Page 43 of Sunshine
“That’s very considerate of you,” Dylan replies, and when he clears his throat, I realize I still have a hand in his hair.
I slide it out and shower his hair with water, distributing it with my fingers and then gathering the strands back from his forehead. A single droplet of water falls from his hairline, trailing across his temple, and I watch it fall in the mirror. I forget myself for the moment it takes for the droplet to travel the distance to his jaw, imagining it’s not water but evidence of exertion. Sweat dripping from physical activity. Proof he’s fighting hard to keep moving, stay in control, delay the finish.
I blink away the image as I set the water bottle aside, then thread my fingers through his hair again and apply more pressure to his scalp. I’m rewarded with a quiet moan, and I barely hold in a whimper as I pull free.
“I like your hair long,” I tell him as I pick up the scissors.
His mouth ticks up on one side. “Youlikethe man bun?”
“Actually, I do.” My lashes flick up as I catch his glance in the mirror. “It suits you.”
His lips twitch as he shakes his head, dropping his eyes to the side. “It’s lazy and messy and—”
“It’s sexy.”
His eyes find mine in the mirror, and the tension we’ve been ignoring snaps taut between us. We didn’t resolve it. We didn’t get it out of our systems. We only tricked it into believing one kiss and one promise was all we needed to neutralize it.
“Don’t move,” I order, collecting a lock of hair between two fingers and snipping a quarter-inch off the end before he has time to protest. I let that section drop and find another, my fingers skating the back of his neck, warmth flaring at the contact.
My breath comes short and shallow, and I focus on the sound of Izzy in the next room chatting to her toy friends.
“Izzy seems ready for tomorrow,” I comment as I snip another piece of hair.
Dylan blinks as whatever spell between us is broken by the mention of his daughter. “Uh, yeah. Thanks to you. She’s told me about the strategies she can use to talk to the butterflies in her stomach, like naming animals in alphabetical order. That’s a good one.”
Alligator. Bear. Cat. Dog.
Too bad it doesn’t work for me.
I focus on my hands as I work through the last few strands of Dylan’s hair. “She’s going to do great,” I agree. “I’ve got a good feeling about it.”
“Me too. Izzy could use a fresh start.”
“Speaking of fresh starts…” I set down the scissors and dig my hands back into Dylan’s hair, aware that after today, I won’t have an excuse to do this again. I rub at the roots to give his hair a little lift after the water weighed it down, and when I finally let go, Dylan shakes his head like a puppy, letting the new cut settle around his face.
Seriously. That’s all it takes. A shake of the head, a few adjustments with his fingertips, and he could step out onto a runway.
“Thanks,” he says, noting with curious fingers that although it doesn’t look much different, the bits at the front don’t catch on his eyelashes anymore. “You did a good job.”
“I always do a good job,” I reply, and though I don’t mean the innuendo to be so obvious, we both hear it.
I close my eyes with mild embarrassment, but when I open them again, Dylan’s watching me in the mirror with a smirk on his lush mouth.
“I bet you do.”
“Are you serious?” I smack his arm, and he chuckles. Who is this man, where did he come from, and how do I make sure he never goes anywhere ever again?
Dylan runs a hand across his jaw. “What about the beard? Should that go too?”
I stand behind him and regard his reflection. It’s not hard. I could stare at his face all day. In fact, there have been times in the past when I’ve done exactly that.
“No,” I say.
“No?”
“Absolutely not.”
I know it’s naughty. I know I shouldn’t. But I slide a hand up over his shoulder then around to his cheek to gently caress the rough whiskers with my fingertips. He watches with steady eyes, but he doesn’t tell me to stop.
