Page 3 of Half Notes and Highlights
“Don’t worry. I have everything under control,” Paul, the band’s tour manager, said from the bathroom doorway. “I have my contacts reaching out to the best hairstylists on the West Coast. The country, if need be. We’ll fix it.”
CHAPTER THREE
Ethan tugged the baseball cap lower so it covered his face, which was ridiculous because even if someone was able to get a good look at him through the entourage of bodyguards that surrounded him, no one would be able to tell that a huge chunk of his hair was missing. The ponytail camouflaged his uneven, asymmetrical hair status.
This was the first time he left his hotel suite since he was discharged from the hospital yesterday, so he didn’t know what to expect. He made it known, numerous times, that he wanted privacy, and Paul assured him that security was extra tight, but the fans still congregated and called his name. He felt bad because most were asking if he was OK, so he gave them a thumbs up while keeping his head down, and he made it to the hair salon in the hotel lobby without incident.
Once inside, the bodyguards moved to the far wall and gave Ethan space. Shades were drawn so that no one could see inside, and he’d have the privacy he needed. “Let’s get this over with,” he huffed and eyed the woman standing in the center of the salon. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Oh. No.” She shook her head. “I’m not the stylist. I’m the salon manager. I’m just here to let you in. The stylist hasn’t arrived yet. He’s on his way.”
As if Ethan wasn’t stressed out enough, the damn hairstylist had to be late. He spun around to face Paul. “Didn’t you send a car to get this guy? I’m sure he’s getting paid enough to be here on time. I thought he was a professional. Get on the phone and find out where the fuck—”
“Relax. Daddy’s here. I’ve got the situation under control.” With a hand in the air, the stylist sashayed into the salonswinging a pink leopard-print rectangular case. He stopped to look Ethan up and down and then waved his palm in a circle as if casting a spell. “I’m Tyler Kennedy, and I’m gonna work my magic to make you look like a star.”
This guy was the cutest little twink Ethan had ever seen, but it was the name that caught him by surprise. Tyler Kennedy was well known and highly acclaimed in the hair and makeup industry. Ethan had heard the stylist’s name dropped on the red carpet more than once and knew several rock stars who were private clients. Everyone praised Tyler Kennedy’s skills and joked about his over-the-top bubbly personality, but Ethan had no idea the guy was so fucking sexy, and his annoyance about having to wait turned to coy playfulness. “I’m already a star,” he joked, the corner of his mouth turning up.
The stylist harrumphed. “Just wait until I get done with you.” Then he placed his case on top of one of the counters and started setting up his supplies on a rolling table.
While Tyler sorted through his combs and shears, Ethan took in the whole package. Tyler was slim and petite, but his larger-than-life personality took over the room. He had a gorgeous head of light brown hair that hung in long cascading waves down his back. A graphic silk scarf was tied across his forehead like a bandana, the long ends mixing with the strands of his hair. He wore snakeskin hip-hugger leather bellbottoms that laced at the crotch. His tight yellow T-shirt—if you could call it a T-shirt—bore a colorful pop culture comic strip. White chunky-heeled boots with a small platform completed the look. His outfit was both ridiculous, outlandish, and trendy at the same time. There was so much to take in about this adorable man, but it was the three-inch strip of exposed skin between his T-shirt and those laced-up leather pants which showed off a naval piercing that held Ethan’s gaze.
When Tyler moved, his hips swayed, and an aura of intoxicating sex appeal surrounded him. It was a silent vibe that attracted the eye and held it firmly in place. The best part was that he seemed totally unaware that he possessed such an enigmatic pull.
Ethan was so engrossed in the vision in front of him that he wasn’t even paying attention to the nonstop chatter coming out of Tyler’s mouth.
“Well?” Tyler stood facing Ethan with both hands on his hips waiting for an answer to a question Ethan obviously missed.
“Well what? “Ethan asked, unable to keep the playful innuendo out of his voice.
“Are you going to take that hat off so I can see what I’m dealing with?”
The little smile fell off Ethan’s face, and trepidation worried the corner of his mouth. He’d been wearing that damn hat and stupid ponytail nonstop so he didn’t have to look at the state of his hair. When he didn’t make any attempt to remove the hat, Tyler led him to the salon chair.
“Have a seat, pretty boy, and I’ll summarize the damage.”
“Disaster is more like it,” Ethan added bitterly as he sat facing the mirror.
Tyler let out an amused short chuckle. “And they callmea drama queen.” He rested his hands on Ethan’s shoulders from behind the chair. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’m a miracle worker. I’ve restored bleached and sun-damaged hair so it was silky and shiny. I’ve tamed chaotic out-of-control curls into lovely ringlets. I even repaired a mishap when the four-year-old son of a very famous Hollywood actor took a set of shears to his sister’s long untouched blonde hair.”
That juicy bit of gossip caught Ethan’s attention, and his eyes met Tyler’s through the mirror. “Who?”
Tyler brought his hand to his chest as if he were appalled. “I don’t kiss and tell.” A sly smile spread across his face, and he lowered his lids sexily. “When it comes to hair.” He held up a huge pair of shears and snipped them in the air loudly, like punctuation at the end of a sentence.
Unexpected laughter rolled out of Ethan’s mouth. This guy was a total fucking trip and absolutely captivating.
“OK. Enough fun. Let’s get down to business.” Tyler dropped the shears onto a nearby rolling table, pulled the baseball cap off Ethan’s head, and released the hair tie. Ethan’s gut tightened, but Tyler never reacted to the nightmare that he had to shape into something that resembled a decent hairstyle. Tyler’s expression never changed as he pulled the length of hair—or what was left of it—through his fingers to examine the damage. “It’s fixable,” Tyler announced. “Your hair is very healthy and very thick. I can add extensions on this side and then dye your hair so everything is an even color. No one will ever know the difference.”
“Extensions? Dye? Won’t that ruin my hair?” Ethan’s sister had extensions when she was in high school—for vanity purposes, not because a chunk of her hair went up in flames—and she’d hated them. She’d said they were itchy, and she couldn’t put a brush through her hair. She ended up pulling them out herself and half of her hair along with them.
“Not at all. It’s a simple process. A heated clamp fuses—”
“Stop.” Ethan held up his hand. “You’re not fusing anything to my head.”
“No one’s fusing anything to your head. It’s to your hair.”
“No. I’ll lose my mind and rip them out. I know it. You have to do something else.”
They locked eyes through the mirror. Tyler’s turned-up smile and tilt of his head made Ethan smile back. He’d been so pissed off and angry about his hair, but the minute Tyler walkedthrough the door, it all dissipated. He was entertained by Tyler and enjoying the animated conversation.
