Page 2 of Bound by Vengeance
Lexa’s face lights up with glee. If there’s anything she loves, it’s when people talk about her shop and make it known that she’s the best in town.
“Call her up. Get her in here. This is great!”
Great is right. This endeavor went so much better than I envisioned. I thought she wouldn’t want me back after leaving her high and dry on a whim. Luckily, she still likes me. I wonder, though, how long it’s going to take before she asks me where I was and why I didn’t come to work. That isn’t a conversation I’m looking forward to.
An hour later, the bell over the door rings and Emery, my best friend and cousin, strolls into the place, looking like she’s won the lottery.
She has the most beautiful hair. It’s long, almost down to her butt, straight, and so silky smooth it makes those television commercials for shampoo look like child’s play. She always insists on adding highlights, but I think she’s nuts. Her hair doesn’t need them because she has natural ones that people here would love to have. I do it for her, anyway.
“I’m so excited!” She comes over, giving me a hug before setting her purse down on the small table against the window.
The shop is set up a bit strange, but considering the way the building is, there isn’t much of a choice.
When you walk in the front door, there is a small reception desk to the left, then the five stations where the stylists work are to the right. Five black chairs with cabinets and large mirrors on the walls. Next to those are the four sinks for shampooing, and next to that are the hair dryers. On the opposite wall is the bathroom and places to sit and hang coats. It’s long instead of wide.
Small, simple.
What I like best about it is it’s painted a vibrant purple on three of the walls and a cream on the other. Lexa has it decorated with stylish paintings. It’s a very comfortable place to work.
“Me too. What do you want to do?”
As Emery plops down in my chair, I drape my leopard print cape over her body and snap it at the nape.
“The usual. I need a trim too. What do you think of layers?”
I grab the brush and begin to glide it down her hair. Needing to put her up some, I then give the chair a pump with my foot to raise her before continuing my task. “If that’s what you want, we can totally do it. You’d be adorable.”
Her eyes narrow. “Adorable? You seriously just used the word adorable with me?”
A chuckle escapes. “Yep. Adorably cute.”
She reaches out and smacks me on the arm playfully. “That’s not funny, missy.”
When we were younger, she’d let me “practice” on her, and I use that term loosely. No matter what I did to her hair—and one time I cut a huge chunk out of it—it was always adorable. It got to the point where she told me, if I used that word again, she wouldn’t allow me to do her hair anymore. So, I moved to the word cute. Then that word got banned.
“Sure it was. Let’s do this.”
“Let’s.”
Being behind the chair, holding the foil in my hand and smelling the lifter in my nostrils, it all feels normal. Right. I’ve missed this. I needed this. My life is getting back on track.
“Have you heard from Micah since you moved back home?” I ask.
Emery moved back to Sumner when her mother was diagnosed with cancer. She’s been going to community college and taking some online classes. Micah, Tug and Blaze’s kid, has been her childhood crush forever. They even went away to the same school.
“Hell no,” she growls, piquing my interest.
I roll her hair in a foil before pressing it to her head, using the metal end of the comb to fold the edges. “What does that mean?”
“He had a girlfriend and decided to bring her with him when he came to see me. Me, I thought it would be just him and me.
Got dressed up and all that shit. Anyway, I ended up faking being sick so I could go home.”
“What a dick.”
She looks at me in the mirror, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “She was a brunette and really, really pretty. I probably would have liked her if she wasn’t hanging on Micah’s arm. But whatever. That’s over. He’s there, I’m here, and he doesn’t want anything to do with the club, so I don’t have to worry about him coming home.”
“What if he does come home?” I ask, parting another strand of hair.
