by Lacey Black
My husband always wanted the best of the best. We may have started our marriage with hand-me-down furniture, but as soon as the money started rolling in, we started replacing them with new, sleek pieces. Before long, everything I had didn’t feel like my own. It felt like I was living someone else’s life, trapped in someone else’s dream.
My dream?
Well, that’s simple.
I want a baby. I’ve dreamed about becoming a mother for so long, I feel like it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I had the house, the husband who doted on me, and the job I loved. Even if that was all a façade. The doting husband started off flawless, but things quickly changed. Once he graduated college, Chris became focused on his career. He wanted it all, the best that money could buy.
The problem was when he was out chasing his dream, he left me and mine behind.
He rarely attended anything like family functions or random lunches with friends. He chose to work, always reaching for the next rung on the ladder. I was lonely.
When I told him I wanted a baby, he was hesitant. He wanted to wait until he secured the promotion at work, until we built a new home, until the time was right. Well, the time was never right. I didn’t need all of that to be a mother. In fact, the more I wanted it, the less he seemed interested. We went from having sex almost nightly to never. Once I broached the subject of having a baby, something changed in my husband. I went from being his first priority to being kicked off the list. Every dream, every goal he had was pushed to the front of the line, leaving me alone and sad.
But not anymore.
I’m determined to make the most out of my newfound freedom. I have a job I love, a family I adore, and a place to call my own, thanks to taking over Abby’s lease. I don’t need a man to make my dreams come true.
With a new sense of pride and determination, a new plan starts to take shape.
One that will secure me just what I need to make my dream come true.
* * *
“Did you hear that Clayton Cooper caught Lisa with his brother?” Christine whispers conspiratorially as I add color to the strip of hair I’m holding between my fingers.
“Seriously? Didn’t he ask her to move in?” I ask, wrapping the hair in foil.
“Yes! I heard she told him she had to think about it. Then he caught her that night at his brother’s house, doing the horizontal hustle on the couch,” Christine exclaims.
“When did this happen? I swear I just saw them not that long ago.”
“A month ago, I guess.”
“Wow, poor Clayton. He was always a nice guy in school.”
“He was,” Christine says, averting her eyes to her lap. Even though she’s wearing a cape, I can still tell she’s wringing her hands together. That was always one of the tells she had back in school when she got nervous or upset.
“You guys were close in school, right?” I ask, finishing up the highlights in her chestnut hair.
“Yeah.” Her response is a whisper, the way she bites her lip nervously, even though not directed at me, is her tell.
“You liked him,” I state, starting to connect the pieces.
Her blue eyes cloud with tears as she stares at me in the mirror. “We were always friends, but then he started dating Lisa right out of school. They’ve been together since right after graduation, and he didn’t really have time for me anymore.”
“Christine, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you had a thing for him.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Turning her chair so that she’s facing me, I add, “You know, Abby and Levi were always friends, but they finally realized they loved each other. Give him time to get over the cheating hussy, and ask him for coffee.”
Together, we walk over to the dryer. “What? I can’t ask him out!” she exclaims dramatically.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s…well, there’s just…I don’t know.”
“You can, and you will. Not right away, obviously, because they just broke up, but maybe in a few weeks or months.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She has that look in her eyes that tell me she’s just humoring me and that she has no intentions of asking Clayton out for coffee. Christine is sweet, good looking, and funny. Any man would be lucky to have her. Especially Clayton.
An idea starts to take shape and I can’t help but smile.
“What’s with the smile?” she asks, suspiciously.
“What smile?” I ask, grinning like a loon.
“That smile. I know that smile. You’re planning something.”
“Time to dry your hair, Christine,” I say in a singsong voice. Before she has time to open her mouth and argue, I turn on the dryer, drowning her out.
Again, I smile mischievously before turning and heading back to my station. With my phone in my hand, I fire off a quick text message. He responds almost instantly, bringing a Cheshire cat smile to my red lips.
Oh, Christine is going to be so mad at me.
After thirty minutes, I retrieve my friend from the dryer and set out to wash her hair. I’ve always loved playing with hair; you know, digging your fingers into someone’s scalp and using your nails to scratch and massage the shampoo into their head. Once she’s conditioned and ready for her cut, I lead her back to my station.
Right on time at eleven, the door opens. I try to fight my smile, really I do, but I fail miserably. “Hey, Clayton!” I holler at my friend as he enters the salon.
“Hey, Lex,” he replies, walking towards the front counter.
“Ella will be with you shortly,” I tell him, ignoring the tension radiating off my other friend sitting in my chair.
“Thanks for squeezing me in. I’m way overdue,” he says, running his hand through his sandy blond hair. Then his eyes lock on Christine. “Hey,” he adds with a slight smile.
“Hi,” she squeaks, fidgeting in her seat.
Bending down so that I’m close to her ear, I say, “You’re gonna have to sit still or I’ll whack off a big chunk of your hair.”
She glares at me in the mirror. “You did this.” It’s an accusation, and it’s right on target.
