by Kate Angell
“Let’s do it,” Eden announced. She crossed over to the chair. “Stand up a second, Stevie. I want to capture the full length of your hair.”
Stevie complied, rising and shaking out her hair. The strands shimmered, sleek and shiny, skimming her waist. Pax whistled. Sam moaned low in his throat. Joe shifted his stance. Eden focused her Nikon, then did what she did best. She captured the moment on film.
Stevie turned in a full circle before sitting back down. Eden gave her a thumbs-up. Next she instructed, “Superheroes surround her.” Pax stood to the right, Sam to the left, and Joe moved behind the chair. Eden crouched, took in all angles, and clicked away. Soon she straightened. “Fantastic. Now, heroes, please move aside.” They did so, and Eden then motioned to Capri. “Your turn.”
The stylist selected a thin scrunchie from her collection of bands, then slipped into the camera frame. Joe listened closely as Capri explained the process to Stevie. “I’ll be putting your hair up into a ponytail, then cutting it off one inch above the band. I’m going with a braid, because it’s so long. Makes it much easier to handle. The length of your hair can be processed for two, maybe even three wigs. You’ll make several little girls very happy.”
Joe cleared his throat, then asked, “Can I make a request for one of the wigs? There’s a young girl, Ashley Hammond, on the sixth floor. She’s a cancer survivor and soon to be released. She’s in need of a hair prosthetic. She’s blond, too. I’d like her to be a recipient of Stevie’s hair.”
Stevie twisted, faced him. Their gazes locked. She softened to him, compassion showing in her eyes for all of a second. “I’d like that, too,” she said, then turned away.
Capri pointed to a stack of forms on a nearby table. “Fill one of these out,” she told Joe. “Speak privately with the manufacturer on-site.” She scanned the room. “The man in the blue suit by the cookie table is David Harkness. He works closely with Dr. Daniels and the children’s parents. I’m sure a superhero would have some pull.”
Joe could use his powers for good. The image of Ashley in a shoulder-length wig warmed his heart. It was a cause worth investigating. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Capri finished braiding Stevie’s hair. Eden continued taking photos. Every second was documented.
Capri then picked up a pair of scissors and air-snapped the blades together. Snip, snip. Stevie’s shoulders tensed slightly. Pax and Sam gave involuntary jerks. Both men covered their groins with their palms. Joe grinned at them. “It’s a haircut.” His teammates protected their balls.
“We still good to go?” Capri asked Stevie, giving the donor an opportunity to back out, not wanting her to have any regrets.
Stevie was ready. “Go ahead.”
With a swift, concise snip, Capri cut off the ponytail. The stylist then put the braid into a sealed plastic bag with rubber bands at both ends. She set the bag aside, eyed Stevie, then said, “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll give you a free trim.” She returned the scissors to a sectional case on a rolling stand and withdrew a smaller pair. “Bangs, a little feathering. A new you,” she predicted.
Joe glanced at his watch. Ten minutes edged toward fifteen, and a crowd began to gather. People gaped, eyes wide, at Stevie’s transformation. Even the custodian, sweeping the floor, now leaned on his broom handle and stared. Stevie’s profile was facing Joe, and it wasn’t until Capri unfastened her cape and turned Stevie directly toward him that he got the full effect. The change was so startling, so stunning, he sucked in air. Dry mouth, tight throat, constricted chest. Sweaty palms.
Gone was the woman with the long hair. Its length had been weighing down her delicate features. Her shortened hair brought out her dark eyes, sharpened her cheekbones, and emphasized her full lips. She was a total knockout.
Capri held up a hand mirror, allowing Stevie a close-up view. “Sunlit, flirty, pretty,” she complimented.
“Damn,” from Pax.
“Babe . . .” Sam muttered.
Joe had no words.
The crowd began to clap, and the applause only grew louder as Stevie dipped her head, and color crept up her now-visible, very pale neck. Being the center of attention embarrassed her, but her modesty only endeared her more to the packed room.
