16. Mack
CHAPTER 16
MACK
T wenty minutes later, I’m hoisting the “eggplant throne,” as Gracelyn calls it, and carrying the oversized chair next door.
I climb the stairs, gripping the arms of the chair tightly and ignoring the hammering of my heart.
Relax. You’re making a delivery, nothing special.
Except that’s not strictly true. The last time I was in this space, I hadn’t been sleeping with Mrs. Reynolds’s daughter.
Everything’s different now.
I only hope the woman doesn’t have a sixth sense or something. Because if she does, this is gonna be real awkward.
I hesitate at the door. Should I ring the doorbell? Knock? Will anyone be able to hear over the blow dryers and all the noise in the salon anyway?
Probably not.
Making a split-second decision, I yank open the screen door and let myself in.
“Hello? I brought the chair,” I yell down the hallway toward the salon, but there’s no response. A loud whirring noise vibrates the floorboards, and I assume Gracelyn and her mom are still hard at work.
Grabbing the chair, I haul it down the narrow hallway, being careful not to nick the walls with the ornate wood.
“Knock, knock.” I raise my voice before entering the bright salon space.
“Oh, the chair’s back!” Mrs. Reynolds’s voice rises up over the whoosh of the dryer she’s wielding on her client’s head. “You can set it over in the corner.” She motions to the far side of the room and I haul the furniture over to the designated spot.
“Wonderful!.” Mrs. Reynolds clicks the dryer off and sidles over to me, leaning down and stroking the seat of the chair like a beloved pet. “Perfect. Thank you so much, Mack.”
“Mom, can you squeeze Lucy in tomorrow afternoon?” Gracelyn swoops into the room, phone in hand, and I suck in a breath.
Her hair’s pulled into a high ponytail, leaving her creamy neck and chest exposed. The round apples of her cheeks tint pink the second she spots me, and my lower body coils and tightens in reaction.
“Hey.” Her voice is breathy as we lock eyes with each other, desire sparking between us.
“Hey.” I practically grunt the word, my throat dry. Her mother glances from me to her daughter, then back to me again.
“I can fit Lucy in tomorrow, Gracie. Mack, you look like you could use a trim.” Mrs. Reynolds’s hand hovers above my ear and prickly panic sets in.
I cannot get a haircut from Gracelyn’s mother.
“Gracie, why don’t you give Mack a haircut?” She arches a dark brow and Gracelyn’s full lips part slightly.
“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t want a haircut right now. Do you, Mack?”
I run my fingers through my hair, which is admittedly kinda long.
“Actually, a trim would be great. If you don’t mind.”
Gracelyn swallows hard, fiddling with the tie of the black stylist apron protecting her clothes.
“Fine. Come on.” She waves her hand, motioning me into another room.
“Thanks again, Mack. For fixing the chair.” Mrs. Reynolds smiles as I move past her. I tip my head in acknowledgment before following Gracelyn’s perfect ass down the hall, swishing side to side.
“You really want a haircut right now?” Gracelyn hisses as soon as we’re out of earshot. “I could do this for you at your house, you know. Without my mother watching.”
“I couldn’t very well turn down the offer, then have your mom see me tomorrow with a fresh cut.”
“True. And she would notice. Sit.” Gracelyn pats the chair in the dimly lit converted bathroom, and I sink down into the supple white leather.
Water splashes behind me as she tests the temperature on her wrist before pressing on my shoulders.
“Lean your head back.”
I follow instructions, resting my head on the cool indentation of the sink and staring up at the ceiling.
“Nice tiles.”
“You like those? I picked them out. Thought clients might want something pretty to look at while they’re getting their hair washed.”
“They already had something pretty to look at. Before the tiles.” The words slip out of my mouth and I should be embarrassed by the blatant rizzing. But they’re the damn truth and I don’t mind her hearing it.
She blushes so deep, the red flush on her skin’s visible even in the low light.
“You don’t have to flatter me. I’ll sleep with you again.”
