Save Me

by Cecy Robson

  “Yes, thank you. Nice to meet you,” I stammer, focusing on her pronounced bosom, because honest to God there is no other safe place to look. “I appreciate your willingness to see me.” And please don’t shave my head.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Shaqwana asks, looking at me but speaking to Seamus.

  “She’s just nervous about losing all her hair.”

  His excuse appears to pacify Shaqwana. For the moment, she doesn’t seem too ready to drown me in the nearby sink.

  Seamus takes my coat and hangs it on a hook, allowing me to sit in the designated chair of doom. I’m ready to vomit. The only thing squelching my terror-filled angst and keeping me in place is that I trust Seamus. Besides, even with those high-heeled boots she’s wearing, I can’t outrun Shaqwana. Her thighs may be as thick as my waist, but don’t let that fool you. There’s a great deal of muscle lurking beneath her tiny skirt.

  Shaqwana circles me, very much like a fox would circle an unsuspecting chipmunk just trying to mind her own business, and not scream at the sexy wolf who convinced her that invading Shaqwana’s territory was a good idea.

  “I see what you mean,” Shaqwana says, lifting my braid and twisting it between her fingers. “Shit’s thick and healthy, but not doing her any favors.”

  Shaqwana possesses the reflexes of a ninja. Before I can thank her for what I believe is a compliment, she cuts off my long braid at my shoulders and holds it up by the end.

  Like a wave of spiraling serpents, my hair explodes in an eruption of curls around my face.

  “Hey, Shaqwana!” a woman three seats down from me yells. “How much you want for that hair?”

  “Bitch, this isn’t your hair to take,” Shaqwana snaps. She leans her mouth and scissors close to my neck. “How much you want for it, girl?”

  “Don’t take less than two hundred,” Seamus whispers.

  Seamus seems to have abandoned ship and hopped on the Shaqwana Express. “You said we were donating it to a good cause,” I remind him.

  “You saying that Monique ain’t a good cause?” Shaqwana demands. “That woman is raising six kids. How is she going to land a decent man without decent hair?”

  I’ll admit, I don’t have a response for that.

  Seamus, of course, has plenty to say. “I say take whatever you can get for your hair and donate it to the Children’s Hospital.”

  His “everyone wins” mentality, while impressive, doesn’t diminish the fact I lost at least twelve inches of hair and what remains has taken on a life of its own.

  Seamus’s hands are a different story. He turns my chair without warning, threading his fingers along my scalp, his eyes never leave mine, his hands gingerly fisting my curls. A sinful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, hot enough to singe wood and rob my lungs of air. “This is what I’m talking about,” he murmurs. “Just enough to grab.”

  “What are you thinking?” Shaqwana asks him.

  “Yes,” I stammer. “What are you thinking?”

  “Fuckable,” Seamus replies.

  “Eh?” I squeak, unable to tear my gaze away from his commanding stare.

  Seamus releases me slowly, the strands of curls sliding through his fingers as if it’s killing him to let go. He coughs, clearing his throat. “I want to give you fuckable hair.”

  I’m trying to remember how to breathe when Shaqwana starts playing with my hair, fluffing it out and upward. “I can do fuckable.”

  “What exactly do you mean by fuckable?” I ask, blushing at how delicious the word sounds with Seamus this close.

  “What you’re going to be when I’m done with you,” he murmurs.

  Something I very much intend to be a word sweeps through my lips. When I can’t make sense of it at all, I take a breath and try again. “I –I–I don’t understand.”

  Seamus may have released me with his hands, but his gaze holds strong, mesmerizing me, stroking me like a warm, invisible caress, and entrancing me so ruthlessly, the world falls away, leaving only him and his dark, rough voice. “Men like hair they can grab. Long enough to ball into a fist when they work a woman from behind or grab hold of when their woman falls to her knees in front of him.”

  “Uh, huh. You got that right,” Shaqwana agrees.

  I barely know Seamus. But the way his intensity and allure entrap me, I very much want to be that woman who falls to her knees in front of him.

  “If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do,” I say, unable to recognize the husky tone my voice takes on.

