Page 50 of Calling the Shots

“You don’t have to flatter me. I’ll sleep with you again.”

“Looking forward to it. But it’s not flattery—it’s the God’s honest truth.”

Warm water sluices through my hair as she squirts shampoo into her palm. A lemon-mint scent tickles my nostrils while she works the suds into my scalp.

Not gonna lie, I’m loving the view.

Gracelyn’s standing at my shoulders, bending down and rubbing my scalp, her luscious tits directly at eye-level. Although the massage is relaxing as hell and I’d love to close my eyes, I can’t bring myself to do it—not with her round, full breasts in my face. My mouth waters with each scrub, every jostle.

She rinses the shampoo from my hair, then rubs a towel vigorously over my head.

“When’s the last time you had a haircut?”

“It’s been a while.”

“I can see that.”

Wrapping the towel around my neck, her fingers comb through the damp waves and a shiver rolls down my spine.

“Come on.”

I follow behind her to the main room of the salon, my eyes squinting as I step back into the shocking brightness. Everyone’s gone now except me, Gracelyn, and her mother, who’s sweeping the floor.

This could get real uncomfortable, real quick. I decide to take Gracelyn’s lead and say as much or as little as she does.

“Sit.” Gracelyn pats a tall swivel chair in front of a large mirror and vanity.

I lower my body into the seat and she whips out a black cape, waving it through the air before wrapping it around me. Then she lifts a comb from the glass dispenser and runs it through my damp hair.

“How much do you want off?” Lips pursed, she tips her head and studies me.

I shrug. “I dunno. What do you think?”

She runs her fingers through the front of my hair, tousling the curls. “I like it kind of long. But it’s your hair.”

“I don’t spend too much time worrying about my hairstyle.”

“Yeah, I didn’t figure. I’ll trim it up, okay?”

“Sure.”

Scissors in hand, she pulls my hair through her fingers and snips. The first lock falls and I watch her face in the mirror. A tiny V forms between her brows as she concentrates, the tip of her tongue darting out between her glossy lips. She’s cute when she’s working, all her attention focused on the task at hand.

“So, Mack—” Mrs. Reynolds startles me out of my trance. “I heard y’all had a good game Friday night. Everyone in town’s talking about the defense. Good job.”

I go to nod, but freeze when I remember Gracelyn’s holding scissors an inch away from my ear. Best not to be bobbing my head at the moment.

“Thanks. Had to mix it up a bit to get by their wide receiver.”

“It worked. We’re all looking forward to the Homecoming game coming up.”

Gracelyn pauses, the scissors stilling above my head. “We are?”

“Yes, of course we are.” Mrs. Reynolds grins at her daughter and Gracelyn blanches.

“You’re going to the game, Mom? Since when are you a football fan?”

“Since forever. I’m usually busy on Fridays, but I thought Layla and I could go together this time. With you.”

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