14. Archie
Archie
I didn’t see Piper’s expression when I dropped my towel, but I heard it. Picturing her surprise makes me laugh. Baring my backside wasn’t planned, but I couldn’t resist taking an opportunity when I knew she was watching me.
I thought our little war was over after yesterday.
She’s the one who broke the truce this morning.
If this is how she wants things for the next two weeks, I’ve got much bigger plans in store to make her uncomfortable.
But if I can sprinkle in a few more spontaneous jabs on top of the big hits, all the better.
I think I’m going to enjoy having Piper as a roommate. I might even tell her she can stay longer if Dad decides to pay Cynthia instead of turning this house over to her.
I did type up my idea for a cash settlement for Cynthia. I sent it to him and Sybil last night. Hopefully, he’ll reconsider if he sees the details in print. I included a very rough outline of my business plan, too. Reckon I’ll cover all my angles to be safe.
He texted this morning that he’d received both and would give the plan a glance. That’s gotta mean something. Usually, he’d send a message through Sybil.
I let a bit of hope settle in and take my time in the shower, allowing myself a laugh at Piper while also giving my hair a good scrub and rinse. Then a second one after my scalp is still gritty with sand.
My hair still doesn’t feel quite right after the second rinse. I open my eyes enough to notice the water swirling down the drain has a purple tinge to it. I whip around to face the water coming from the shower head, expecting it to be purple, too. But it’s clear.
My palms, however, have the same purple hue as the water that’s drained away. I scan the shower, searching for the source of the color, then grab my shampoo and dump it into my palm. It comes out so dark purple, it’s almost black.
I run from the shower to the mirror and wipe away the steam. As my face appears, so does my worst nightmare. I’m not a ginger anymore. I’m Barney the Dinosaur.
“Piper!”
I scrub my hand through my hair and a rivulet of lavender water runs down my cheek.
“Piper!” I grab a towel and start squeezing water out of my hair while also rubbing it so hard I leave behind a beach ball-size purple stain on the gray towel.
“Piper!” I scream this time.
A few seconds later, I hear her on the other side of the door. “Everything okay in there, Archie?”
I wrap the towel around my waist and throw open the door. “You know it’s not! How do I get this color out of my hair?”
Piper’s eyes dart from my chest to my head, and she bites her lip. Then she laughs.
Uncontrollably.
So hard, in fact, she can’t talk.
“You think this is funny? Turning my hair purple?”
She nods. “It’s even…funnier with your…red face.” The words come out between gasps for breath and end in a volcano of laughter.
I slam the door in her face, then study myself in the mirror again. My face turns a darker shade of maroon when I realize she’s right about how funny I look.
“This is war, Piper!” I open a cabinet and grab a bottle of real shampoo.
“It’s a temporary dye. It will wash out in a couple weeks,” she says through the door, still laughing. “Unless you keep accidentally dying it.”
I swing open the door, clutching the shampoo and my towel. “Did you sabotage all my shampoo?”
Her smile disappears and her face turns to stone. “We can end this right now. Sign the papers, and you’ll never have to worry about it happening again. You can stay for the two weeks you need, and I’ll know that Malcolm’s not leaving Mom empty-handed.”
We lock eyes in a silent standoff before I ease the door shut.
After verifying my new bottle of shampoo is dye-free, I wash my hair three times, but in the minutes I wasted having Piper laugh in my face, the color seems to have set. It’s not coming out.
When I finally leave the bathroom, not only is my hair the shade of a Lakers jersey, but my hands and temples are too.
Which wouldn’t be so bad if it were playoff season.
I enjoy going to Lakers' games and cheering them on. But there’s a fine line between being a superfan who dyes his hair for the playoffs and being a weirdo superfan who dyes his hair in the off-season.
I come out of the bathroom wearing only a towel.
I don’t want purple dye staining my clothes, too.
Piper is on the far side of the kitchen table sketching.
She looks at me, then steals a second glance.
I don’t miss the smile she tries to hide.
It’s the same one she had the last time she saw me in a towel, and it’s got nothing to do with what she’s done to my hair.
As cheesed off as I am about my hair, I can’t resist readjusting my towel a bit lower on my hips. I’ve worked hard for these abs. They deserve some admiration, even if it’s from my nemesis.
“I put together one of those dinners in the fridge if you want some.” She pushes up from the table and walks to the oven, where she pulls out a plate. “I kept it warm for you.”
