Nicole

 

The next day started off rough for me. It started with me forgetting my keys and having to call Jane, my coworker, in early because she had the only other set of keys. Then I took almost an hour instead of half an hour to cut a woman’s hair because I kept spacing off into the void, as Jane kept calling it. Then, I nearly ended up dying an old woman’s hair a bright aquamarine instead of the soft, careful gray-blue that she had picked out for herself.

 

And the worst part was the reason that I couldn’t seem to get my shit together today was because of last night.

 

And not Ben.

 

All I could see to think about was Maxwell. His strong hands sliding along my figure, his hand palming my rear as he simultaneously brought me closer to his body. His hard, hot body, too sexy for words, too enticing for me to wrap my head around.

 

But my legs, however, those I could see myself wrapping around him.

 

I remembered the way my breasts pressed tightly against his chest, heaving as he touched me, pulled me tightly to him. I felt his erection pressing along my belly, straining against his jeans, clearly trying to get free.

 

And god I’d wanted to get him free. I’d wanted so much more than a kiss—a hot, open -mouthed kiss, his tongue searching and dueling and exploring, his lips full and softer than I had expected—and the light groping he’d given me.

 

I’d wanted to be naked, undulating beneath him as he did wild, wild things to me.

 

God, I need to get laid, I thought to myself, trying to push out the thoughts of him. I told myself that was all it was. I was in desperate need of a little loving. It had nothing to do with him, with the way his hands seemed to fit perfectly on my hips or the way his rock hard muscles wrapped around me protectively.

 

No, it was just about a personal need for sex, because I hadn’t had any for a while. And what I had had wasn’t all that good.

 

Figures that my last lay would be lousy, I thought miserably. Ben had been terrible.

 

Whatever the reason, I couldn’t seem to get Maxwell or the kiss out of my head. I wanted things from him that I definitely shouldn’t have been wanting, but I couldn’t seem to get the ideas and thoughts out of my head.

 

I was working on Mrs. Connors’s hair this last time when I got distracted. She had a tendency to ramble, and she didn’t need me on the other end of a conversation to hold one. Instead, she could just ramble on and on all by herself without seemingly a single care in the world.

 

And I didn’t mind that. I’d nod every so often and let her go. Most of the time I even listened, but today was difficult. I already couldn’t focus and she just wouldn’t stop talking about things I couldn’t make myself care about.

 

I figured it was fine, though. She was a regular and I always took care of her. She got the same thing every time: a cut and a dye. The cut was a trim—she kept her hair short and slightly teased so it fluffed up into an old lady perm without the perm—and the color was always the same, a greyish silvery kind of blue that could hardly be called blue at all. She would always joke and call it her old lady color.

 

I had finished the trim without any incident, though there had been a close call with just how much I was supposed to be taking off, but then I got to the coloring and it all seemed to go to hell.

 

We kept most of the widely used colors out front, but hers was a special made color and not many people got it, so I had to get the colors to mix from the back. I didn’t know what it was about being on my tiptoes, reaching for one of the higher shelves, pressing myself against the scaffolding, but suddenly I imagined Maxwell was in there, too, that he was standing behind me and was sliding those large hands down along my sides, tracing my curves lightly. I could hear his laugh, deep and sultry, slipping through my entire person, like silk or a velvety tongue on my skin.

 

I shuddered and it took everything I had to pull myself together, grab my colors, and get out of there.

 

I was mixing the colors and my hands were still shaking after my uninvited fantasy in the back. Mrs. Connors was still rambling, unconcerned with whether or not I was listening in the first place. I had used a rat tailed dying brush to gather up a glomp of coloring and was about to slide it through Mrs. Connors’s hair, when a hand stilled mine.

 

Startled, I looked over to see who it was. Carrie, my boss.

 

I mouthed, “What?”

 

She raised her eyebrows pointedly at me, her brown eyes glancing down at the brush in my hands. I followed her gaze and froze, wide-eyed.

 

“Oh my god,” I whispered. The color wasn’t the blue-grey Mrs. Connors always got, but a neon aquamarine that most teenagers wouldn’t have had the guts to wear.

 

And I’d been about to put that on her hair!

 

“Give us just a minute, Mrs. Connors,” Carrie told my client with a smile, taking me by the elbow as she did so. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to borrow your lovely hairdresser for just a minute.”

 

I let her pull me away to a corner where our coworkers and the clients weren’t going to be able to hear me.

 

“Okay, what’s going on?” Carrie demanded.

 

Pulling myself up and steadying my breath—but not my heartbeat—I offered a shaky smile. “Nothing. I’m good.”

