Page 49 of Calling the Shots

Probably not.

Making a split-second decision, I yank open the screen door and let myself in.

“Hello? I brought the chair,” I yell down the hallway toward the salon, but there’s no response. A loud whirring noise vibrates the floorboards, and I assume Gracelyn and her mom are still hard at work.

Grabbing the chair, I haul it down the narrow hallway, being careful not to nick the walls with the ornate wood.

“Knock, knock.” I raise my voice before entering the bright salon space.

“Oh, the chair’s back!” Mrs. Reynolds’s voice rises up over the whoosh of the dryer she’s wielding on her client’s head. “You can set it over in the corner.” She motions to the far side of the room and I haul the furniture over to the designated spot.

“Wonderful!.” Mrs. Reynolds clicks the dryer off and sidles over to me, leaning down and stroking the seat of the chair like a beloved pet. “Perfect. Thank you so much, Mack.”

“Mom, can you squeeze Lucy in tomorrow afternoon?” Gracelyn swoops into the room, phone in hand, and I suck in a breath.

Her hair’s pulled into a high ponytail, leaving her creamy neck and chest exposed. The round apples of her cheeks tint pink the second she spots me, and my lower body coils and tightens in reaction.

“Hey.” Her voice is breathy as we lock eyes with each other, desire sparking between us.

“Hey.” I practically grunt the word, my throat dry. Her mother glances from me to her daughter, then back to me again.

“I can fit Lucy in tomorrow, Gracie. Mack, you look like you could use a trim.” Mrs. Reynolds’s hand hovers above my ear and prickly panic sets in.

I cannot get a haircut from Gracelyn’s mother.

“Gracie, why don’t you give Mack a haircut?” She arches a dark brow and Gracelyn’s full lips part slightly.

“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t want a haircut right now. Do you, Mack?”

I run my fingers through my hair, which is admittedly kinda long.

“Actually, a trim would be great. If you don’t mind.”

Gracelyn swallows hard, fiddling with the tie of the black stylist apron protecting her clothes.

“Fine. Come on.” She waves her hand, motioning me into another room.

“Thanks again, Mack. For fixing the chair.” Mrs. Reynolds smiles as I move past her. I tip my head in acknowledgment before following Gracelyn’s perfect ass down the hall, swishing side to side.

“You really want a haircut right now?” Gracelyn hisses as soon as we’re out of earshot. “I could do this for you at your house, you know. Without my mother watching.”

“I couldn’t very well turn down the offer, then have your mom see me tomorrow with a fresh cut.”

“True. And she would notice. Sit.” Gracelyn pats the chair in the dimly lit converted bathroom, and I sink down into the supple white leather.

Water splashes behind me as she tests the temperature on her wrist before pressing on my shoulders.

“Lean your head back.”

I follow instructions, resting my head on the cool indentation of the sink and staring up at the ceiling.

“Nice tiles.”

“You like those? I picked them out. Thought clients might want something pretty to look at while they’re getting their hair washed.”

“They already had something pretty to look at. Before the tiles.” The words slip out of my mouth and I should be embarrassed by the blatant rizzing. But they’re the damn truth and I don’t mind her hearing it.

She blushes so deep, the red flush on her skin’s visible even in the low light.

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