“Did what? How was I supposed to know he was coming in for a cut?”
“He said you squeezed him in.”
“Oh,” I reply, glancing up at the ceiling. “Fine, I did, but do you know what? You’d never have the balls to talk to him if I didn’t orchestrate this little get-together. You can thank me in your wedding toast.”
Christine closes her eyes and shakes her head, but it’s the smile and laugh that slips from her lips that lets me know she’s secretly thankful. Sure, she’s going to pretend to be offended, but I know better.
Ella finishes her cut and waves Clayton over.
Did I mention Ella’s station and mine are right next to each other?
I take my time cutting her hair, reveling in the feel of her wet tresses between my fingers. I know, I’m weird. After Ella washes Clayton’s hair, she seats him beside Christine, who seems even more fidgety than before.
“So, whatcha been up to, Clayton?” I ask as Ella places the cape over his body.
“Working, mostly.”
“Yeah? Still out at the farm?”
He gives me a look that lets me know he’s onto my game. Yes, I know damn well that Clayton still lives and works at his parents’ farm. He resides in the small house at the back of the property where the farmhands used to live back when his great-grandparents bought the land and started working it seventy years ago. “Yes,” he says, drawing out the word.
“I thought so,” I reply with a wave.
“Christine, weren’t you telling me that you wanted to learn to ride a horse?” I ask, offering her a sweet smile.
She glares back at me. “I know how to ride a horse.”
“Oh, that’s right. You were saying something about wishing there was a place to ride in the area,” I concede. “Hey, Clayton, don’t you have horses
out at the farm? Maybe Christine could come over sometime and ride with you. You know, since she’s been looking, and everything.”
Both of them stare at me in the mirror. A small smile tickles the corner of Clayton’s mouth, while Christine looks like she can’t decide if she’s mortified or wants to throw up.
“Sure, anytime you want to come out and ride, Chris, just give me a call,” he says, turning his attention to her and giving her a smile.
I feel so good right now. Just call me Lexi Summer, matchmaker extraordinaire.
While blow-drying her hair, I catch several long glances her way from Clayton in the mirror. Christine doesn’t realize it though, because she’s too busy staring a hole in the cape.
I finish styling her hair at the same time Ella removes Clayton’s cape from his neck, and we make our way to the front counter about the same time. Clayton pulls out his wallet and hands Ella a twenty, and Christine pulls out her checkbook to cover today’s visit.
“Oh, shoot,” I say aloud, scanning my appointment book. “I completely forgot that I have a noon appointment coming in. Christine, I don’t think I’ll have enough time to get lunch today.”
“Lunch?” she asks, confusion written all over her pretty face.
“Yeah, sorry, babes. I can’t reschedule this appointment so late in the game.” Glancing over at Clayton who’s watching with humor dancing in his eyes. “Hey, Clayton, you’re probably hungry, right? Would you mind accompanying Christine to lunch?”
Clayton smiles widely at me, while Christine gasps beside him. “No, that’s okay. You don’t have to,” she says, turning her panicked look towards him.
“No, actually, I’m starving. I’d love to go,” he says, offering her a smile. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
She blinks several times before opening her mouth. “I don’t mind.”
“Good, then it’s a date,” he adds before placing his hand on her back and leading her towards the door. She glances over her shoulder with a murderous, yet thankful, gleam in her eyes.
When they’re both out the door and walking down the sidewalk towards the café, I bust up laughing. “My work here is done.”
“That was evil genius, right there,” Ella replies with a wide grin.
“Excellent work,” Cecelia adds from her workstation. She’s cutting the hair of Mrs. McGill, the now-retired schoolteacher that had taught all of us in school at one point.
“Alexis Summer, you haven’t changed one bit,” Mrs. McGill says with a broad smile. I blanch at the way she uses my full name. Chris has always favored calling me Alexis, even though I preferred Lexi.
I sweep up the hair around my area, and stick my combs inside the sanitizing solution. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I should grab a quick bite to eat before my one o’clock appointment. I’m so focused on cleaning up my area that I don’t hear the jingle of the bell as the door opens behind me.
“Can I help you?” Ella asks, smiling at whoever is behind me.
“I was hoping to get a cut.” The deep voice is familiar and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“No appointment?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, let me take a look at the book,” Ella offers.
My brain is telling me not to turn around, but the need to see him is too great. Slowly, I move until I’m facing him. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt that’s slightly dirty and molded to his arms and chest. My tongue practically dangles from my mouth, and I don’t even care. His powerful legs are wrapped in light colored, well-worn denim, and his feet covered with work boots. And those tattoos. My word, the ink on his arms is downright panty-melting. He looks good enough to eat, even though he’s a bit greasy, and that thought just turns my insides to jelly.
“Lex, you have time before your one o’clock,” Ella says.
“I’m going to lunch,” I tell her, turning back to grab my purse. “Have someone else grab it.”
“I promise it won’t take long. Just a quick cut. Ten minutes, tops.” His voice is close, not that my body wasn’t hyperaware of his proximity. I seem to get all tingly anytime he’s near.