 

Again, Carrie’s eyebrows rose in skepticism. “Really. So you meant to dye Mrs. Connors’s hair a lovely shade of mermaid? And you always forget your keys?”

 

Letting out a sigh, I rubbed my hand over my eyes and shook my head. “I’m just…having some troubles with my ex.” Which was sort of true and sort of not. I was having troubles with him, but he definitely wasn’t the reason for my distraction today. Oh, no, that was all the muscled, gorgeous biker, Maxwell.

 

Instantly, Carrie’s expression shifted to one of sympathy and I felt a little bad for lying to her. She was such a good friend, despite also being my boss. “That just really sucks. What an ass.” She put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “All right, well, try to take it easy. Don’t let him get to you. Now that I’m about to be outta here, you’re up for a promotion, you know? Don’t let him blow everything in your life. Not now, not when you’re finally getting it together.”

 

I nodded and appreciated the absolute sincerity of her words. She meant it, felt it in her heart, and regardless of who we were together at work, she wanted me to succeed after what I’d dealt with regarding Ben.

 

The rest of the day, I forced myself to focus on work and I didn’t have any incidents or near misses—thank god—but when the end of my shift made its way around, the door chimed. I was finishing up cleaning my station, but glanced up wondering if I had missed an appointment or if this was a walk in.

 

As soon as I caught sight of the customer, I froze. My breath caught and my heart thumped wildly in my chest.

 

Maxwell.

 

His gaze found me easily and as soon as our eyes locked, his full lips pulled into the kind of smile that made grown women melt like school girls.

 

I didn’t, but only just barely.

 

He strutted over to me, oozing sex and confidence.

 

“What…” I began, but my voice was too breathless. I had to clear my throat and start over, which made his smile widen. “What are you doing here? How…how did you even know where I worked?”

 

He glanced down at my chest and for a minute I felt annoyed, but then he looked back up at me and said, “Your nametag. You were still wearing it last night. It’s got the name of the place on it.”

 

I automatically glanced down at my chest and sure enough there was my nametag with Nicole printed across it along with Westside Scissors. I thought I had taken it off before going to the bar last night, but thinking it over, I wasn’t so sure. I hadn’t changed, so there was a good chance I hadn’t remembered to take off the name tag either.

 

It was utterly stupid, but I was a little relieved. At least he hadn’t gone through a lot of trouble to find me, necessarily. I would have been a lot more worried if he showed up and hadn’t had any indication last night of where I worked.

 

Still, what was he doing here?

 

He was still staring at me with those stormy grey eyes and something in my body intrinsically reacted to him. My body flushed, my cheeks burning as I tried desperately to push down a blush that had no business being on my face. He must have spotted it, because his smile turned smug.

 

I opened my mouth to ask him what in the hell he thought he was doing at my place of work, but before I got even a single word out he said, “Go to dinner with me.”

 

It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, like of course you’re going to dinner with me, what sort of red blooded, straight woman wouldn’t be going to dinner with me?

 

Instantly, it had my feathers ruffled. I didn’t appreciate feeling as though my decisions were already made for me, Ben had done a lot of that, and I wasn’t about to just give in to this man because he sauntered in here like he owned the place. I could resist a little temptation, no matter how sexy that temptation was.

 

Schooling my face into an unimpressed scowl, I said, “No. I’m busy.”

 

Then I turned away from him and continued to clean up my station. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see he wasn’t as put off by my refusal as I’d hoped. If anything, the gleam of his eye looked like that of a predator enjoying the hunt.

 

Which would make me the prey.

 

I shuddered at the thought, but not for the reasons I should have. I wasn’t terrified, though I told myself that would have been a far more appropriate reaction. Instead, something warm slid through my body, threatening to make me melt into his arms. Desire and lust, I was pretty sure, which was why I wouldn’t let myself look at him outright again.

 

No need to encourage him or the feelings inside me.

 

I didn’t look at him, but noticed his hand go to the counter—the counter where my phone was sitting on the corner. Before I could react, he swiped it and opened it. I really needed to put a lock code on the damn thing.

 

“What are you doing?” I demanded, gripping the back of my chair tightly to keep myself steady.

 

“Making sure you can reach me when you change your mind about that dinner,” he said cheekily.

 

He was definitely confident, I would give him that. “Give me that!” I snapped at him, reaching my hand out, palm up, for my phone. He placed it lightly in my palm, which told me he’d already successfully put his number into my phone.

 

It irritated me—and thrilled me.

 

I pointedly looked away from him again, though I could feel his eyes boring into me. Eventually, I noticed him in the mirror as he lifted his arms in an I surrender gesture, then backed away. Just as he pushed his way out the door, he sent me a wink that should not have sent butterflies rippling through my stomach—but it did.