  His eyes fly open, and for a split second he seems to remember where he is and who he’s with. He coughs into his hand and takes a giant step away, giving me plenty of room.

  “Come on, sweetie,” Shaqwana says. “Let’s get you started. The two of you have given my place enough of a show.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” the older woman beside me agrees. “Lord have mercy, it was getting all filthy up in here.”

  The women around us erupt in laughter while I pretty much try not to die on the spot.

  Seamus’s features brighten, a shade of red that likely matches the flush burning through my flesh.

  “Hey,” he tells Shaqwana, attempting to get back to business. “Do you have anything she can put in her hair to make it shiny and easier to take care of? That’s a lot of hair.”

  “Yeah. I have something. It’ll help her curls, too.” She lifts my hair, fluffing it out. “But I’ll do you both one better. Let’s add some color. I have the perfect shade that’ll add shine and not fade out.”

  “Wait,” I say to Seamus, snapping out of my stupor. “You didn’t mention anything about dying my hair.”

  Shaqwana slams her hands against her voluptuous hips. “You trying to tell me I don’t know what I’m doing?” she demands.

  “Yeah,” Seamus asks, grinning. Unlike Shaqwana, he appears to be enjoying the moment. “You sayin’ we don’t know what we’re doing?”

  I clench my teeth, noting he’s baiting me. “Of course not,” I say. “Forgive me, Shaqwana, I’m just very nervous about the experience. I don’t doubt you in the least, my Latina queen.”

  There’s a reason I’m successful. I know what to say and who to say it to.

  Seamus nods, appearing as impressed as Shaqwana. “Then let’s get to it, honey,” Shaqwana says.

  Using her foot and giving me another taste of her ninja skills, Shaqwana pulls a black rolling cart over, the force she uses just enough to allow the cart to stop just in front of her. “I’ll be right back. Gotta mix the color.”

  I watch Shaqwana walk to a small room in the rear of the shop, fighting with everything I have not to look back at Seamus and wonder what it would feel like to fall to my knees in front of him.

  CHAPTER 9

  Seamus

  What the fuck is happening here? Seriously, what the hell am I doing?

  Allie is a pretty woman. Sweet face, nice round ass, and nipples that point skyward if I’m not mistaken. Scratch that. You can set a compass by them, I’m sure of it. We have a deal. I help her so she stops looking like the pathetic castaway her family treats her as, and so she can land someone decent for once in her life, a nice guy who won’t treat her like shit and will actually give her a chance at forever. She helps me on a few dates to shut my family up and that’s it.

  Do I want to make her over and unleash that sex goddess trapped beneath the persona of an old spinster? Hell to the yes—for someone else. Not me.

  Yeah, yeah. I think it’s about time I find someone without a rap sheet—someone whose name is worth remembering for more than reporting her to the police when she steals all my shit. But Allie isn’t it. A few make-believe dates. A little bit of making over. That’s all we promised each other. Can’t be more than that. Right?

  I look over in time to see her gather the towel around her neck when Shaqwana finishes washing her hair. As Allie eases herself back into the chair, she looks scared, nervous, and glances at me like I
can somehow save her. See, that’s her first problem. I’m no savior.

  “Looking good, sweetheart!” I say, trying to reassure her.

  Shit. She looks like she got caught in the rain without an umbrella and some asshole in a car splashed water on her as he drove by. There’s no rain and no asshole in a car. Still, I want to protect her from any asshole who might even think about splashing her and beat the hell out of him for messing with her. Again, what the fuck is wrong with me?

  She smiles at me gently. There’s too much appreciation in that smile, considering I think I should kick her to the curb. Or at least kick her from any thoughts that involve us in bed. I don’t take women like Allie to bed. They get too attached. Case in point, dipshit Andres. It’s been years since he broke her heart. She never got past it, which makes me think she’s the kind of gal who doesn’t easily let go.

  As much as I think Allie is dreaming of someone to settle down with, I can’t settle down with the first decent person I meet. Especially someone who’s still hung up on a man who made her believe she wasn’t good enough . . . or maybe not as good as her sister.

