Page 146 of From Now On

“Sit,” she tells me, nodding toward her desk chair. “I have to fix your hair.”

That distracts me from the drawing.

“Fixit?”

I haven’t looked in the mirror since she started cutting earlier. I won’t be mad if she snipped a section too short, but I will have to figure out a time to see a barber before the team dinner on Saturday night.

She smirks. “Finish it. The front just needs a trim.”

I release a subtle sigh of relief.

Not subtle enough, because Eve smacks my shoulder before picking up the comb and scissors again. “I didn’t mess up your hair!”

“I didn’t say you did. But I really don’t have time, Eve, I’ve got to go.”

Conor and Aidan will understand my tardiness. If they don’t, I’ll remind them how often they’ve gotten “delayed” in the past few months. But I’m normally on time, so they’re probably worried—and hungry.

“It won’t take long,” she tells me, picking up the towel that got knocked to the floor during sex and tucking it back into my T-shirt.

“It’s already taken an hour.”

She blushes, and it’s beautiful. “Don’t distract me this time.”

“You sat in my lap,” I remind her, taking a seat. I leave the drawing propped on my knee, so I can keep looking at it.

Eve rolls her eyes before she starts snipping again. I stay silent and still, both so I can’t be accused of distracting and so I end up with an even cut.

A few minutes later, she steps back and tilts her head. Then nods. “Okay, you’re good.” She picks the makeup mirror off her desk and hands it to me.

My haircut looks the same, just an inch shorter. Perfectly straight and even.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Eve smiles before walking over to the bed and grabbing my Holt Hockey hoodie. I think she’s making sure I don’t forget it, but she yanks it over her head instead.

It never occurred to me that having a girl wear my clothes would be sexy. In high school, varsity players on the football team were each assigned a cheerleader. The tradition was they’d wear their player’s jersey at school on game days. Even though I was dating one of them, I always thought the tradition was a little weird. Maybe because that was when things with Sean were getting really bad and everything else seemed superficial in comparison.

But Eve? Wearing my sweatshirt? It affects me a hell of a lot more than her lip-biting.

“I was wearing that,” I say as she saunters back toward me.

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding remorseful at all.

I shake my head before grasping the hoodie’s drawstrings and pulling her in for a kiss. “That’s my favorite sweatshirt. It still has the fleece lining.”

She smiles. “I noticed. It smells like you too. Ireallylike it.”

I realize I’m never going to see this sweatshirt again—unless Eve is wearing it. But I play along. “If I let you keep it, what are you going to give me?”

“What do you want?” Eve whispers.

“I want?—”

“Eve?”

We both startle at the sound of Harlow’s voice. It’s close—coming directly from the other side of the door.

Eve reaches for the door handle. “Yeah?”

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