Page 108 of Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn 2)

“I know you appreciate the 80’s…”

He met my gaze in the mirror. “I love the music, yes.”

“You know I love David’s hair.” I held up my spiral curling iron. Sometimes I used it to enhance Lindsey’s thick mane of naturally curly hair. Oz’s stick straight hair would require a bit more finesse and product.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“You can still go. No one’s stopping you.”

“I’m good.”

I found the hair curling machine my friend at the salon had convinced me to buy. I held that up. “We’ll start with this.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“This is magic for straight hair like yours. We’ll have you in ringlets in no time.”

“If this curling process lands on Instagram I’m going to take it out on your ass.”

“My ass isn’t your domain anymore.” I snapped out a cape.

“I don’t need that. I’ll get too hot.”

I shrugged. “So no makeup then?”

His growl was his only answer. “You expect me to sit here and become your David Coverdale fantasy?”

“That’s the plan. Problem?”

The glower was back.

I resisted the urge to giggle as I took my biggest brush out of the Barbiside. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” I patted the brush dry and handed him the large curl machine. “Hold this for me?”

He growled.

> “Mind if I put on some music? This will take a little while.” I tapped through my music app on my phone and found Whitesnake’s self titled album and propped it on one of my makeup cases.

The surge of dirty guitars boomed out of the little, but very effective speakers of my phone. I returned to my spot behind him and eased all his hair over his shoulder to flow down his back. It was ridiculously glossy and perfect even if he hadn’t had a haircut in probably a few years.

Only men.

I dragged the brush through his dark hair with long, slow strokes. His eyes closed as a grumbling moan vibrated through his chest.

Dear God, maybe this was a mistake.

As the album cycled into the next song, I had to bury my fingers into his hair to part it into sections to give him a healthy cut first. Which of course was the sexiest song on the album. Long, orchestral guitar solos with David Coverdale’s signature groans.

I had to move to the front of Oz to make sure the ends were even.

He opened his long legs so I could reach him. His scent wrapped around me as “Still of the Night” ramped up. The drums thundered behind me and Oz played with the ends of my hair.

Of course that activated my nipples since he was a damn homing beacon for them. Thank heaven for my smock. His gaze lowered to my chest, and a small smile kicked up the corner of his mouth.

Maybe it didn’t hide that much.

I slapped his hand. “You want me to accidentally snip off all of this? Maybe really get your 80’s look going?”

He dropped his hands into his lap and straightened his shoulders. And that so didn’t help. He was already wearing his stage gear. The simple black vest strained against his pecs leaving his golden skin mostly bare save for the trio of necklaces he wore.

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