* * *
A steadying breath, and Stevie Reynolds glanced up, meeting Joe’s gaze. Seeking reassurance. His face was closed, his expression hard to read. Those gathered approved her cut, but he’d remained quiet. Too silent for a man who’d come on to her on the boardwalk, and again crossed her path at Kuts for Kids.
She heard the click of the camera, and realized that Eden was still shooting. “I’d like a superhero to be in the final photo, too. Super Z, close in,” she said to Joe.
A surreal freeze-frame. Stevie watched him approach, all slow swagger and sex appeal. Yet his gaze was straightforward. One corner of his mouth lifted. A flash of teeth. Then, lowering his voice, he approved. “Nice, Stewie.”
She shouldn’t have cared what he thought, but she did. Her heart skipped a beat. “I don’t look like a boy? Peter Pan?”
“You look more feminine now than you did before.”
His compliment deepened her blush. She heated from the inside out. Her skin had never felt so warm. She fanned herself with her hand.
“Make this last photo memorable,” Eden called over to them.
“What do you mean?” asked Stevie.
Eden gave them a small, almost secretive smile. “I’m sure Super Z can come up with something.”
That “something” made Stevie nervous.
Eden sensed her apprehension, and added, “PG rating, dude.”
Stevie stilled as he leaned in. He kept his hands to himself, but his nearness intimidated her with its sexual charge. His kiss was familiar, warm and whisper-soft on her brow. Identical to the earlier kiss on the boardwalk, when he’d saved her from Security. His reward.
“Excellent,” Eden praised them, winding down. “Superhero, super cut. Thanks, everyone.” She waved on her way out.
“My chair is open.” Capri motioned to the next donor in line. “We’ve a lot of cuts yet to go before we close the doors.”
Stevie shouldered her hobo bag, then looked toward the door.
“I’ll walk you to the entrance,” Joe offered.
“I can find my own way.”
“Big hospital, you could get lost.”
“There are plenty of signs and staff members around to guide me.”
He shrugged, stepped back, and let her go. She moved on.
Pax pushed past Joe. “Done here. I’ll follow you out.”
“Behind you, too,” said Sam. “Time to get out of my costume. I’m itching in places I didn’t know could itch.”
“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” came from Joe. “I need to speak to the hair prosthetic manufacturer on Ashley’s behalf.”
“Happy hour?” asked Sam.
“The Lusty Oyster.”
“Catch you there,” said Pax.
The glass door seized Joe’s reflection as Stevie left the conference room. He stood alone. Tall, built, and dangerous. His gaze narrowed on their departure. She watched him watch her as she and his buddies started down the hall. Distracted, she bumped into the door frame as she made her escape. She staggered back a step. Pax curved his hand over her shoulder, steadied her. She intuitively knew without looking that Joe had just smiled. Jerk.
They reached the foyer, passed through the automatic doors, then stood beneath the wide awning. She rummaged through her hobo bag for her cell phone. Once she found it, she texted Lori for a ride. There was no immediate response from her friend. A cement bench provided a place for her to wait. She sat down.
Sam took off his Batman cowl and mask. He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it up. Went on to ask, “Need a lift?”
“Thanks, but I’m good,” she said—or so she hoped. Stevie was always punctual, often arriving five or ten minutes early. But time meant little to Lori. She was known to get e
asily sidetracked. Forgivable, yet annoying at times.
Pax removed his Captain America cap, untied his mask. Questioned, “You free tonight?”
She had no immediate plans. But partying with the Rogues went against her promise to her cousin. DJ was in town for several weeks, and he’d asked her not to associate with the ballplayers. He had his reasons, which she understood and accepted. She would abide by his wishes.
She’d been sharp and sarcastic with Joe from the moment they’d met. Totally disagreeable. It was her only defense against her attraction to the man. She’d expected him to back off, to drop his pursuit of her. But instead he continued to pull her in. She would redouble her efforts. Strengthen her mind-set.