She sets it on the table in front of me and smiles up at me.
We’re close enough to touch. My stomach growls. At least, I think it’s my stomach. Every part of me is hungry right now.
“As if I’d trust you.” I force the words out and lick my lips.
“It’s a peace offering.” Piper’s hand darts to my cheek, where she brushes away a drop of water with the tip of her thumb.
My breath hitches with her touch. Her eyes widen as though she’s suddenly realized what she’s done, and with a deep blush she steps back.
I wipe my knuckle across my cheek where I still feel the softness of her skin. I take a deep breath to steady my skittering pulse.
“It will take a lot more than dinner for me to forgive you for this.” My voice shakes as I point to my head.
Piper pulls back her shoulders and meets my gaze. The pink is gone from her cheeks. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not sorry for what I did, but I am willing to negotiate a treaty.”
“A treaty?” I close the distance she’s put between us, tempted by the power I have to make her blush.
Her eyes drop to my chest and the droplet of water inching its way to my abdomen. I wipe it away. She follows my every movement.
“A treaty.” She swallows hard and walks her gaze back to my face. “Over dinner, you can think about all the reasons why you should sign that deed. After it’s signed, I’ll tell you every prank I’ve put in place, and we can call this little war quits.”
Put in place? She’s got things already in place?
I’m tempted to tell Piper that Dad’s ordered me to kick her out. I only let her stay because I’m a good guy and I felt bad for her.
With a hard glare, I lean in. We’re close enough I can count out every shade of brown in her eyes…but I can’t make the truth about why she’s still here come out. “I was trying to make this easy for both of us, but if you want things to be difficult, I can make them difficult. I don’t quit, Piper.”
She frowns at me, and I curl my hands into fists to keep from running my thumb over her bottom lip.
“You might want to dry your hair before you have purple sideburns.” Her voice is low. Menacing. And too damn sexy.
My hands fly to the sides of my face. I wipe away the water and look at my purple-stained fingertips. With a growl, I grab my plate and carry it upstairs without thanking her. When I glimpse my purple hair in my bedroom mirror, I have no regrets about not being polite.
I set my plate on my desk and glare at the food. It looks good, but I’m still not sure I can trust her.
Actually, I know I can’t trust her.
My stomach growls again. She’s made steak covered in butter with a side of roasted veggies that smell delicious, too.
I haven’t had a good home-cooked meal since before Dex and Britta left for Fiji.
And steak—which I love—was never on Dex’s approved menu, so we rarely had it.
I ordered this meal specifically for me.
By the time I get my trackies on, I’ve decided it’s worth the risk of being poisoned to try the food. But I ring Frankie first, just in case I need someone to call 911.
And also, because she might have an idea of how to get the purple out of my hair.
Of course, my sister wouldn’t be my sister if she wasn’t completely useless when I most need her help. Her first response after I tell her what’s happened is to burst into laughter.
“Piper dyed your hair purple?” she asks through her giggling. I put her on speaker so I can eat the steak, which is as good as it smelled.
“It’s not funny, Frankie.” My phone buzzes, and I check the screen. “And I’m not switching to FaceTime, so stop trying.”
“Come on, Arch! I need to see it if I’m going to help!”
I growl and accept her FaceTime call. Seconds after we connect, her laughter shifts to full-on howling.
“Is this you helping?” I ask her, refusing to see any humor in what Piper’s done to my hair.
“No. This is me laughing, but I promise I’ll help as soon as I can stop.”
“I’m hanging up now. Call me when you’re done adding to my humiliation.”
“No! Wait! I’m done!”
I stop my finger millimeters from the end call button. “Laugh again, and you’re dead to me.”
Frankie scoffs. “You wouldn’t last a day without me.”
“True,” I say reluctantly. “Now help me fix this, please.”
“I just texted Juan.”
“Did you tell him what happened?”
“I sent him a screenshot.”
I moan.
Frankie’s old hairdresser is not only the best with color—according to Frankie—but also the biggest gossip in Hollywood.
People go to him because they want their business in the tabloids.
Not that anyone cares who I am anymore, but I still don’t want a picture of me with purple hair on a Who Wore It Best Page next to Ariana Grande or Katy Perry.
“What kind of dye did she use?” Frankie asks.
“She said a temporary one. I don’t know the brand.”
“I’ll let you know when Juan gets back to me. In the meantime, tell me what you did to Piper to prompt this payback.”
“What makes you think I did anything?”