Page 11 of Touchdown
Her mouth curved, and the reaction hit her eyes this time. She was pleased and a little undone. “You remembered.”
“I told you, sunshine. I remember everything you tell me.”
“That’s dangerous.” She tried for a teasing tone but didn’t quite pull it off because her cheeks had blossomed with a pink hue. “You’re going to end up with a list.”
“I like lists.” I winked. “They keep things from getting lost.”
Her eyes twinkled as she traced the edge of the wrapper, her thumb stroking the gold foil. Then her gaze collided with mine once more, and her breathing shifted—barely—deeper, just enough for the pulse in her neck to begin fluttering. That small tell did more to my body than it should have. I felt a pull low and heavy in my shaft, the kind of ache that made denim and a metal zipper feel like a poor fucking choice. I smoothed my face so she wouldn’t see my grimace, and instead of shifting to find a more comfortable position, I made myself go still so it wouldn’t show.
She glanced toward the front desk, then leaned closer like she might say something else, but her attention was snagged by the jingling of the bell over the door.
“My client,” she murmured with a gesture to the man who stepped inside and glanced around in that expectant way people have when they assume the world will pivot for them.
“Right on time,” she said briskly, switching gears like a pro. “Come on back.”
He was young and good-looking in an eager, mirror-checking way. His jacket was designer, his watch expensive, and his hair was already styled like he was auditioning for a commercial.
I stepped back from her station to give them space, but I didn’t go far. I took the same spot as yesterday—leaning against the wall just out of the main line of traffic, arms folded, and my eyes on nothing in particular and everything at once. I didn’t interrupt. I simply watched.
She draped the cape with a practiced snap and went to work—comb moving fast and sure, scissors flashing, the clean metallic click echoing under the low salon music. He tried to turn toward her more than the chair allowed, with the telltale shoulder tilt of a guy who wanted attention. And expected it.
He asked questions with too much confidence in the rightness of his own voice. Pride popped in my chest at how she handled him by being brisk and funny. She glanced at me in the mirror once, almost as if to make sure I was still there, then went back to her client when he asked her something about products that would give him “more lift.”
I probably should have left.
I didn’t.
Watching her work did the same thing for me that film study did. It quieted my mind while sharpening every edge. I registered the precise angle of her wrist as she cleaned the line at his temple. The way her brow pulled in the slightest bit when she was focused. The half smile curving her wide lips when she smoothed his hair, and it fell exactly where she wanted it. That small satisfaction looked good on her, and I wanted to see it every day. I wanted to be the one who put it there.
She finished faster than he expected. Efficiency always surprised people who mistook talk for talent. After one last lookat her work, she spun the chair and lifted the hand mirror to let him see the back. He made a show of checking every angle—seriously, this little shit needed a fucking ego check—and then reached for his wallet like it was a performance. He slid a tip into her hand and leaned in with a grin he obviously thought was charming.
“You free after your shift?” he asked, his tone pitched just shy of smug.
I didn’t say a word, but the noise that came out of me was unintentional and not at all subtle. It was a low rumble from somewhere deep, a sound my body made without checking with my brain first. The kid’s head snapped in my direction. I was still leaning on the wall, cool and collected, but whatever he saw on my face wiped the grin off his. Some looks were louder than others, and this one bellowed that he’d overstepped.
“Uh…thanks,” he muttered, backpedaling so fast he nearly caught his heel on the chair’s footrest. He turned and nearly clipped a display stand as he hustled for the door with a mumbled, “Have a good one.”
Silence hovered for a beat. Ivy slid the hand mirror back into its slot and cut me a look that wasn’t angry but wasn’t thrilled either. Eyebrow lifted, mouth tight, and an expression that mixed exasperation with a flicker of something like amusement.
She rolled her eyes as if to sayreally?and reached for her broom. I shrugged unapologetically. I didn’t have to explain myself. She knew exactly what that had been. I drifted back toward the front to give her room while she finished sweeping with quick, efficient strokes.
Missy passed me with a sandwich in each hand and a thanks for lunch that I waved off. Lorna caught my eye and mouthed, “Salted caramel?”as she walked by, not bothering to hide her grin. She giggled when I didn’t take the bait.
I waited near the window until Ivy closed out her last appointment.
Then I drove her home again because there was no version of this where I didn’t. The hour didn’t seem long enough. I listened to her voice like always, letting details of her day file into the same quiet drawer in my head where her other details lived. When we parked, I got out with her, but this time, I walked with her inside.
I followed as she moseyed down the narrow hallway to the elevator, where the old brass doors were the kind that needed a firm push.
She turned toward me with that small smile she used when she didn’t want to show too much. I didn’t give her time to decide between more banter and a goodbye. I set my hand at the side of her throat, my thumb swiping along the hinge of her jaw, and kissed her like I’d been thinking about for twenty-four hours straight.
She met me like she’d been waiting just as long, settling some of the restless energy pulsing through me. Her mouth opened under mine, soft and hot, and the sound she made when my tongue slid against hers nearly snapped the control I’d been wrestling into place since we left the SUV.
I backed her toward the wall beside the button panel, one arm braced above her head so I didn’t press all my weight into her and the other hand spanning her hip to feel the heat through her denim. She fit against me like she’d been made for me. The hard line of my body locked to the soft, greedy shape of hers. Her fingers hooked into the front of my coat, tugging me closer, and then they were in my hair, pulling harder, and everything in me answered with a surge that felt primal—take, claim, keep.
I chased the taste of the candy bar she’d nibbled on earlier, swallowing her little gasp when I angled her head and set adeeper rhythm. Slow at first, then I was deliberately rougher, until she rose onto her toes, silently begging for more.
The need in my chest slid lower, sharpened, and the ache in my cock turned into a throb that bordered on pain. But I was almost grateful for it because it kept my head from getting stupid. I pressed my palm down along her waist, gliding around to the small of her back, and drawing her in tight against me, pressing the hard ridge between her thighs. She felt me—there was no fucking way she didn’t—and the way her breath hitched told me she liked it. I bit her lower lip, gentle but with a warning of what I was holding back. I soothed it with my tongue, and she answered with a soft moan that went straight through me like a live wire.