She passed now. “Sorry, I’m busy.” She would spend time with her aunt instead.
“I figured you’d have a date,” said Pax. “Never hurts to ask, though. We’re in the moment, and it’s pretty last-minute. Stop by the Oyster if your schedule changes. We’d show you a good time.”
She bet they would. Both handsome guys, full of themselves, and out to party. Women would go wild for them. “I’ll keep you in mind,” she assured him.
Each man gave her a smile meant to entice. Pax arched an eyebrow, flashed his dimples. Sam’s boyish good looks, crooked grin, and amazing blue-violet eyes were hard to resist. The hue should’ve been effeminate, but instead it only enhanced his contrasting masculinity.
They left her then, crossing the street to the parking garage. Disappearing into the darkened lot, all stealth, strut, and a flapping bat cape.
Stevie folded her hands in her lap and sat quietly. A sturdy seawall separated the hospital from the beach. The coastline was deserted. The day was winding down, the sun less intense. It was now low tide, and the surf gave way to the sand.
Hunger crept up on her. She should’ve had a snickerdoodle when the tray was passed. She texted Lori a second time. Then a third. Sighed. She didn’t have the money to hail a cab. Walking seemed to be her only other option.
“You waiting for me? ” Male voice, warm breath on her neck, and Joe appeared behind her.
“Waiting on Lori.”
“Your friend seems to disappear a lot.”
“She’ll show,” Stevie said with conviction.
“When?”
“Soon enough.” Her stomach growled.
“You hungry?”
“I missed lunch.”
“I have a health bar we can share.” He reached into the side pocket of his suede duster, scored the nutty-fruity snack. He circled the bench, came around to sit down beside her, purposely close. He bumped her hip, brushed her thigh. He split the bar, giving her the smaller half. She peeled back the wrapper, ate it in two bites. She wanted more.
She noticed Joe had yet to finish. He was a slow chewer. He held a decent-sized piece between his fingers. He sensed her stare, cut her a look. “You’re drooling.”
She touched her fingers to the corners of her mouth. “Am not.”
“You checked.”
She’d already had crumbs on her lips earlier in the day. She would hate to drool in front of him now.
“You want the last piece?” he offered.
She nodded. Lips parting. He fed her. His gloved thumb lingered, gently pressing her bottom lip. Raw leather. Soft mouth. Mesmerizing. Seductive.
Lost in the moment, she swallowed hard. The piece of health bar went down whole. Lodged in her throat. She coughed, choked.
Joe thumped her on the back. Hard.
She recovered, squeaked, “I’m fine.”
He hovered over her, concern in his eyes. The bar settled heavily in her stomach, yet his nearness bothered her more. She rose, began to pace. A stiff breeze off the Gulf blew her skirt between her legs. Up her thighs. She tugged it down. Where was Lori?
Joe’s, “You still wearing my garter?” stopped her in her tracks.
Obnoxious question, but one she was forced to answer. She was wearing the same clothes she’d had on earlier in the day. There hadn’t been time following the bridal event for her to return home and change. To remove the garter. Kuts for Kids took priority. Lori had dropped her off—then disappeared.
“No garter.”
“I saw a flash of blue.”
“In your dreams.”
“Prove me wrong.”
“Take my word for it.”
He grinned, knowing she lied. He relaxed on the bench, tilted back his head, squinted through his mask, and looked at the sky. His out-of-the-blue comment—“You don’t like me much”—was more statement than question.
“Life isn’t a popularity contest,” she returned. “Not everyone has to like everyone else.”
“Whom do you like?”
“Why do you care?”
“Just trying to figure you out.”
“I’m not complicated. What you see is what you get.”
“Play with me.”
“Play what with you?”
“A favorite game of mine. How Well Do You Know Me?”
“We only met this morning.”