  I need . . . aw, hell. I don’t know who or what I need. But it’s not Allie. Just like she sure as hell doesn’t need anything more from me than advice. A few dates, I remind myself. A few dates and we say goodbye.

  “Seamus,” Shaqwana calls. “How much you want off the back?”

  Allie’s hair is colored and washed. All she needs is the cut and for Shaqwana to style it. We’ve been here an hour. But already, Shaqwana has done a lot.

  “Seamus?” Shaqwana says.

  There I go, staring at her again. When the hell did I turn into the creepy bastard up the street? “Just enough to grab,” I remind her. “More in the front.”

  “Inverted bob?” Shaqwana asks. She doesn’t wait for me to answer, knowing I have no clue what it’s called. “I got you.”

  Shaqwana moves to the back of Allie’s head and grabs a little more than a fistful. It does nothing to ease the deer in the headlights look Allie has going on. My woman is definitely getting fuckable hair. That was the goal, right? To bring her out of that self-imposed spinster sentence she shoved herself into?

  “That may be too short,” Allie tells her, careful not to make direct eye contact with either of Shaqwana’s eyes. “My hair is going to go all over the place.”

  Shaqwana grins with all the warmth of a horny tiger. “That’s what we’re going for, nena. You want to give your man over here a good idea how it’s going to look when he messes it all up for you.” She grabs her scissors and Allie’s hair starts flying all over the place. “The hair school people would call this a curly, inverted bob. But that’s not what we call it all up in here. Is it, ladies?”

  All the patrons full-out cackle and the woman opposite Shaqwana’s station slaps her leg. “That there is going to get you some tonight.”

  Allie glances in my direction again, her small features hopeful for better hair and a better look. That’s it. She’s not hopeful that I’ll be the one to give her some. She can’t be.

  I start to look away, but I can’t seem to. Her large brown eyes keep me in place, making me think I’m here for more than I promised.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have said all those things or touched her like I did. It gave the wrong impression, even though I couldn’t help myself. Allie may have an old lady vibe going on, but there’s a whole lot of hellcat waiting to scratch her claws down someone’s back. I see it and with my help, maybe she’ll see it, too.

  I turn away when I realize how long I’ve been staring at Allie. I should say something shitty and be a dick. Maybe start talking to one of the women in the front. But I came here to help Allie, not to help myself. And, well, you’d have to be a real douche to be mean to someone like Allie. As much as she might think I’m perfection wrapped in a ruggedly handsome package, she can’t go for a guy like me. I’m supposed to end up with someone else. Except I’m not sure who that someone is.

  Shaqwana reaches for some spray, working it into Allie’s hair. “You need to buy you some of this.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll know what to do with it,” Allie says.

  She glances at me, like I know. I don’t know, I want to tell her. I don’t know what to do with that spray and I don’t know why I keep looking at you this way. I just wanted a date. Any date. Then you showed up. Looking all cute and now sexy, and Jesus God, why can’t I shut up?

  I reach for my phone, more for something to play with. The hell? It’s like I woke up and turned twelve.

  “Aw, honey, you don’t have to do a thing,” Shaqwana tells Allie. “Take a shower, spray it on your damp hair, and go to bed. Let your pillow,” she smirks at me. “Or your man, do the rest, while you toss and turn.”

  I lift my head slowly. Shaqwana shrugs as if she didn’t just flat out tell me to bang her like a set a drums at a Van Halen concert. Yeah peeps, I’m that damn old.

  “In the morning, twirl the fly-aways with your fingers and add a little spray. Easy,” Shaqwana adds. “You’ll see.”

  Except now all I’m seeing is Allie naked in my apartment with Metallica playing in the background. Hey. We all have our fantasies. This one’s mine.

  Shit. Double Shit. Damn. I scroll through my phone like I’m busy working or something and not busy wondering about Allie. Now is not the time to get involved with anyone. Especially someone like Allie. I’ll only end up hurting her. That is, if she’ll even go for a guy like me at all.

  A few dates, I remind myself. That’s all I need and nothing more.