“Looking forward to it. But it’s not flattery—it’s the God’s honest truth.”
Warm water sluices through my hair as she squirts shampoo into her palm. A lemon-mint scent tickles my nostrils while she works the suds into my scalp.
Not gonna lie, I’m loving the view.
Gracelyn’s standing at my shoulders, bending down and rubbing my scalp, her luscious tits directly at eye-level. Although the massage is relaxing as hell and I’d love to close my eyes, I can’t bring myself to do it—not with her round, full breasts in my face. My mouth waters with each scrub, every jostle.
She rinses the shampoo from my hair, then rubs a towel vigorously over my head.
“When’s the last time you had a haircut?”
“It’s been a while.”
“I can see that.”
Wrapping the towel around my neck, her fingers comb through the damp waves and a shiver rolls down my spine.
“Come on.”
I follow behind her to the main room of the salon, my eyes squinting as I step back into the shocking brightness. Everyone’s gone now except me, Gracelyn, and her mother, who’s sweeping the floor.
This could get real uncomfortable, real quick. I decide to take Gracelyn’s lead and say as much or as little as she does.
“Sit.” Gracelyn pats a tall swivel chair in front of a large mirror and vanity.
I lower my body into the seat and she whips out a black cape, waving it through the air before wrapping it around me. Then she lifts a comb from the glass dispenser and runs it through my damp hair.
“How much do you want off?” Lips pursed, she tips her head and studies me.
I shrug. “I dunno. What do you think?”
She runs her fingers through the front of my hair, tousling the curls. “I like it kind of long. But it’s your hair.”
“I don’t spend too much time worrying about my hairstyle.”
“Yeah, I didn’t figure. I’ll trim it up, okay?”
“Sure.”
Scissors in hand, she pulls my hair through her fingers and snips. The first lock falls and I watch her face in the mirror. A tiny V forms between her brows as she concentrates, the tip of her tongue darting out between her glossy lips. She’s cute when she’s working, all her attention focused on the task at hand.
“So, Mack—” Mrs. Reynolds startles me out of my trance. “I heard y’all had a good game Friday night. Everyone in town’s talking about the defense. Good job.”
I go to nod, but freeze when I remember Gracelyn’s holding scissors an inch away from my ear. Best not to be bobbing my head at the moment.
“Thanks. Had to mix it up a bit to get by their wide receiver.”
“It worked. We’re all looking forward to the Homecoming game coming up.”
Gracelyn pauses, the scissors stilling above my head. “We are?”
“Yes, of course we are.” Mrs. Reynolds grins at her daughter and Gracelyn blanches.
“You’re going to the game, Mom? Since when are you a football fan?”
“Since forever. I’m usually busy on Fridays, but I thought Layla and I could go together this time. With you.”
Oh boy.
My eyes meet Gracelyn’s in the mirror and I try not to laugh at the sheer look of horror twisting her pretty face.
“Well, I’m planning on hitching a ride with Cam and Sloane. They’ll be in town for the game.” Gracelyn pops a hand on her hip and taps her toe in agitation.
“Oh, right. I’ll tell Layla to find another ride then and tag along with you three. Then you won’t be a third wheel.”
Gracelyn’s nostrils flare, and I’d love to duck out of the conversation right about now. But unfortunately, I’m stuck here, trapped by the cape and a half-cut head of hair.
“Actually, I’m not going to be a third wheel.”
“Really? You’re taking a date?” Gracelyn’s mother narrows her eyes at her daughter.
“Yeah, I have a date.”
I suck wind, almost choking I inhale so hard. This is how Gracelyn’s going to tell her mother we’re dating?
“Gracie, you’ve been holding out on me!” Her mother squeals with delight, beaming. “Who’s the lucky guy? Have I met him? You need to have him over here for dinner.”
Gracelyn snips the scissors closed with a decisive snap, the sound loud in my ear. One hand rests on my shoulder as she locks eyes with me.
“Mack, do you want to stay for dinner?”