Page 17 of Eight Steps to Alpha

Chapter 6

When Fe said haircut,she wasn’t kidding, because hair was everywhere. The floor, his drape, his pants. Though not so much on his head any longer. Sitting forward in the barber chair, he turned his head left and right, assessing the damage.

It was Friday night, only thirty minutes after Fe had spouted off a dozen directions, and for a tall gentleman, with a beard as long as Merlin’s, to do exactly what she said. It was like magic. Inches of hair began dropping to the floor like horseflies off his grandmother’s flyswatter, and that was when he decided to start paying attention.

For a good half hour, he thought he would be sick. His hair had been his pride and joy ever since middle school. His claim to fame. His one and only rebellion against his super conservative parents, and now it was gone. Well most of it anyway. The rest was pushed up with product in a way he’d never imagined himself, but he had to admit, it looked good. Damn good.

His new do, along with his new five o’clock shadow, made him almost unrecognizable.

“What do you think?” Fe asked almost giddy, standing behind him as she pushed her fingers through his dark hair.

Things had been much better since their talk. She started touching him again, like this, with a smile on her face. Laughing and joking. In fact, they woke up that next morning, filled their mugs with coffee, as though the kiss had never even happened in the first place.

Everything had been great ever since. Back to normal. Just like always. The way it was before he let the wrong head of his make all the decisions.

“I hardly recognize myself,” he told her in the mirror, plucking his glasses from the table and returning them to his face.

She wrinkled her nose, obviously tickled by his transformation and shook her head. “Nah,” she argued. “You’re still there. Those light blue eyes would give you away any day.”

She dipped down low, fetching his wallet from his front pocket, then proceeded to sashay-skip over to the register to pay for the cut. He clenched his jaw at his reflection, then pushed himself to stand. He had to admit it. He liked the new style. It had a more sophisticated, sort of GQ quality to it, which was a giant leap in the right direction.

After brushing the remaining hair from the front of his pants, he walked toward the counter and joined her at the register. “What next?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck where the freshly cut hair was starting to itch.

“Tattoo,” she stated. As though the suggestion was as natural as ice cream.

He laughed, pushed her aside and signed the receipt. “I told you, I’m not gettin’ a tattoo.”

She turned toward him, pulled his credit card from the machine, and returned it to his wallet. “Why not?”

“Because. I have boundaries.”

She frowned. “Will you come with me to get mine then?” But all of the air deflated out of her chest in an instant. Like she’s woken up on Christmas morning and realized Santa hadn’t come.

His brows pinched together, because he hated that reaction. He’d rather her yell at him or punch him in the stomach—just about anything but look the way she did. He stepped toward her. “You? Get a tattoo? The girl who screamed like a banshee when she cut her finger with a kitchen knife?”

She spun around, shoving his wallet into his chest. “Because that was unexpected, and painful, and there was a lot of blood.” A tiny smile teased at the corner of her lips, as she regarded him. “There’s hardly any blood when you get a tattoo.” She pulled in a breath. “The pain is totally different.”

He grinned. “Is that so?”

“I’ve done my research.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth, then gently rocked back on his heels. “Fine,” he paused. “You get one, I get one.”

Her eyes widened, and she ran both hands over her hair, pulling it forward on one shoulder. “Are you serious?”

He chuckled, because she sounded almost breathless. “Yes.” He nodded. “If you get one, so will I.” Because just the sight of her smiling like that could persuade him to do just about anything.

“Well okay then.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement, and she began to franticly pat her pockets.

“What are you looking for?” He grinned.

“My keys.” She slowly turned in circles as she continued to pat.

“I drove, remember?” He reached into his pocket, produced the keys, then hung them on his finger.

She snatched them away, a twinkle in her eyes that reached all the way to her soul. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

He smiled. “Oh yeah?”

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