Page 46 of Treat

“What did you do, Google ‘different types of mustaches’?”

She shrugged. She had, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I just want to be able to put food in my mouth without also eating hair. Can you just, I don’t know, clean it up a little?”

“Sure. Tip your chin up,” she directed and stepped forward.

Right away she realized her mistake. First, stepping forward put her between his spread knees, which made her think of histhighs again. She could step back, but if she did that she’d have to either A) lean forward to reach his mustache, which would be murder on her back, or B) straddle his thighs, which would be even harder to ignore than standing between them. And second, when he tipped his head back his chin was right between her boobs.

Well, notrightbetween them, but close enough to feel his breath on her skin, the effect of which was entirely predictable.

Her nipples went tight, her skin broke out in goosebumps, and her hand, which had been steadily trimming her own hair since her sophomore year of college, started to tremble.

“Is this good?” he asked, jerking her back to reality.

“Yeah. Great.” Jesus, even her tits were sweating. “So, just a trim?”

“Yeah,” he replied in a tone that saidDidn’t I just say that?

“Right,” she said, feeling like a dork.A dork with hard nipples and wet panties.

“You okay?” Jude asked, a hint of awareness easing into his sharp blue gaze.

“Fine,” she chirped, fixing her eyes firmly on his mustache. She could get through this if she just concentrated on the mustache.

She lifted the scissors, gripping them tight so her hand wouldn’t tremble, and leaned in. She could see why he was getting irritated—the thick whiskers had grown to almost completely cover his upper lip, and were even hitting the lower one in spots. No wonder he was getting a mouthful every time he tried to eat.

“Hold still,” she warned and, sliding the scissors carefully between skin and hair, snipped.

Whiskers fell, sprinkling the dark blue towel with tiny strands of gold and bronze, and she slid the scissors forward and snipped again. Moving slowly to keep from accidentally catchinghis skin in the blades and breathing through her mouth to avoid his scent, she made her way from the right side of his mouth to the left. When she’d made the final snip, she straightened. “How does that feel?”

“Better,” he said, rubbing his lips together.

“I didn’t take off a lot,” she said, fighting the urge to rub her legs together. He was so warm and smelled so good, and no matter how hard she tried she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his thighs. “I can do more if you want.”

“I think maybe a little more,” he said, still rubbing. “It still tickles.”

“Do you want it all the way off your lip?”

“Maybe not all the way. I don’t want it to look weird. Although…”

“What?”

“If it looks weird enough I’d have to shave it off,” he calculated. “Technically, that wouldn’t be reneging on the bet, right?”

“I’m not getting in the middle of that bet nonsense,” she told him and girding her loins—shit, don’t think about loins—leaned forward.

“Nonsense?” he repeated, eyes laughing at her. “What are you, eighty?”

She slid the scissors along his lip. “I was going to say ‘dumbassery’, but I’m trying to eliminate ableist language from my vocabulary.”

“Dumbassery is ableist?” he mumbled.

“Dumb is,” she said, dropping the scissors. “So dumbassery must be. Now keep your nonsense mouth still so I can do this.”

He snickered, eyes bright with laughter, but his mouth stayed still, so she brought the scissors up again and began to trim. Following the curve of his lip, she snipped carefully away until she got to the shallow dip in the center.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when she paused, frowning.

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