not giving anything away.
I turn to check myself out in the mirror over
the sink. She’s kept it long on top but trimmed around my ears and
shortened it up a bit at the back. I’m impressed with the perfect
blend up the back and sides and the straight edge across the back
of my neck. It’s spot-on what I wanted.
“What do you think?” she asks nervously. “I
can take more off the top if you want.”
I turn to look at her and smile. “Don’t you
dare touch it,” I say. “It’s perfect.”
She grins back, seeming happily relieved. My
heart soars at the sparkle in her amber eyes. “Do you have a
broom?” she asks.
I look down at the tiled floor, now covered
with mounds of hair. “Don’t worry about sweeping,” I reply, “I’ll
get it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
She nods, then glances at her watch.
Disappointment wells in me as she bites her lip and glances back up
at me. “I should probably go,” she says tentatively.
Will she stay if I ask her to? One way
to find out… “Let me make you something – late lunch, early dinner,
whatever you wanna call it. Please, it’s the least I can do.”
I hold my breath while she mulls it over. She
squints a little as she looks at me, seemingly deep in thought. At
last she sighs and says, “Rain check? I really need to get more
studying done before I meet someone for dinner later.”
My heart, which was soaring along at cruising
altitude, now plummets in my chest. Someone?
Slowly I nod, knowing I have no right to ask
any further questions. “All right. Just say when.”
Her face is transformed by a coy smile. “Oh,
I will. I never forget to collect.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I reply, following
her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where she scoops up
her backpack from the floor. I want so fucking badly to ask her who
she’s having dinner with – it seems like it’s taking superhuman
willpower to refrain from doing just that as I walk her to the
door.
She pauses when she reaches the entryway, her
hand poised on the doorknob. “Thanks for having me over,” she says.
“Even if you did put me to work.”
Every neuron in my body is screaming for me
to touch her, but I hold back, probably managing to appear
completely unyielding in the process. “The pleasure was all mine,”
I tell her sincerely. “Seriously… Thank you for the hair cut – and
the mind-blowing scalp massage.”
She lifts her chin a fraction of an inch as
she smiles. “You’re welcome.” She turns the knob and throws the
door open, then takes a step through.
My hand reaches out unbidden and clutches
softly at her slim upper arm. “Oh, and Rhiannon?” I say. “For what
it’s worth…I believe you now.”
“I figured you would,” she says. “See ya
around, Blake.” With that she walks out the door, leaving me
bewildered and somehow completely unfulfilled.
Thursday, September 27, 8:00 PM
I ’ve been on a
cleaning rampage ever since I got home this afternoon, knowing
Rhiannon is coming over after dinner. She invited me over to her
place to watch a movie, but for selfish reasons I like having her
here, lighting up my normally drab surroundings.
She buzzes the intercom at eight o’clock on
the dot. I press the button on the box next to the door to let her
in, then step out into the hall to wait for her. I watch her as she
comes toward me down the long hallway in a white tank top, gray
ankle-length skirt and sandals. The skirt looks like t-shirt
material; it forms to her hips in a very flattering way. A woven
straw purse hangs crossways on her body, the strap over her right
shoulder, her cheeks are flushed and her strawberry blond curls
have been diffused by the breeze. In short, she looks downright
mouthwatering.
“Come on in,” I say when she’s close enough
to hear me. I wish I could tell her how pretty she looks, but
that’s probably crossing a line – not that I haven’t set a
precedent of overstepping that line repeatedly
I turn to check myself out in the mirror over
the sink. She’s kept it long on top but trimmed around my ears and
shortened it up a bit at the back. I’m impressed with the perfect
blend up the back and sides and the straight edge across the back
of my neck. It’s spot-on what I wanted.
“What do you think?” she asks nervously. “I
can take more off the top if you want.”
I turn to look at her and smile. “Don’t you
dare touch it,” I say. “It’s perfect.”
She grins back, seeming happily relieved. My
heart soars at the sparkle in her amber eyes. “Do you have a
broom?” she asks.
I look down at the tiled floor, now covered
with mounds of hair. “Don’t worry about sweeping,” I reply, “I’ll
get it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
She nods, then glances at her watch.
Disappointment wells in me as she bites her lip and glances back up
at me. “I should probably go,” she says tentatively.
Will she stay if I ask her to? One way
to find out… “Let me make you something – late lunch, early dinner,
whatever you wanna call it. Please, it’s the least I can do.”
I hold my breath while she mulls it over. She
squints a little as she looks at me, seemingly deep in thought. At
last she sighs and says, “Rain check? I really need to get more
studying done before I meet someone for dinner later.”
My heart, which was soaring along at cruising
altitude, now plummets in my chest. Someone?
Slowly I nod, knowing I have no right to ask
any further questions. “All right. Just say when.”
Her face is transformed by a coy smile. “Oh,
I will. I never forget to collect.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I reply, following
her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where she scoops up
her backpack from the floor. I want so fucking badly to ask her who
she’s having dinner with – it seems like it’s taking superhuman
willpower to refrain from doing just that as I walk her to the
door.
She pauses when she reaches the entryway, her
hand poised on the doorknob. “Thanks for having me over,” she says.
“Even if you did put me to work.”
Every neuron in my body is screaming for me
to touch her, but I hold back, probably managing to appear
completely unyielding in the process. “The pleasure was all mine,”
I tell her sincerely. “Seriously… Thank you for the hair cut – and
the mind-blowing scalp massage.”
She lifts her chin a fraction of an inch as
she smiles. “You’re welcome.” She turns the knob and throws the
door open, then takes a step through.
My hand reaches out unbidden and clutches
softly at her slim upper arm. “Oh, and Rhiannon?” I say. “For what
it’s worth…I believe you now.”
“I figured you would,” she says. “See ya
around, Blake.” With that she walks out the door, leaving me
bewildered and somehow completely unfulfilled.
Thursday, September 27, 8:00 PM
I ’ve been on a
cleaning rampage ever since I got home this afternoon, knowing
Rhiannon is coming over after dinner. She invited me over to her
place to watch a movie, but for selfish reasons I like having her
here, lighting up my normally drab surroundings.
She buzzes the intercom at eight o’clock on
the dot. I press the button on the box next to the door to let her
in, then step out into the hall to wait for her. I watch her as she
comes toward me down the long hallway in a white tank top, gray
ankle-length skirt and sandals. The skirt looks like t-shirt
material; it forms to her hips in a very flattering way. A woven
straw purse hangs crossways on her body, the strap over her right
shoulder, her cheeks are flushed and her strawberry blond curls
have been diffused by the breeze. In short, she looks downright
mouthwatering.
“Come on in,” I say when she’s close enough
to hear me. I wish I could tell her how pretty she looks, but
that’s probably crossing a line – not that I haven’t set a
precedent of overstepping that line repeatedly
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