Page 67 of The Wingman

She sounds weird, like she’s stressed or anxious. “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m okay.”

I grip the back of my neck. Is it her period? “There’s a bottle of aspirin under the sink, and I don’t mind buying tampons, Darce. Real men aren’t afraid of periods.” I add that last bit with a hint of teasing, trying to lighten her up.

She chuckles, and my chest eases. “Good to know, but it’s not my period.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong.”

A long pause. “Hayden. I fucked up. Don’t laugh, okay?”

“Laugh at what?—”

She opens the door, and my jaw hits the floor. Her previously pale-blond hair is now bright, hideous cartoon purple. A really jarring, ugly shade.

Her eyebrows match.

We stare at each other for a long, wide-eyed moment before I press a fist to my mouth to stifle my bark of laughter.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” she cries, slapping my arm.

“I didn’t agree to that,” I manage, barely holding it together, almost collapsing with the relief that something isn’t actually wrong.

“Hayden! I look like Grimace from McDonald’s.” She turns to the mirror with a mournful expression.

I howl, doubled over and leaning against the wall. Shedoeslook like the big purple blob, or one of the Teletubbies. “Tinky-Winky? Is that you?”

A mortified noise scrapes out of her throat, but she starts laughing. She tries to close the door but I catch it, stepping into her space. We’re both gasping for air.

Thisis what it’s supposed to be like with Darcy and me, and this is exactly why I can’t fuck it up. When we’re just friends, we’re perfect together.

The urge to kiss her rises, though, but I shove it down.

“Holy fuck, Darce.” I pull a bright purple lock between my fingers. Her hair is still soft as silk, and the bathroom smells fresh and sweet like her hair products. “What did you do?”

She cringes. “I was so mad after my call with Kit, and I felt like doing something drastic. I wanted something light and pretty, but this is way too intense. It looks like?—”

“Barney the Dinosaur?”

She tries to give me a flat look but bursts out laughingagain.

“Why’d you do the eyebrows?” I breathe with an incredulous expression.

“I don’t know,” she moans, glancing at her reflection.

“It’s going to be okay.” I put my arms out. “Come here.”

She steps forward into my embrace, resting her head against my chest, and my chin comes to the top of her hair.

My heart jumps at the way she feels against me. “Don’t worry,” I murmur, “you’re still beautiful.”

In my arms, she tenses.

“You know, in a friend way,” I add.

“I know,” she says defensively.

We stand there for a long moment, and I run my hand down her back to comfort her.

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