Page 57 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
Bibi answered with a hard shove, and he stumbled through the door. Hauling him to reception, she pointed to his head.
“I need somebody to sort this out, if any of your stylists are up for the challenge.”
“Bibi! Honestly, I really don’t need my hair cut.” The smirk on the sleek receptionist’s scarlet lips told him something different.
“One moment, please.” She rose from her chair, and glided across the salon floor, and through a door at the back. “Alejandro will look after you,” she said, returning with a tall and impossibly handsome guy who looked as though he should have been modeling underwear rather than wielding scissors and cans of hair spray — neither of which were going to come within ten feet of him.
“I don’t want my hair cut,” Lucian blurted.
“Yes, you do Luci.” Bibi smiled up at Alejandro, bright, shiny and as lethal as a shark. “He needs it short at the back and sides, but leave it longer on top.”
“Preppy?”
“Exactly. Preppy.”
“No!”
Alejandro bore down on Lucian, and teased his hair, before pushing it away from his face, pursing his lips as he nodded. “Preppy hair for a preppy face. Very cute,” he said, with a faint Spanish accent.
Lucian gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to be cute, except for Arlo, and he tried to pull away, but Alejandro had him in a firm grip. Maybe he could thump him and make a run for it, but Alejandro and Bibi would catch him before he’d got to the salon door, dragging him to the sink for a dousing of shampoo and conditioner, and bland chat about his upcoming weekend. He was trapped, and they all knew it.
“This way.” It was an order, and Lucian followed, a lamb to the slaughter.
At the sink, with a towel around his shoulders and his head tilted backwards, Bibi’s face appeared above him. She was faster than lightning.
“Hey! I need—”
“You can’t wear your glasses while you have your hair cut.” She tucked them into her purse, giving him a wiggly finger wave as she left him to his fate.
Shampooed, conditioned, and seated in front of an enormous mirror, Alejandro, still pursing his lips, got to work. He didn’t attempt conversation, and Lucian was at least thankful for that small mercy.
Closing his eyes, Lucian concentrated on not wincing with every rasping cut of the scissors. Alejandro switched on a hairdryer, set at Disfiguring Burns level, which was followed by further tiny snips, before he sprayed something lethal on his hair, leaving his lungs scrambling for breath.
“Oh, my… that looks awesome.” Bibi had come back over, and her voice was little more than a breath. Lucian opened his eyes, first one, then the other. And gasped.
If he thought he’d had trouble recognizing himself in his new suit, this was another level entirely.
The man who stared back at him, with the short hair and no glasses, was… he couldn’t say the word Arlo insisted he was. The last time his hair had been so short, he’d been at school. But this was no brutal short back and sides. Short, yes, but sculptured rather than butchered. He prided himself on being an artist, and he recognized the artist in Alejandro. He blinked, and looked at Bibi’s reflection, then Alejandro’s, then Bibi’s again. Both were smiling, and he smiled back.
“That’s better. Yes?” Alejandro asked. Lucian nodded. How could he even try to deny it? “It shows off your lovely bone structure, those high cheekbones. And your eyes, ahh, muy guapo.”
Bibi laughed. “You’re right, but I’m afraid he’s already spoken for. Aren’t you Luci?”
Lucian’s face pulsed with heat.
“Such a shame.” Alejandro sighed.
They left the salon a few minutes later, but not before Alejandro offered Lucian a quiet invitation to get in touch, along with a wink.
“Haven’t you forgotten something?” Bibi asked as they made their way back to her car.
Lucian stopped. Bags. Jacket. Wallet. Cell. He had them all, so what was she…
Bibi delved into her purse and held up his glasses. He went to take them, but she snatched them out of his way.
“You don’t need them. They’re not prescription.”
“I do.” He swallowed.
