Page 59 of Wicked Little Game
“And I’m still a bodyguard, not your stylist,” he points out as I take the fork out of his hand.
With uncertainty in his eyes, he looks at my straightening iron and I have to bite down on my cheek to keep me from bursting out laughing.
“Why do you even need to do your hair? Don’t think I’ll let you go anywhere.” He picks it up, flinching slightly as he realizes that it’s already hot.
“Maybe I just want to look pretty for you.” I smile as I tilt my head back towards up, looking up at him through my eyelashes.
“You’ll need more than a different hairstyle for that,” he says, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.
“Ah, someone’s extra lovely today.”
I laugh as I sit back up straight, hoping that he doesn’t see the slight flush on my cheeks. He’s holding the straightening iron like a machine gun, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen something more adorable.
“I don’t know how this shit is supposed to work.”
“I’ll teach you.” I take the straightening iron out of his hand, wrapping a strand of hair around it slowly. “The ladies will love it if you can do their hair.”
“I don’t need to be liked bythe ladies,” he scoffs while he focuses on watching how I hold my hand as I twist the curl around my finger and hold it for a few seconds.
He grabs the straightening iron with scrunched brows and reluctantly separates a strand of my hair. I had expected him to be a bit more rough, expected it to hurt at least a bit, but he’s really gentle and careful.
“Why, is there already a special lady waiting for you back at home?”
I sincerely doubt it, but there’s still this nagging voice in the back of my head telling me he’s keeping something from me.
“No.” He rolls his eyes while he keeps on working on my hair. “And my private life is none of your business.”
I decide to ignore his snide remark, playing around with the fork I took from him. “I would be really jealous if there was another woman in your life.”
“Dipshit, do you really think someone would have the nerve to tolerate any other person while having to keep up with your shenanigans 24/7?”
“You should stop calling me that unless you want me to fall in love.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror and I swallow thickly upon realizing what I just said. We just stare at each other for what feels horribly long until a hissed “fuck” behind me drags Sam’s attention back to the straightening iron that I assume just burned a few of his fingers.
He’s shockingly good at doing my hair and before I can replay my words for the hundredth time in my head, he’s done.
“Pretty?” I ask, expecting him to say something mean.
Deep down, I hope he says something mean because dealing with the opposite makes all of this even more complicated. Not that him being mean helped with not falling for him so far.
“Pretty,” he answers while I get up.
I let my forehead rest against his chest for a second, breathing in the scent that’s justSamuel, the scent I’ve grown horribly accustomed to over the past weeks. Especially after I basically held his sweater hostage after he gave it to me two days ago.
This isn’t going to end well. It had never been like this, not even with Brian. And that was an actual relationship.
The worst thing is that I can’t shove the responsibility for this onto anyone else. I’m an idiot for continuously breaking my own rules.
“We should go out and do something,” I propose as I look up at him. “We could go shopping again, or we could go out and eat somewhere?” Bribing Sam with food usually works pretty well.
“You are not supposed to go out. Don’t know why that won’t stick in that little head.”
He puts his big hand on top of my head, ruffling my hair slightly before he unplugs the straightening iron. At least he’s capable of keeping potentially flammable things under control as long as they aren’t in the kitchen.
“And apart from that, you are aware of the fact that I’m not your boyfriend, right?”
He groans as I’m back on him, my hands wandering all over his chest, and I feel his resolve weakening with every passing second.
