Tipsy (Take It Off #5)(3)
Author: Cambria Hebert

After I combed the hair and checked its length, I decided to remove some of the bulk with the scissors. “I’m going to cut your hair dry today,” I told him. “Using the clippers on wet hair doesn’t work that well.”

“Do your thing,” he drawled.

I ignored the little flippy feeling in my stomach and got to work, removing some of the shagginess at the base of his neck and around his ears. He smelled so good that it was almost distracting. A clean scent with a hint of spice. It was an older scent, one that had been around for a long time, but it was my favorite. Old Spice. It was all man and it taunted my senses as I worked.

He didn’t speak when I set down the scissors and picked up the clippers and snapped on one of the guards. I spun his chair around so our backs were to the mirror, and I breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes were so gorgeous and I had felt them on me the whole time I worked.

I moved quickly and confidently, trimming the hair close to the base of his neck and up around his ears. I did a low, gradual fade to the top, leaving it long and not quite faded all the way. I would clean it all up with the sheers.

After I was done with the clippers, I spun him back around and our eyes collided in the mirror. His new shorter hair drew attention to his square jaw and the stubble that grew there. When we went out, he was clean-shaven.

In fact, he seemed a little worn all around. He was still sexy as hell, but there was something about him that seemed… tired.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was asking him about himself. “How have you been?”

“Busy.”

Too busy to call, I thought bitterly.

“How about you?”

“Fine,” I said, giving the same generic answer I always gave when someone asked me about myself.

As I cut the top of his hair, I leaned into him. Every so often I would brush up against the side of his arm or his shoulder. My body tingled with awareness and never before had I ever felt like cutting someone’s hair was so… intimate.

I stepped around to the front and leaned over him, trying to reach the hair, holding out my arms.

“Here,” he said softly, spreading his knees apart and creating an opening to step between his legs.

I stepped closer, only because it made my job easier, and ran my fingers through his hair, pulling it up to look at it. A soft groan rumbled in his throat and I looked down.

“That feels good,” he murmured, his eyes slipping closed.

Damn if that didn’t make me want to do it again. The butterflies in my stomach were out of control, and I knew I was going to be tied up with fluttery energy all day, long after he was gone.

I kept cutting, running my hands through his tresses. He didn’t groan again, but I couldn’t help but notice the way his body relaxed into the seat. Poor guy, he must have been stressed.

I reminded myself not to feel sorry for him.

When I was done, I went around to the back and quickly checked the length all over, making sure it was even.

Then I ran my hands through it again, giving it a tousled look. “How’s this?”

His eyes opened and he looked in the mirror. “Looks really good,” he said, his eyelids slightly closed.

He wasn’t looking at his hair.

He was looking at me.

We stood there for long, silent, charged seconds. It was the same kind of chemistry that sizzled between us the day we met and then again on our first and only date. Was I just imagining it? Did he not feel it too?

It was practically undeniable.

“So the, uh…” I said, my words getting lost in his gaze. “Uh, the haircut is to your liking?”

He finally glanced at his hair and nodded.

I made it. This was done. “Great,” I said and set my tools down. I reached for the cape when he stopped me.

“Would you mind shampooing it? I have to go in to work later.”

“Sure,” I said, mentally dying. More touching him. With water. And soap.

It made me think of a shower with him. Naked. I jerked and then braced myself on the side of his chair. What the hell was I doing having these thoughts? I was at work!

“Right this way,” I said, walking away and not looking to make sure he followed. I knew he was right behind me. My body was practically humming with his close proximity.

I led him to an open shampoo bowl and he sat down. I arranged the cape (figures the pink didn’t make him look less manly) and then guided him back to rest his neck in the bowl. I turned the water on, testing it out on my hand until I got the desired temperature.

Slowly, I let the water cascade over his head. “Is that water okay?”

“Perfect,” he murmured, his eyes slipping closed.

I wet his hair and then pumped some shampoo into my hand and massaged my fingers into his scalp. The scent wafted up around us and bubbles coated my fingers. I noted that he had goose bumps along his arms and it gave me some sort of pleasure to know it was my touch that did that to him.

I spent a little longer than I needed bent over him and washing his hair. And then I rinsed it with warm water and worked some conditioner through the ends (he didn’t need it, but I sure had a good time). I couldn’t help but give him a little scalp massage, and then I lifted his head to massage the back of his neck.

He heaved a great sigh and I noted the goose bumps on his skin remained the entire time.

After I was done I towel-dried his hair and directed him back to my station where I combed it, blasted it for a few seconds with the dryer, and then styled it so it was effortlessly messy.

“All done,” I said, peeling away the pink cape and ignoring the feeling of regret because it was time for him to leave.

He sat there for long moments, looking at me like he wanted to say something, but then he got up. “Thanks,” he said and then went toward the receptionist without a backward glance.

Clearly the chemistry I felt before had been my imagination.

I didn’t look his way again; instead, I cleaned up the hair from the floor and put away my tools. I glanced at my watch. I still had a couple hours left before I could go home. I wished this day was over. I was ready to go home, eat a pint of ice cream, and wallow.

Wallow over one stinking date.

Yes, I was pathetic.

But it had been a really good date.

I had several minutes before my next client arrived so I focused on my reflection in the mirror. My blond hair was a little longer than chin length and it was styled in a messy little bob. Some of the strands flipped out around my face and I had side-swept bangs that drew attention to my blue eyes—not nearly as deep and blue as his were.