?"
I shrug. "Whatever you think. Kinda like it longer, so maybe don’t hack it all off."
She presses herself against my back, tits squishing against my shoulders and neck, hands sliding down my chest. "There will be no hacking, you have my word."
Thank god for the cape—it hides my monster hard-on. I know the press of her chest against me is innocent. I know she's just a touchy sort of person and probably unaware of the contact; I feel kinda dumb for even imagining that it could be on purpose.
I do not pretend she's attracted to me in that way. How could she be?
Still. I long to reach up and take her thick braid in my hand, tug her down, and kiss her. I know I’ll never be able to. I don't deserve a woman like her. Someone so clean, so good, so generous and kind and beautiful.
She's not for me.
I don't fit in her life.
But it's nice to wish. Being on the outside means I get to wish. I get to hope. I just have to be realistic. A man with my past has no place thinking I could everbe witha woman of Noelle Harper's caliber.
She stays like that for a heart-stoppingly long time, pressed against me, hands on my chest, breath against my ear, cheek to my cheek. For a moment, I give in. Let my head sink back against her. She turns her face toward mine, her soft warm cheek against mine. Her lips part.
I could kiss her.
Fuck, I want to kiss her so damn bad it hurts.
"Bear…" she whispers. I smell the coffee on her breath.
