Page 11 of Love Lessons
And I have to stop walking for a moment, because I’m doubled over with laughter.
FOUR
Let’s Go, Champ
IAN
While Vera runsinto her place for her clippers, I set up the ground-floor retail space for a haircut. I put a chair in the center of the empty room and turn on the lights. Then I head upstairs to my apartment for two cold beers from the fridge.
I don’t really understand Vera’s enthusiasm for getting her hands on me unless she’s actuallygetting her hands on me. But I try not to judge other people’s kinks, you know? And a free haircut is a free haircut.
As long as she doesn’t make me look ridiculous. Maybe I shoulda thought this through.
But Vera is back in a flash, so I can’t exactly chicken out now. She’s got clippers and barber’s scissors in a professional-looking case. She’s even shaking out one of those capes that drapes over your shoulders to keep the hair off. “Sit, sit!” she says. “Let’s do this.”
Warily, I drop into the chair and let her snap the cape into place. She grabs the extension cord I use for my saw and plugs her clippers into it. Then she pulls a spray bottle out of her bag and starts misting the back of my head.
I guess we’re doing this.
“Wow, your hair is so thick.” She runs a hand up the back of my neck and into my hair, and suddenly I have goosebumps.
Huh. My usual barber is a nice guy in his fifties, and I barely notice when he touches my head. But now there’s a hot chick running her fingers through my hair, and my body is all,Let’s go, champ! Get on that!
I guess my playoffs dry spell was a few weeks too long. “Don’t go too short, okay? I like leaving it a little long.”
“That was then, this is now. You’re trying to make a statement here. I’m not going to shave your head, but I am going to make you look tidy and very law-abiding.”
I let out a growl, but it’s half argument, half horniness. It doesn’t help that Vera smells amazing. She’s wearing some kind of expensive perfume—it’s citrussy with a whiff of fresh flowers. As she turns on the clippers and gently works them up the back of my neck, I find myself inhaling deeply to take in more of her scent. And when she puts a soft hand on my shoulder, the heat of her thumb at my neck makes me feel crazy.
Down, boy.
She works in silence while I fantasize about her putting her lips on my neck instead of those clippers. And when she cups my jaw to work on my sideburns, I have the worst urge to turn my head and lick the sensitive skin at her wrist, like the dirty boy that I am.
But then I realize she’s eased her clippers onto my beard. “Hey!” I argue. “What’s up with that?”
“Hold still,” she orders. “I’m going to give you a Brad Pitt scruff worthy of a magazine spread.”
“Never wanted to be in any magazines,” I grumble.
“Didn’t I just tell you to hold still?”
She’s all up in my space, her hand on my face, her dark eyes just inches away. Usually when I’m this close to a woman, we’re making out. If Vera happened to look down right now, she’d get an eyeful of how I feel about being so close to her.
Then? She strokes my face and makes a pleasing sound that makes me even harder.
“This whole thing is silly,” I growl through a clenched jaw. “I never do this. I never kiss management’s ass.” Although I’d like to kiss Vera’s…
“It’s not silly,” she insists. “People are visual creatures who respond to subconscious impulses. They’ll treat you differently depending on how you present yourself. That’s just a fact.” She releases my face and steps back to admire her work.
I’m sweating now, and I’m also reminded of how we don’t see eye to eye on basically anything. “What difference does it make?” I ask. “Why should I change myself to play other people’s reindeer games? Where I’m from, we call that shallow.”
Vera gasps. Then she trades her clippers for her scissors. “Here’s a pro tip—it’s a bad idea to call someoneshallowwhen they’re holding a very pointy object.”
“Christ, I didn’t sayyou’reshallow. I just don’t subscribe to that way of thinking—like I should change my hair to make other people more comfortable with me.”
Vera goes silent. She’s crimping sections of my hair between her fingers and scissor-trimming the strands at the crown of my head. It’s not exactly a noisy process, but somehow each little snip sounds angry.
After a long moment, I have to ask, “What the fuck did I say? Didn’t know being myself was a controversial statement.”
