Page 67 of Downpour

“Yep,” she said, taking a bite of toast. “That, and I can’t pay for it at the moment. But maybe I’ll figure out what I want to do with my life between now and twenty-five. So can I cut your hair? I’ve done clipper cuts before. And if I mess it up, you were going to buzz it anyway.”

I was going to say no, but she hit me with those fucking Bambi eyes.

“Please,” she whispered.

I found myself in the bathroom with my shirt off and a towel around my shoulders, watching Brooke rummage through my cabinets. She found the clipper guard in a drawer under the sink, plugged it in, and hit the power button for a test buzz.

I already regretted everything.

Then she touched me.

“Ready?” Brooke asked as she stood behind me and ran her fingers through my hair to get a feel for it. Her breasts pressed against the back of my neck as her fingertips glided along my temples.

I wanted her to keep doing that.

I mumbled something unintelligible.

She smelled like the outdoors. Like grass and sunshine and fresh air. One hand draped over my shoulder, her thumb stroking my neck as she scrolled through her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a little refresher tutorial.”

“I thought you said you’d done this before?” I growled. “You’re cutting my hair using a YouTube video?”

Her laugh was melodic. “Just arefresher. It’s been a while. I can always give you a mohawk.” Her fingers combed through the shaggy length that brushed past the collar of my shirt. “Or a mullet.”

“Just buzz it.”Or just keep touching it.But I didn’t say that part out loud.

“Can you lift your chin a little?” she asked, grabbing my comb.

I licked my lips and met her eyes in the mirror. “This is me sitting straight.”

“That’s fine,” she said, running the comb through my hair. “As long as you’re comfortable.”

I wasn’t, but it had nothing to do with my posture. It had everything to do with the fact that I hadn’t been touched like this in a long time. It wasn’t just the way we had kissed last night. It was her hands on me in simple touches that weren’t meant to move me or fix me.

“I have a rod in my neck,” I said, focusing on her fingers moving across my scalp. I closed my eyes and listened to her giggle.

“So, you’re like the real-life Iron Man.”

I chuckled. “Something like that.”

Her body was soft and warm against my head as she leaned forward. “Is it okay if I touch your scar?”

Usually, I would have said no, but I wanted her to touch me more than anything. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Two fingers pressed against the back of my neck as she worked the comb through a few tangles.

I missed the feel of her when she reached for the clippers. “Ready?”

“Just don’t slit my throat, Sunnyside.”

Brooke threw her head back and laughed. “I won’t slit your throat. Promise.”

“Don’t give me a bowl cut either.”

I sat still while she worked the comb and clippers through my hair. Her soft breaths made me melt as tufts of hair fell onto the towel she had draped around my shoulders.

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