Page 7 of Ride Me

When the scissors disappear, her laser focus softens for the first time. I shift forward instinctively, eager for a glimpse, but Brynn presses a firm hand to my shoulder, guiding me back. I don’t resist.

“You can’t leave now—we’re just getting to the good part.” She sinks her fingers into my hair, scrunching and fluffing with playful delight. Then she leans in until her cheek almost brushes mine. “Now that we’ve lightened you up, it’s time to have some fun. We should do makeup too. You don’t mind, right?”

Before I can answer, she calls out, “Kellie Anne, bring the palettes!”

The door opens and an older woman steps inside. Brynn doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey, Mama. I’m gonna be a minute.”

“I didn’t come for anything. Just thought I’d stop in and see my girls.” The old woman screams even older money and she dives into a whispered conversation with the girl behind the counter.

Chaos erupts from there. Brynn turns her attention back toward me. She sprays, brushes, paints, and waxes my face. Each movement is fast and decisive. At some point, foil clings to sections of my hair, and my eyelashes feel suspiciously weighty. I haven’t dared to sneak a look in the mirror yet, but I already feel transformed.

Then, with a flourish, Brynn spins me back toward the mirror. She lifts her hands, fingers splayed in a dramatic reveal. I catch a glimpse of myself and have to do a double-take. My breath catches. I can’t believe my eyes.

I run a hand through my hair. It’s shorter, yet somehow still long and so silky. It’s high, teased, full of life and volume. I don’tlook anything like my old self… and I love it. I look like I belong in Texas. I look… dare I say it? Sexy.

“So, what’s the occasion?”

Brynn Rose’s question jolts me back to the present, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I swallow against the nerves tightening in my throat. This is the moment I’ve been rehearsing all night, the one that could make or break this last-ditch Hail Mary of a plan. Forcing a smile, I lift my chin and aim for casualness.

“My boyfriend is taking me out this weekend and I want to look my best.”

Brynn’s brows shoot up, her voice hitching with surprise. “Girl, I didn’t even know you’d been here long enough to have a boyfriend. From what I heard you just started out at the ranch.”

Maybe I’m imagining it, but the hum of conversation in the salon seems to stall, like the room is holding its breath.

“Well, when you know it’s right there isn’t a reason to wait.” This rolls off my tongue and I find myself smiling at the thought of Bowen fitting right into my world, even if it is just for one night.

Brynn leans in, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Not trying to be nosy, but I gotta ask… Who’s the lucky guy?”

My throat goes dry. “Oh. Uh… Bowen Kingridge.”

The name lands like a record scratch. If I had any doubt that people were eavesdropping, that doubt dies a swift death. The room practically vibrates with collective shock.

“Have you met him?” My voice wobbles at the end, but no one answers.

Before I can process what’s happening, they descend on me. There are rapid whispers, sharp gasps, and the unmistakable glint of scandal in their eyes. A quick glance at the mirror confirms it. Frozen faces framed in pageant-perfect makeupstare back at me, wide-eyed and unblinking. Like the prettiest pack of wolves, I’ve ever seen.

The silence stretches long enough to make my skin prickle. Then, the first voice to break it is rich with Southern charm, laced with something sharper beneath the sugar. A bony, thin-skinned hand extends toward me, fingers adorned with bright red nails and a massive gold ring that looks heavy enough to leave an imprint.

“We haven’t met yet, sugar. I’m Brandi Rose, Brynn’s mama. If I look familiar, it’s probably because you’ve seen me on the evening news. I have covered all the local events and fundraisers since I moved back home from the big city. Spent some time filming out there, building my portfolio…”

“Yes, she made a commercial for hair dye thirty years ago and has been back ever since,” Brynn mutters, rolling her eyes.

Brandi waves a dismissive hand. The movement is elegant and practiced. It’s like she’s used to being the center of attention.

Before I can respond, another woman speaks up, her hair twisted into pink curlers that sit like a crown of gossip. “Have you heard much about the Kingridge boys? I’m sure you’ve heard the podcast, they’re on it every week. I only ask because I care.” The question lands soft, but the intent behind it isn’t.

“Right, thanks.” My spine stiffens at the sudden surge in attention and all I can think about is getting out of here. Bowen Kingridge is a walking red flag. That checks out. I’ve chosen walking red flags before… It’s how I got here in the first place.

“You know,” she continues, pressing a manicured hand to her chest as if she’s doing me a favor, “I’ve spent a whole lot of time out at that ranch, and you hear things.”

A second woman, seated under the soft hum of a dryer, nods—once, sharp, deliberate. “Yes, we all have.”

There’s an edge to her agreement, something that makes me sit up straighter and reach for the black cape around myshoulders. I can’t breathe. My fingers fumble at the clasp, desperate to remove it.

From the mirror’s reflection, I see the knowing glances exchanged, the barely contained smirks, and feel the weight of their scrutiny pressing against my back.

“Isn’t that something,” another woman muses, tilting her head like she’s examining a curious artifact. “All these girls trying to settle him down for years, and here he is, falling for an out-of-towner. You never know, I guess.”

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