“Doesn’t matter. Some things you can intuitively recognize in a person.”
What did he know about her? Curiosity got the better of her. “Who plays your game? Women you date, lovers? ”
“It started as a bar game and worked its way into my bed,” he said matter-of-factly.
She wouldn’t be sleeping with him. Ever. But she did have time to kill. She slowly walked back toward him. “The rules?”
“We make assumptions about each other. The person being asked answers either ‘true’ or ‘false.’ But you have to be completely honest.”
She could handle that. “How many assumptions in this game?”
“Twelve.”
Too many. “Less.”
“Ten, then. The winner scores the most points.”
“What do I win?”
“That’s yet to be determined,” he said. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart. You haven’t won yet.”
He removed his bounty hunter hat and hooked it over his knee. Off came his mask, revealing rugged features. His hard stare homed in on her. She settled on the bench, a significant distance from him. Her skirt rode up slightly. The cement warmed the backs of her thighs. She started with, “You play professional baseball.”
He shook his head. “Too obvious. Dig deeper.”
“You’re sexually active—”
“Common knowledge. Still doesn’t count.”
She bristled. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m so possible.”
She went back in time, imagined him in elementary school. A kid who was often in trouble. Tattered blue jeans. Torn T-shirt. Fights and mouthing off. A holy terror. “By fifth grade, you’d spent more time in the principal’s office than you did in the classroom.”
“True. Discipline and I never got along. I had a permanently assigned desk in detention. I called the principal by his first name behind his back.”
“One to zero.” She was pleased with herself. “I’m ahead.”
“Barely.” He curbed her excitement. “We just got started. You were always the teacher’s pet. Goodie Two-Shoes.”
“True. I was helpful. Respectful.” One-one.
“I’d have pulled your ponytail on the playground.”
“Why?” she asked, curious.
“To remind you that not everyone’s as perfect as you.”
“My cousin DJ would’ve punched you for me.”
“Brave, huh?”
“My best guy friend. He’s always had my back.”
“I’d rather have your front.”
Never. She side-eyed him, then resumed their game. “Your high school yearbook? You were most likely to have scored with half the girls in your senior class.”
“Not really a category.” He chuckled. “But still true. Although it was closer to sixty percent.”
She believed him.
His brow creased. “Your yearbook? You were most likely to
succeed.”
She couldn’t help but sigh. “Yes, but I haven’t been all that successful.”
He surprised her with, “Success isn’t always measured in high profiles and salaries. Personal growth counts, too.” Insightful.
Two to two.
“Most time in the locker room,” she assumed.
“Most time in the library,” from him.
They both nodded. Three all.
“I loved to read. To learn,” she disclosed.
“You look brainy.”
His observation surprised her. “You seem street-smart.”
“I’ve known gutters.”
General remarks. No points.
“Most organized,” he continued.
She liked an orderly life. “Most competitive.”
“I go after what I want.”
She bet he did. Four to four. “Biggest—”
“What?” He had the nerve to grin.
“Ego.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “The world revolves around me, right?”
“So you think.”
“Biggest ballbuster.”
“Who, me?” Snarky innocence.
“Yeah, you.”
“No way.”
“Way, sweetheart. I’m taking the point. Five-five.” He lowered his gaze to her chest. Lingered on her breasts. “You follow your heart.”
Her gaze touched on his leather pants. “You lead with your—” The word dick caught in her throat.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Six all,” she updated the score.
He ran one hand down his face. Rubbed the back of his neck. “No tattoos for you.”
“You’re right.” Rogues had tats. Lori had shared that fact. Inked at their groin. Team tradition. Third baseman Landon Kane had a sword with the word Invincible scrawled along the blade. Right fielder Halo Todd went with Caution: Hard and Hot. Who’s on First? reflected first baseman Jake Packer’s position. Joe, rumor had it, went with a hellhound, a mythical black dog with red eyes. Tenacious and vicious. A testimony to his baseball skills.
