Page 130 of Revolve
How did I get so lucky that he was the one who found me?
I roll my eyes. “Do you ever think about anything else?”
“Not when you’re looking at me like that.” Dylan’s gaze roams over me, slow and shameless, as he folds his arms behind his head. “Care to explain why you’re threatening me with scissors? Or should I lay down a towel and let you have your way with me?”
“I want you to cut my hair,” I say.
Dylan sits up, the comforter pooling at his waist as he tugs me forward. I brace for hesitation, for a joke, for aYou sure about this?Maybe even a protest that he likes it long, or that I should sleep on it.
Instead, he replies, “Okay.”
No hesitation. No questions. Justokay. Dylan takes the scissors and leads me to his bathroom. My gaze coasts over the broad lines of his bare back, the way his boxers hang on his hips, and the muscles in his thighs.
The bathroom is still steamy from our shower. Dylan wipes the mirror and pulls me in front of it. We’ve stood here countless times before, but now a dull feeling of anxiety swirls in my stomach. His hands rest on either side of me on the marble countertop. His breath brushes my neck, then he trails three slow kisses along my jaw.
“How short?” he asks, his warm chest pressing gently against my back.
The metal shears on the counter catch the light, their cold gleam making my fingers twitch at my sides, doubt curling in the edges of my resolve. A part of me hoped he’d talk me out of it like everyone else. The last time I wanted this, my partner said it wouldn’t look presentable to the judges.
Upstairs, Kian’s latest vinyl hums a moody love song. I stare at myreflection, at the length of my hair. It feels like dead weight now. I force out a breath, steeling myself. “Have you ever cut hair before?”
Dylan rests his chin on my shoulder. “I used to trim Ada’s hair because she hated going to the salons. She said I sucked. But for you? I’ll make sure it’s perfect. Promise.”
“Just a few inches,” I decide.
Dylan nods. “Whatever you say, baby.”
“You don’t think it’s too much?” The insecurity slips into my voice when I meet his gaze in the mirror.
“I like what you like,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Besides, it doesn’t matter how short you go as long as I can still pull it.” He fists my hair and gives it a light tug. I glare. He grins.
When he slides the hair tie down, I realize he’d do this without hesitation. Simply because I asked him to.
I spin to catch his wrist before he can make the first cut. “You’re seriously not going to stop me?” I ask, taking the scissors. “This could easily be … I don’t know, a sign of psychosis or something.”
Dylan leans forward, utterly unfazed. “Good thing I like my woman a little crazy.”
I shove at his chest. He barely moves, simply catching my wrist to pull me closer.
His gaze softens, melting like ice on a hot summer day. “You don’t make impulsive decisions. If you’re asking for this, I know it’s something you’ve wanted for a while. And even if it is impulsive, I’m proof those decisions aren’t all bad. You kissed me and look how that turned out.” His grin stretches. “Trust yourself, Sierra.”
Dylan places his hand over my heart, over the wild rhythm. Like he already knew. I press mine to his chest, syncing to his steadiness, grounding myself in him.
One deep inhale. One final look at him. I face the mirror.
“Short,” I decide. “Here.” I touch just above my shoulders before I can second-guess it.
Dylan brushes through the strands, sections them with care,slightly off-center, and then cuts right where I pointed. When he hands me the severed length of my hair, my eyes sting, and I feel a bit of pride take hold of my chest. It’s me, and it’s new. I love it even more when Dylan tips my chin up, his eyes soft and shimmering, and whispers “Beautiful” against my lips.
I’VE ALREADY MADEmyself comfortable in Dylan’s bed with Kian’s new kitten—the poor stray he found outside Lola’s Diner thanks to the powers of the cat distribution system—on my chest when Dylan comes back from an evening lecture.
I went back to the dorm to check on Scarlett, but she wasn’t there. When I texted her, she promised to be back for a late dinner.
Now I’m studying in Dylan’s room, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating my textbook. I cuddle with Whiskers, but the second my boyfriend walks in, the minx bolts to the edge of the bed. Dylan scoops him up, cradling him against his chest. Whiskers purrs and licks his face. I can’t blame him. But ever since Kian’s found out about this new development, he’s been trying to win back the kitten’s affection.
“Trying to steal my girlfriend, Whiskers?”
The cat meows in response, and Dylan steps out of his room, and I hear a loud “My baby! Did he hurt you?” Before Dylan returns, locking the door behind him.