When I turn back around, I’m staring at those deep, dark eyes that seem to invade my thoughts continuously. He’s looking at me with a bit of humor, and a whole lot of excitement laced within them. “Did you know I worked here?” I ask, reaching for the cape and pointing to the chair.
“I did not,” he says as he walks around me. “You’re not going to wash it?”
“Do you want me to wash it?”
“Best fucking part of a haircut, Firecracker,” he replies with that devilish smirk.
Without replying, I walk over to the wash stations. The room is fairly quiet, which tells me that everyone is well aware of the effect this man has on me. They’re watching me with their beady little hawk eyes, waiting for their moment to swoop in and use any ounce of my discomfort against me.
I feel his eyes on me as he leans back in the chair and places his neck in the lip of the sink. I make sure the water is warm before I start to wet the dark strands. My fingers already itch with excitement. The first slide of my fingers through his hair is almost orgasmic. No, I’m not in a habit of getting all worked up when I touch a guy’s hair. Even when I’d wash and cut Chris’s. But there’s something about Linkin’s hair that gets me all sorts of squirmy and excited.
With a quarter-sized drop of shampoo, I start to lather up his head. My nails dig and scratch at his scalp, causing him to groan. My eyes fly to his face. His eyes flutter around before closing, a relaxed grin playing on his lips. I’ll be honest: I scrub around on his head a little longer than necessary. I can’t help it. His hair is just so fucking fabulous.
I add conditioner and work it in good and hard. Good and hard. Yeah, can you tell it’s been a while since I’ve gotten any? My face blushes, something that’s completely foreign to me. My twin has a fierce blush like you wouldn’t believe, but me? I don’t flush when I get embarrassed. Hell, I rarely get embarrassed.
When I glance back down, his chocolate eyes are locked on me and I feel the impact clear down to my toes. My gut tightens and my panties are useless. I can’t believe how much he affects me with something as simple as a look.
“All done,” I whisper, shutting off the water. And because I’m weak, I slide my hands over his head, pushing back the water as I go.
“Are you sure? You can wash it again if you’d like,” he quips with a half-smile.
“Get in the chair.”
“I like it when you talk rough to me.”
Rolling my eyes, I can’t ignore the way my heart flutters and my stomach lurches at his statement. My fingers graze the back of his neck when I snap the cape, and I can feel his eyes glued to me in the mirror. But I don’t look. Instead, I grab my comb from the solution and get to work.
“Just a trim?”
“Mmhmm.”
I keep my eyes on his head while I cut off the ends of his hair. We don’t talk, but it’s not uncomfortable. He watches me work, though. I can feel it.
After trimming up around his ears and his neck with my trimmers, I take a look at the results. My hands go to his hair (completely on their own). The tips are already drying, his hair soft and fragrant from the product I used.
Quickly, I remove my hands from his hair and grab the snap. “All done,” I say, lowering the chair and walking towards the counter.
“How much?” he asks, digging some bills from his wallet.
“Fifteen.”
“Here,” he says, handing me a twenty.
“Let me get you change.” Grabbing my moneybag from the drawer, I slip the twenty in and look for a five.
“Keep it. Just a small thank you for squeezing me in at lunch.”
“Well, thank you,” I reply, sticking the five back in the bag and closing the drawer.
“Come eat with me. It’s the least I can do for making you miss most of yo
ur lunch,” he says, drawing my attention back to him. He’s standing on the other side of the counter, his arms casually crossed over his chest.
“I don’t have time,” I reply, standing up across from him. Even with a counter between us, I can’t help but feel so small in his looming presence.
Linkin glances at his watch. “You’ve got thirty minutes before your next appointment.”
Just as I’m about to make some excuse for not going, my stomach growls, loudly. He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrow at me as if in challenge.
“Fine. You’re buying,” I say, turning around and grabbing my purse from where I set it by my workstation. “I’ll be back in thirty,” I holler at my coworkers, who are all smiling and watching me. Assholes.
Outside, the sun is shining brightly in the November sky. The air is clear and crisp, a trace of salt coming from the Bay. Linkin’s hand is large and warm against my lower back and he guides me towards the café.
“Wait. We can’t go there,” I say, stopping in my tracks. Christine and Clayton are down there, and if they see me come in, they’ll know I totally lied to get them to go to lunch together. Of course, I’m pretty sure they both know anyway, but I don’t feel like letting them call me out right now.
“We can head down to the burger joint back that way,” he says, pointing behind us.
“I love Fast Burger,” I state, more to myself than anyone else. Chris was never a fan of the greasy fast food burger joint, which makes my visits there that much more joyous.
“Me too. There’s something about a big, juicy double burger with fries.”
“Agreed.”
Together, we make our way down the block and into the small burger place. There’s a line at the counter and only a few tables open. The good thing about the place is that they’re usually quick, hence the name, so it shouldn’t be a problem to order, eat, and get back before my next appointment.
“Why don’t you grab a table and I’ll order,” he offers, pointing to one of the open spaces.
