Chapter 22 #2
“Shall we?” I ask, gesturing toward the door, and she nods.
We step in line next to each other, and I hear Joe Whittley and his buddies whispering as we pass.
I reach forward, pushing the door open, and wait for Wren to walk through.
It’s a tight doorway, and her chest brushes against mine.
I’m instantly transported to her cottage and the way her bare chest felt against mine as she rode me with abandon, finding her pleasure.
I hiss out a breath, and when she smiles up at me, pride flares in her irises.
Yeah, baby, you still drive me wild.
We walk along the sidewalk toward the parking lot as cars pass us on Main Street. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she takes a sip of her matcha.
“This is really good. Thank you.”
I nod. “Anytime.”
We approach her dad’s truck, and I reach for the handle, pulling the door open. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at me. “How’d you know it wasn’t locked?”
“The lock has been broken for years.” I glance away from where she’s assessing me. “I borrowed the truck when I first got back into town for a few weeks until I got my truck.”
She nods. “That makes sense.”
It’s my turn to be confused. “There was a pack of cigarettes left in the door. I didn’t think my dad picked up smoking.”
I huff a laugh. “Ah, yeah, those would’ve been mine.”
“You know,” she starts, resting her back against the open door frame. “Smoking is a bad addiction to have.”
“Well, now that you’re back in town, and we text daily, what do you think about becoming my addiction again?”
She snorts a laugh, narrowing her eyes. “Did you really think that’d work?”
I shake my head. “Nah, but I had to try.”
“Thanks again for the matcha,” she says, climbing into the truck. I watch as the bottom of her shorts flare out, flashing the crease of her round ass. I groan as my eyes flick to the sky. “See you around, Riggsby.”
“We’re back to that?” I ask as she reaches for the door, her hand wrapping around the crank as she lowers the window.
I close the door once the window is lowered. She shrugs and flashes me a flirty smirk. “Maybe.”
Firing up the truck, she shifts the gear into reverse.
“I’ll be seeing you, Whiskey,” I shout as she backs out of the parking space.
“We’ll see,” she calls back.
Yeah, we’ll see.
“You’re late,” my sister says from behind the receptionist’s desk as soon as I walk through the glass door.
“I brought coffee,” I say with a slight wince, lifting the coffee in my hand as the heavy door shuts behind me.
She pops up from the chair and rounds the desk. “All is forgiven.”
I huff a laugh as the smell of hair chemicals and shampoo greets me. I recognize the next song as soon as it switches over, thanks to Audrey’s obsessive need to play it on repeat. Sabrina Carpenter’s “Manchild” plays from the speaker system, louder than normal.
“You the only one in here?” I ask, following her through the space toward her station.
“Yeah, for now.”
I sit in the chair and place my coffee on the shelf in front of me. Saylor grabs a black cape from the hook and flings it in the air until it settles. With the cape secured, she places her hands on my shoulders and stares at me in the mirror.
“What are we doing today?”
I stare blankly back at her. “The same as usual.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re so boring.”
I sigh. “And what would you do, Sister?”
“Oh!” she beams, standing up straighter, tucking her lower lip between her teeth as she evaluates my hair.
Her fingers run over my sides, brushing the short top.
My haircut is high and tight. It’s the same haircut I’ve been getting since I joined the military, and I have no intention of changing it.
Although, it’s a little longer now since it’s been a few extra weeks in between cuts.
“We should do a subtle fade on the sides and keep letting your hair grow out on top. With your texture, it’ll give such a trendy unkempt look.”
“Trendy has never been used to describe me,” I grumble.
“Oh my gosh, Jett. Grow up. It’s time to embrace style. You’re almost thirty.”
I roll my eyes.
“How’re things with Wren?” she asks, resting her hand on her hip.
“None of your concern.”
“She’s been back for how long? It’s time you work out your shit and beg for her forgiveness.” Huffing, Saylor reaches for the clippers. With the flick of her thumb, a whirring sound fills the space.
“I don’t come here so you can hold me hostage in your chair and offer me advice,” I grit out, my shoulders tensing as my mind flicks through everything that’s happened in the past few days that my sister knows nothing about.
