Page 13 of Touchdown
That pulled a chuckle out of the room, but I barely registered it. Chuck, our head coach, started talking about schedules and offseason PR, and I kept pretending to read the notes on my tablet while my brain tried to engineer a reason to show up at The Color Loft that didn’t look like the obsession it was. Nothingthat sounded reasonable came to mind, which only made me edgier.
Then Rhodes scrubbed a hand through his hair, and it flopped over his forehead in a defeated wave. It was longish and uneven in the back like he’d taken a pair of kitchen scissors to it during a 3 a.m. baby feeding. The sight clicked the tumblers in my head one by one. Clean, simple, and perfect.
When Cole announced, “Meeting adjourned,” chairs scraped back and feet shuffled heavily across the carpet. I stood, looked at Rhodes, and didn’t bother with finesse. He was a means to an end, and I wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“You need a haircut.” I took him by the elbow and steered him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Rhodes blinked blearily. “Now?”
“Now.”
He didn’t fight me. Probably because he was too tired. Or because he knew resistance was a waste of energy when I got like this. Gage whistled low, like he appreciated initiative, Nixon’s mouth hit a knowing line, and Brady called after me to bring Rhodes back human. I ignored all of it, cut through the lot with Rhodes in tow, and tossed him into the passenger seat of my SUV like he was a duffel.
“Is this about me?” he asked, buckling in. “Or is this about you?”
“Yes,” I answered as I pulled out.
Rhodes leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes for the drive, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth softening as he grabbed a power nap on the move. I kept my hands steady on the wheel and let the idea of seeing Ivy smooth out the serrated edge in my brain. Just the picture of her at her station was enough to drop my pulse into a slower, more dangerous rhythm.
We found a spot right in front, and I got out and went around to the passenger side because Rhodes was still asleep. He nearly fell out of the SUV when I opened the door and gave a shout as he flailed to catch himself. I grabbed him and helped him get steady on his feet. Then I grunted, “Let’s go,” and marched to the entrance of the salon.
The bell over the door chimed, and the warmth hit us, taking the edge off the chill. The hum of blow-dryers, low music, and soft conversation surrounded me, easing my mood because it all reminded me that Ivy was near.
She stood by her chair in dark jeans and a fitted, long-sleeved tee. Her hair was hanging in gentle waves down her back, a few strands framing her beautiful face. She saw me first, and her motions rolled through her expression in layers—surprise, pleasure, and amusement.
I kept it simple as I tipped my head at Rhodes. “He needs a cut. I came to keep him company.”
She smirked in a way that said she had my number but was choosing to play nice.
“Of course you did.” Her voice was light with that New York snap, and her brown eyes were warm. “Congratulations, Rhodes. How’s the new boss?”
He laughed through a yawn, the sound softer than usual. “Seven pounds of tiny tyrant. I’m in love.”
“That tracks.” Ivy laughed as she slid the cape around his shoulders, fingers quick at the nape of his neck. Her gaze darted at me in the mirror, her smirk returning, letting me know that she was deliberately not commenting on the obvious. She could have made a joke, could have called me out for what this was, but she let me have the fictional version of things. Practically gift-wrapped and tied with a bow.
I took my usual position—shoulder to the wall beside her station, hands in my pockets, and body loose but still alert.A weighted presence in the room. Territorial without the performance.
Like always, I was silent and observant. Watching her work did the same thing as always—quieted the noise and sharpened everything important. Her scissors flashed, the fine muscles in her forearm moved when she combed and trimmed. She tilted Rhodes’s head with two fingers and met his eyes in the mirror, that soft professional smile curling her red lips. I loved the way she owned the space—competent, brisk, funny when the moment needed it.
A couple of guys came in while she worked. I watched, tracking their movements. When one of them stared at her past the point of politeness, I leveled a look that made him reconsider. He blinked, swallowed, and turned his attention to a product display, as if reading labels had become urgent.
Ivy saw it all, but again, she didn’t call me on it, didn’t admonish or reward me for it. The only tell was the tiniest hitch at the corner of her mouth when she dipped for the neckline cleanup, her eyes flickering to mine in the mirror with a glint that said she both disapproved of my tactics and liked them more than she wanted to admit.
She finished Rhodes fast, the lines at his temples even, the back neat, and the tired dad was turned polished in fifteen minutes flat. She spun him, smoothed his hair, and tapped the brake on the chair with the toe of her boot to settle it. He looked 10 percent more human and 20 percent less likely to scare his neighbors in the elevator.
“Better,” I said, because it was.
“Thank fuck,” he answered with a sheepish grin. “I was starting to look like a cautionary tale.”
When Rhodes stood, she slid the cape free with a snap and shook stray hair to the floor. He clapped my shoulder on his way past.
“You’re a menace,” he murmured in a tone that meant thanks. “I’m going to sleep for nine minutes in your SUV now.”
“Go,” I told him, tossing him the keys. He did, paying quickly, then booked it to my SUV to get out of the cold as fast as possible.
I remained behind, trying to think of reasons to stay. Ivy pretended to check her shears and then turned that smirk loose on me. “Top-notch company, Saxon. Very talkative. Really carried the conversation.”
“Can’t risk overexertion on a weekday.” I let a corner of my mouth lift.
