Page 38 of Dirty Pucker

I nod. “It’s really yummy.”

He cracks a smile. Just then Sophie and Dakota walk up to us and say hi.

Del hugs Dakota. “You made it.”

Dakota beams. “Of course I made it. You said there would be free food, and you know how much I hate to cook.”

“You’re twenty-four and you still refuse to cook for yourself?” Del jokes to Dakota. She rolls her eyes.

“You hate cooking almost as much as you hate washing your hair,” Sophie teases good-naturedly.

Dakota laughs. Her long, dark brown hair is pulled into a messy bun. “Almost.”

“Don’t worry. You still look effortlessly chic,” I say.

Dakota beams, her big brown eyes bright. “You think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“How long’s it been since you washed your hair? One week? Two?” Del asks in a deadpan tone, but I can tell by the gleam in his eyes that he’s joking around.

Dakota shoves his arm. “Shut up. You know I don’t go more than five days without washing my hair.”

“Whatever you say,” he mutters.

Dakota aims a mock-glare at her big brother. “Keep it up and I’ll make you braid my hair just like you did when we were kids.”

I turn to Del. “Did you seriously braid your little sister’s hair when you were kids?”

His stubbly cheeks flush as he looks at me. “Yup.”

“He was amazing at it,” Dakota says. “He could French braid better than all my friends’ moms could. I bugged him constantly to do it.”

“It’s true,” Sophie says, smiling. “All of us were jealous of your epic French braids in fourth grade.”

Dakota looks at Del and bumps his arm with her shoulder. “Remember how I would whine for you to braid my hair before you’d go to hockey practice?”

Del frowns before a bashful smile tugs at his lips. “How could I forget.”

“That’s hands down the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say to Del.

His expression eases and the flush on his cheeks fades. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“He would even cut my hair sometimes,” Dakota tells me.

I look at Del, my mouth open in surprise. “No way.”

He nods.

“I’d never guess Dirty Del moonlighted as a hairstylist.”

He chuckles at my teasing.

“Our parents split when we were young and our dad wasn’t in the picture, so it was just our mom and us growing up. We didn’t have a lot of money,” Dakota says to me. “I’d see these cute hairstyles on TV, but our mom couldn’t afford to take me to a salon, so Del would look up tutorials online so he could cut and style my hair the way I wanted.”

I rest my hand on my chest, my heart fluttering. I turn to Del. “Are you kidding me?”

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