Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“Sure, we’ll go with that.” Marie winks, and I blush. Griff and I aren’t hiding, but we’re not telling everyone our business. They can figure things out for themselves or ask. My name has been through the mud one too many times for me to allow others to demean it some more.
“Are we doing the usual?” I ask, placing a cape around her, snapping it at the back of her neck. I run my fingers through her hair, look at the new growth coming in, and mentally remember the formula I use with her.
“We are. I think the next appointment, I want to switch it up. There’s no use keeping up with the gray hair when it’s only getting worse, and I’m only getting older.” My hands meet one another, clapping excitedly. Marie has been talking about this for a while, going back and forth. The things I want to do to her hair, and this way, we can make it more natural instead of just growing it out.
“I can hear your excitement in the back.” Kitty comes out in an apron.
“Marie is going gray. Have you seen a head of hair prettier?” I reply.
“And with your magical hands, it’s going to be magnificent,” Kitty responds as the door chimes again. I don’t bother looking, figuring it’s another client for one of the other stylists who haven’t come in yet.
“Okay, so if you’re positive, I’m going to do a demi-permanent color, then we can strip the rest of the color next appointment.” Marie nods vigorously, so I continue, “You’re looking at a few hours. Bring a book, wear comfortable clothes, and we’ll order food.” She’ll be my only client that day. It’ll be hours of standing, watching, and waiting.
“I can’t wait. I should have planned ahead. We could have done it today.” She shrugs her shoulders, and Marie probably could have called me if I hadn’t turned my work calls onto silent mode. Shit on a brick.
“That’s okay. This appointment won’t take long. Let me go get your color mixed up, and we’ll get started.” I squeeze her shoulders once, turn around, and am stopped in my tracks. The door chiming brought in an unwelcome guest: Zach’s mother, Laura. I push my shoulders back and lift my chin, pretending I’ve got all the confidence in the world when I walk by the salon chair she’s sitting in. Her stylist, Cassidy, isn’t here yet, but leave it to Laura to talk on the phone as loudly as possible. “That’s what I said. She’s living with her best friend’s uncle. Can you imagine leaving my son on his wedding day with a man who’s closer to her mom’s age than hers?” She’s not worth it, she’s not worth it, she’s absolutely not worth it. The mantra replays in my head the entire walk toward the back room, while I’m flinging open cabinets, slamming them shut, mixing product, and everyone leaves me alone while I get my emotions in check. Jesus, I could really use Griff right about now, or a bottle of tequila. In either order. Or for someone to put Laura in her place. I take a deep breath, abandoning mixing the color to try and get my shit in check. The last thing I want is for Laura to see she’s affecting me. That bitch and her son are my past, and there’s no use looking in the rearview mirror.
22
GRIFFIN
“Hey, Jack.” I hit the button to answer the call in my truck. They released us at midnight last night after going through each person with a fine-tooth comb. My questioning was done at a hospital. It wasn’t the first time I’d dislocated my shoulder, and the doctor was unimpressed it happened again. He warned me that a surgery could be in my future. I knew it. With my field, it comes with the territory. The doctor told me all of this while putting my shoulder back in place, the pain of it hanging loosely only for him to put me in even more pain when it’s finally where it belongs.
“Hey, you home yet?” he asks.
“About five minutes out. Going to drop my shit off, let Finn out, and pick up some food to bring to Stormy at the salon.” I heard the longing in her voice on the three-minute phone call. It ate at my gut. It’s why I drove a couple of hours, hit a rest area, ate ibuprofen like it was candy, took a nap, and woke up to finish the drive home. Yesterday was a clusterfuck of all clusterfucks, one I won’t be repeating. The first call I made was to my boss, the one who didn’t show up yesterday and was supposed to, especially after the incident. Marty tried to give me the run-around, like he was blowing smoke up my skirt. It came down to me say get fucked. He shut up. I told him I was done, this time for good, and hung up.