Chapter 8 #3
Which sucked. Because that left him at an impasse.
And holy fuck was he getting way ahead of himself.
He hadn’t even taken the woman out. He had no clue if this attraction was all one-sided.
Yeah, he had a pretty good feeling she didn’t think he was a troll, but that didn’t mean she’d actually be interested in more.
Chastising himself for jumping the gun—big-time—he continued to watch her work. Once she turned the clippers off, he asked, “How are you settling into your new place?”
She swapped the clippers for a pair of fancy-looking scissors. “It’s been really good. Now that I don’t have to commute back and forth to Whidbey Island, I have a couple extra hours a day.”
“What are you going to do with yourself?” he teased.
“Right?” She chuckled, pulling a section of his hair through her fingers and snipping. “I was thinking about taking up knitting. I live in the apartment above Knit Wits, and I’ve run into the knitting ladies a few times. They’re all super nice and welcoming.”
“I’ve heard a rumor that knitting night is more alcohol than yarn.” He shrugged, mesmerized by how fast her scissors worked and how she didn’t cut herself. “But no judgement here.”
Freya snickered. “Oh, by the laughter coming from the shop on knitting group nights, I can say the rumor is most definitely accurate.”
Her smile slipped a tiny bit. If he hadn’t been watching her so intently, he’d have missed it. His brow furrowed as he asked, “Not your crowd?”
She shook her head. “Oh, it’s not that. I was planning on joining next week with Hazel, but . . .” Her eyes darted around the salon before meeting his in the mirror. She leaned toward his ear and dropped her voice. “Hazel got let go.”
“The interview she did?”
Freya nodded.
He wasn’t surprised. Gabriel Ortiz ran a tight ship, and the Pacific View Resort wasn’t world-renowned by accident.
Freya set down her scissors and ran her fingers through his hair again.
“I haven’t talked with her since she called me about doing the interview.
And now . . . I don’t know. It’s awkward all the way around, so who knows.
But enough about that.” She moved his hair this way and that before meeting his gaze. “What do you think?”
Tearing his attention from her, he looked at himself in the mirror. His jaw dropped. Holy shit. He looked like himself but way cooler. “Damn, woman. You weren’t kidding about the Viking cut.” He turned his head to the left and then the right. “You’re saying it’s actually a thing?”
She nodded, and the hopeful grin she gave him warmed his insides. “There are only certain kinds of guys who can pull off this style. You like?”
“I do. The better question is, do you like?”
She tsked and rolled her eyes. “Fishing for compliments, mister? You know you’re smoking hot. Now, come on.” She patted his shoulder and gestured to the hair-washing station.
He’d relaxed through their conversation and reined in his wayward thoughts.
However, once he leaned back, his head dangling in the sink with Freya’s hands on him, her body hovering over him, all relaxation flew out the window.
Was he imagining her hovering over him and her hands on him in a completely different scenario?
Absolutely. Thank God the long black fabric cape was still draped over him, or else he’d sorely embarrass himself.
“Let me know if it’s too hot,” she murmured.
He knew she meant the water temperature, but he was having a difficult time keeping his thoughts out of the gutter. As she rubbed a citrus-scented shampoo into his hair that left his scalp tingling, all he could think of was just how hot she was.
Freya continued a steady chatter while she worked his scalp, rinsed the shampoo out, and repeated the process with a minty conditioner. The massage was equally erotic and relaxing. An odd combo that had all his nerve endings on alert, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.
Warm water washed the conditioner out, and after she wrung the excess water from his hair, she squeezed the back of his neck. “You doing okay? You’re pretty tense.”
Woman, you have no idea.
“I’m good.” He closed his eyes and made a production of moving his head side to side. “The neck cradle thing is at an odd angle, I guess.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me see if I can adjust it.”
“It’s fine, Freya.” He heard her moving above him, and he rushed on before she could adjust the perfectly fine contraption, “Are we still on for dinner after all this?”
She chuckled. “If you’re not sick of me yammering on, then sure.”
He opened his eyes and met her ice-blue gaze.
“I could listen to you talk all damn day. Your voice?” He tapped his cape-covered chest with his fist. “So damn soothing, and I promise that’s not a line.
” It was the truth—her soft, melodic voice calmed every nerve in his body.
And yet at the same time, it set them all on fire.
The corners of her lips slowly lifted up, and that soft-pink blush that was quickly becoming his favorite stole over her cheeks. “That’s sweet of you to say.” Heat flared in her eyes before she averted her gaze and cleared her throat. “But now, it’s time to close your eyes again.”
Doing the opposite, his eyes widened in question.
“Hot towel time. Plus, a shoulder massage.” Smiling, she lowered her voice to a cute conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been told this is the best part.”
Though his skepticism was high because the scalp massage had been fantastic and he doubted anything could beat it, Xander closed his eyes.
Ten minutes later, the warm towel had been replaced twice, and he was utterly relaxed and grinning.
Holy. Shit.
He’d thought Freya’s scalp massage was amazing? Nope. The current massage she was giving him was ridiculous. She’d worked his shoulders and each of his arms until he was basically putty in her hands.
“Alright, big guy,” she murmured, removing the damp, warm towel from his face. “Back to the chair.”
He sighed, gazing up at her. “Do we have to?”
Softly shaking her head, she patted his shoulders. “Let’s go, handsome.”
Grinning, he rose, followed her across the salon, and settled back into the plush salon chair. Once situated, he opened his mouth to comment on the fabulous massage, but when he noticed what she was holding, his mouth slammed shut. He side-eyed her.
Noticing his expression, Freya laughed. Because of course she did.
“Relax,” she said, waving the hair dryer in her right hand.
“This doesn’t revoke your man card. I need your hair dry to make sure it’s even.
Besides, it’s cold outside, and you don’t want to go out with wet hair.
” Glancing at him in the mirror, she arched an eyebrow. “You’ve trusted me this far, right?”
“Go for it,” he said, nodding. In all honesty, she could do whatever the hell she wanted so long as she kept running her fingers through his hair.
Once his hair was dry, she brought out the scissors again, snipping here and cutting there.
When she was done, he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed.
Not because of what she’d done to his hair, because it looked good.
Really good. But because now she was done touching him.
He wasn’t embarrassed to admit that over the last forty-five minutes, he’d become addicted to her touch.
After brushing a damp towel over his neck, she unsnapped the cape and whipped it off him. “What do you think?”
Running his hand through his hair, he met her gaze in the mirror and grinned. “It looks great. A giant upgrade.”
She grinned. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Are you sure I can’t pay you for this? I mean, what you did was way more than a haircut.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s my thank-you for coming to my rescue that first day.” He frowned, and she laughed. “You can pay the next time you’re due for a haircut. How about that?”
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he stood. “I suppose. Can I take you to dinner now?”
“Yes,” she said, chuckling. Then she inclined her head toward the waiting area. “But give me a couple minutes to clean up?”
“Take your time.” Besides, it would give him more time to figure out how he could get her hands back on him. Yeah, he wasn’t in the market for a relationship, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have some fun together.