Page 18 of Sloth
“Hon, you’re not coming in, okay?” Misha said sweetly. “You can do your thing from the café across the street.”
He checked the salon. “I’ll take a look around. Survey the back entrance. How long will you be?”
“Could be hours, babe.”
Exasperated, he frowned. “Hours?”
Misha shrugged but gave Sloan pleading eyes.
Sloan added, “I’m getting my hair dyed, so hours.”
“All right. After I check it out, I’ll be across the street.” He went inside and walked straight past the receptionist who trotted after him, flagging him down.
God, her brothers could be alpha assholes when they wanted to be. The word arrogant applied to all of them.
Misha rounded on Sloan. “He’s driving me nuts! Do you know he sits in my yoga classes now? Doesn’t join in, just watches my students like he’s some kind of crazy stalker man.”
“Sounds like Wyatt.”
“Like, I get it. There’s danger and all that, but ugh.” She took a few deep breaths, mumbling a mantra about the past and future. When she was done, she brightened again. “It’s all good. If I let him win this level, then it means I get to be bossy in the bedroom later on, if you know what I mean.” She waggled her brows suggestively. “Last chance I’ll get to jump his bones before he leaves for a rare weekend away.”
“Ew. That’s my brother you’re talking about.”
“But he’s so hot. His bones are very jumpable.”
“Double ew.”
“Okay. Let’s go inside. I really need a scalp massage.”
Wyatt returned from whatever dark spaces he’d assessed. “All good. You know where I’ll be.” He waved his cell phone and bent to kiss Misha tenderly on the cheek, using his big palm on her face to hold her there a moment.
The man who used to be in a perpetual foul mood, softened and relaxed at contact with his mate. The sight made her insides ache, and it had nothing to do with sensed emotion. This was all her. She was jealous. Thank goodness Evan wasn’t around, or he’d call her out on it.
As soon as Wyatt left, a short Italian man in a bright yellow suit rushed up to Misha. His two front teeth prominently poked over his bottom lip, reminding Sloan of a chipmunk. “Misha, darling. Give me a hug.”
“Hi Angelo.”
Angelo patted Misha’s curly hair with a few disapproving sounds. “That regrowth needs attention, sweet thing.”
“No dye for me today, Angelo,” Misha said.
He gaped, horrified. “But, sweetie. The regrowth.”
“We’re here for this tall drink of water.” She waved at Sloan then leaned in to Angelo. “Her hair has never been dyed.”
That was all Angelo needed to perk up. “Never?”
“Never.”
“Fabulous.” He pursed his lips and inspected Sloan with shrewd eyes. “And you darling, what are you wanting today?”
“Whatever says ‘Fuck you. You gave all this hotness up, and now you’ll never get it back.’ Can you do something like that?”
Angelo blinked back at her, then his face split into a grin that made his nose lift and teeth show. “Girl, I like you. I’ve got just the thing.”
He snapped his fingers and two stylists came running over. “We want the Revenge Package ladies.”
Three hours later, Sloan sat in front of a mirror, staring into the face of a woman with slashes of red through her newly trimmed black hair. Shoulder length and healthy. A little weird with the style, but she could work with it. The strands still fit snuggly in a tie if she had to enter battle. Her nails were red. Eyebrows waxed. Lady parts waxed—don’t ask. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Even if Max would never see her goods, she knew she was in babe territory. It was like wearing sexy lingerie for her own joy. It empowered her.