  “Hey, Seamus,” Shaqwana says. “Jesseeka is finishing up her cosmetology license at school. She’s real good and needs the hours.” She motions at Allie as she dries and fluffs her hair. “What you say about her working Allie up.”

  I meet Allie’s gaze and hold it. Already she looks like a completely different woman. The back of her hair barely skims the nape of her neck while the front fans out from her delicate features, a mane of large, shiny curls showing off and demanding attention all while highlighting Allie’s natural beauty.

  Beautiful. That’s what Allie is. I just hope I can get her to see it.

  “She doesn’t need anything,” I answer Shaqwana, trying to look away from Allie and not exactly managing.

  “Jesseeka won’t do much,” Shaqwana argues. “Just accentuate what your woman’s already got.”

  “Yeah, what she already got,” a few women chime in.

  Allie glances around, but it’s clear she’s waiting on me. It’s crazy how much she trusts me. She shouldn’t. I mean I’m not going to do anything to her. She just, well, maybe shouldn’t.

  “Fine,” I say. “But just her eyes and maybe some gloss to her lips.”

  Jesseeka, I assume, struts over, her overly drawn eyebrows set way too close to her hairline as far as I’m concerned. “Are you upset?” Allie asks when she approaches.

  “Naw. Why do you ask?” Jesseeka says, appearing to frown although her eyebrows stay put.

  “Because you went and placed your eyebrows in the damn middle of your forehead, again,” Shaqwana tells her. She points to me. “Don’t be making Allie look bad in front of her man, especially after I fixed her hair.”

  Jesseeka waves a hand, trying to appear like she’s not afraid of Shaqwana. I know better. She’s careful not to look her in either eye. “You know I won’t.”

  As instructed, Jesseeka doesn’t do much. What she does is more than enough. She gives Allie smoky eyes, taking them from large to huge and adds light pink gloss to her lips, altering them from full to downright pouty. Again, it’s not a lot, but it’s enough to transform Allie from innocent to nymph, readying to dive naked into a clear pool of water.

  Jesus Christ, how am I going to keep from kissing her?

  For the reveal, Shaqwana whips off Allie’s cape and whirls her around to face the mirror. Allie blinks back at her reflection, completely floored.

  “Wh
at do you think, girl?” Shaqwana asks.

  Allie’s eyes shimmer with the start of tears. It’s not until her small fingers play with the edges of her hair and a smile forms that I realize she’s happy. “I love it, Shaqwana. Thank you.”

  The women in the chairs close to us and those who gathered to get a better look at Allie erupt in woot-woots and applause. Allie laughs, her cheeks flushing pink, but it’s me she looks to when the applause dies down. “Do you like it, Seamus?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply. Maybe a little too much.

  CHAPTER 10

  Allie

  I do my best to ring Seamus’s door and not drop the crazy number of bags I’m carrying. I readjust my hold, again and again, when he doesn’t answer.

  Seamus texted me that he was home. We were supposed to get together to work out the final kinks of our pseudo relationship before meeting his family, but every spare moment I’ve had, he’s been busy.

  I press the doorbell again when he doesn’t answer, wondering what’s taking him so long. His truck is parked in front.

  My eyes widen when I realize he never claimed to be alone. What if he’s not answering because he’s busy entertaining someone else? Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. What if he’s not answering because he can’t leave the naked woman doing back-flips in his bed?

  I start to hurry down the brick steps when the door is thrown open.

  “What?” he yells.

  His deep voice and the rage behind it almost has me falling down the last step. “Oh. It’s you.”

  It’s only because of the sudden shift in his voice that I even dare to turn around. I wouldn’t call it excitement that I hear, nor exquisite joy, at my arrival. This was a mistake and now I’m stuck.

  “Yes. Just me.”

  Seamus edges to the end of the small porch. With the safety glasses perched on top of his head, his ripped white T-shirt, and a pair of old dirty jeans, the hems brushing over a pair of soiled work boots, he looks like the primal God of Carpentry. If there was a God of carpentry. Oh, please, let there be a God of Carpentry.