Page 43 of The Nice Guy
“Damn right!”
An elbow hits me, and I see a knowing look on Carter’s face as he whispers, “Nowshe’sher knight in shinin’ armor.”
“Shut up,” I whisper back.
“What are you whisperin’ about?” Darla asks with her eyes narrowed.
“Nothin’,” we say.
Brynlee giggles and drinks half of her soda. “Okay, I think I’m stable until the pizza arrives.”
“Stable?” Carter asks and looks at me, confused.
“Low blood sugar. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“You suck,” Darla says and drinks her beer.
My foot gently kicks her shin. “Excuse me?”
“What? She’s skinny and eats regularly. Drinks regular soda. What’s fair about that?”
“You look great, Darla,” she says. “Oh, speaking of which, I was told by every person I’ve talked to that I need to schedule an appointment with you for my hair. Now, I’m kind of picky, but any chance you have an opening?”
She slouches down in the booth. “I don’t have a shift until the end of the week.”
“Could I pay you to come to my house tomorrow, and do it? I just need a root touch up and a trim.”
I’m shocked by how quickly this Darla perks up. “Any chance you’d be willin’ to let me do somethin’ else?”
“Like what…?”
“Dar, you’re scarin’ her,” Carter warns.
She waves a hand at her husband. “Okay, hear me out. You’ve got a nice tan, and I think you should lighten up a shade or two. I don’t think the maintenance will be much worse than what you’re doin’ now, and it’ll really brighten you up.”
Grabbing a strand of her hair, Brynlee looks at it, and I smirk as I see her imagining it as a different shade of blonde. “I can’t pull of platinum. Trust me, I’ve tried. It’s terrible.”
“Not platinum, I swear.”
She lets out a deep breath. “I trust you.”
“That’s the nicest compliment you can give me,” Darla says. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
“How does ten sound? I still have to get groceries. I kind of failed to do that this morning.”
“Perfect!”
It’s been a while since I’ve seen Darla this excited, and I just hope she doesn’t make Brynlee regret this decision. I love Darla, but she’s a small-town stylist, not what Brynlee’s probably used to.
“How do you feel about a spin on the dance floor?” I ask.
Brynlee nods and smiles, almost bouncing as we’re let out of the booth. I take her hand and lead her out just as a slow song comes on.
“Saved with a country ballad,” she says, not resisting when I pull her into my arms.
Her wedges prop her up to my chin, and I hold her tightly against me as we dance to George Strait. “You used to dance for a talent, remember?”
“Yeah, jazz and tap. I doubt that’ll come in handy around here.”