Turning back to me, her lips pinch, probably noting my change in demeanor. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I know I overstep, but you’re my big brother, and I want to see you happy.”
“I’m happy,” I say, trying to keep my voice level.
The same blue eyes as mine stare back at me, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s like she can read my mind. And maybe siblings can. I turn my attention away from her gaze and watch as tiny hairs fall onto the cape from where the electric clippers run through.
Clearing my throat, I decide to change the subject. “What’s new with you?”
She bounces on her feet, pulling the clippers away from my head. “You’re looking at the new Silo Bay Hawks Junior Varsity volleyball coach.”
I smile at that. “No shit, congrats.”
“I can’t believe I got the job. I honestly thought they’d take one look at me and throw my application in the trash.”
Saylor’s fully embraced her eclectic style since graduating high school.
She came home from beauty school one day with bright pink hair that she’s never changed, and the start of a tattoo sleeve.
Since then, she dresses in unique pieces, making her stand out in a small town, but she never bats an eye at the stares.
“They’d be stupid not to hire you. You were the best libero in our division.”
“I know, right?” She chuckles, never one to shy away from a compliment.
Saylor spends the next few minutes snipping the strands on the top of my head as we shoot the shit over nothing and everything.
Once she’s happy with how the cut looks, she runs her fingers through my hair, messing with the strands on top to achieve the unkempt look she described.
The sound of the front door opening draws our attention.
Saylor leans backward, looking to see who entered.
A devilish smile spreads across her pink lips.
“I’ll be right with you, Wren.”
“Don’t rush, I’m early,” Wren’s soft voice calls from the front of the store. Saylor’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, and she wiggles her eyebrows. Mine narrow into slits. Now her nosy questioning makes sense. I decide to fuck with her, because two can play this game.
“Whiskey,” I say, raising my voice so she can hear me over the noise my sister is playing. “If I’d known you were coming here too, we could’ve ridden together.”
Saylor gasps as her eyes blow wide. I know exactly what it sounds like I’m implying. The sound of Wren’s boots click against the hardwood as she moves deeper into the salon to find me.
“Riggsby,” she greets with a smirk, and I groan. I hate her calling me by my last name.
“Wait?” Saylor interrupts. “What’s going on here?”
Wren rolls her eyes as Saylor rubs some kind of clear gel in her hands.
“Are you almost done?” I grumble, flinching as her fingers rake through my hair.
“Trust the process, bro. Let the magician do her work,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
She moves a few pieces around as she stares in the mirror, trying to get everything right. “Nothing’s wrong with it, but this—” she moves one last piece— “makes you look like a man.”
“I’m never going to…” I start to complain, but Wren’s voice stops me. “I like it.”
“You do?” My head whips her direction, searching her face for any lies.
I catch her looking at me, gaze lingering before those whiskey eyes flick to my mouth, then up again as her composure snaps into place.
She swallows, pressing her lips together, but not before biting her bottom one.
My chest tightens because she’s not just looking at me with approval in her eyes, but desire she’s trying to, and failing to hide.
She nods as Saylor unsnaps the cape from around my neck, leaning down to whisper, “told you so.”
I stand and reach for my wallet. Sliding out a twenty, I place it on the shelf, grabbing my cup as I step around the chair. My feet carry me closer to Wren. I can’t help but inhale her spicy, floral perfume.
“Whiskey,” I rasp, voice low and gravelly. She pinches her legs together, but I clock the motion. “You’re giving me that look again.”
“Wh-What look?” she stammers, chest rising.
“Like you’re trying to decide if I’m worth the trouble.”
Her cheeks turn my favorite shade of pink. But Wren surprises me.
“Are you?” Her voice is low, breathy.
“Yeah, baby. I am.”
I wink before walking by her. Our shoulders brush against each other. I don’t miss the goosebumps erupting over her creamy skin and the electricity shooting through me.
She doesn’t say anything as I tell my sister goodbye. I’m moving toward the front of the salon when I hear Saylor.
“Sit down and spill everything.”
I chuckle to myself as I push through the door. My body is alive and humming with energy and excitement. I’m another step closer to getting my girl back.