Page 38 of My Three Mountain Men

I rolled my eyes at the jibe.

“Is that what the Superstar is saying?” he asked, but there was less curtness in his tone than usual, his blue eyes locking on mine.

An electric bolt tingled through my gut, and I nodded.

“I would do an online poll, but…” I raised my palms. “No internet.”

A smile quirked under the hair, but he turned away before I could be sure.

“No thanks. Don’t make a mess.”

Disappointment flooded my gut, extinguishing the small flame that had formed there. He stalked off, and I swallowed a sigh of unhappiness.

He’s never going to accept me. He really doesn’t want me here.

“His loss,” Brooks quipped, reading my expression, and Knox headed across the foyer toward the dining room for a chair. I looked at Brooks helplessly, but he shook his head as if to say, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Our barber chair,” Knox announced, returning. “I’ll go find water and combs.”

“And shaving cream, please,” I called out after him.

“I’m going to get a beer,” Brooks decided. “Want one?”

I pursed my lips. I could use a drink.

“Don’t get her drunk while she cuts our hair!” Knox yelled from the stairs.

“Shut up,” Brooks retorted, and I cracked a smile despite my darkening mood.

“Sure,” I agreed. “I’ll do Knox last, just in case Idoget drunk.”

“Good plan,” Brooks snickered, pausing to kiss my forehead. “Don’t worry about Ryder. That’s just the way he is, Simone. You can’t take it personally.”

But I did take it personally. How could I not? Nothing I did was good enough for him, and the more time that passed, the more it felt like he wanted me gone.

Brooks vanished into the house, and I continued the set-up, draping another bedsheet over the dining room chair that Knox had brought in. I centered it on the floor, pulling the ottoman coffee table close to ensure I had a workstation, and a minute later, Knox was back with a pitcher of water, a comb, scissors, and shaving cream. Brooks followed shortly after with the drinks and took a seat in front of the crackling fireplace, popping open a beer. He handed it to me before opening his own.

“Where’s mine?” Knox complained.

“You didn’t ask for one!”

“Wow. So rude,” Knox grumbled, sauntering back out to get his own as I took a sip and set my bottle down.

I dipped the comb in the water and got to work on brushing out Brooks’ unruly waves.

“Tell me if I’m being too rough,” I told him.

“I don’t mind it a little rough,” he replied slyly.

I cocked my head around the front of his face, and he grinned wickedly at me. I smirked and resumed my work. In a minute, as Knox came back, I had untangled his mane into strands of wet streaks, the lengths hanging just above his shoulders.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Knox perch on the edge of the sofa, watching my ass.

“That’s not helping my work,” I informed him.

“Maybe not,” Knox agreed. “But it’s helping me.”

I parted Brooks’ hair and bit on my lower lip, knowing that my customer wouldn’t approve of my next utterance, but I couldn’t keep living with this tension. I had to know what was going on with Knox and Ryder.

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