Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
JADA
Doing Jeremiah’s hair is easy, but doing my own? I’ve had to hype myself up about it for days. I usually do his the night before I do mine for the momentum (and so I don’t forget to do it), but that doesn’t help the mild dread of taking several hours to get it done.
I wake up before Ash. Pip is curled around his head, asleep, too. Ash said he had insomnia when he first moved in, but he’s out hard right now. His face is relaxed, long lashes against his cheeks. Looking at him this peaceful fills me with calm, too.
I like him way too much, and him being soft and quietly fitting in with my family isn’t helping. But if we were dating for real, we’d still be in the honeymoon phase. I need to remember that before I suggest anything ridiculous about keeping our marriage going.
I slip out when Pip wakes up so he doesn’t catch me staring. CC’s still in the bathroom, so I shut Pip inside our room to make sure he doesn’t try to break in. CC is curious about me but not fully warmed up yet. But that’s okay—I feed him, fill his water, and start the shower.
CC sits right outside of the sliding glass door, staring at me. Wash days are a process, and CC watches every step with rapt attention. He looks so much like Pip that it’s eerie. If I didn’t know Pip’s mannerisms so well, I’d be fooled.
My arms are already a little tired by the time I wrap my hair up in a huge microfiber towel and step out of the bathroom. Pip is smushed up against the door, so I nearly squish him on my way out. He sniffs me all over, like I have traces of CC on me, and presses against the door once I close it.
“Made coffee,” Ash says once I get to the kitchen. He’s in his boxer briefs and robe, his hair a mess. He looks delicious, of course.
“Thanks.” I grab my favorite mug and fill my cup instead of pressing myself against him the way I want to.
The line of when and where we can touch each other is still a little fuzzy.
Bed is the obvious spot, but he’s initiated things in the bathroom or the kitchen.
And usually it’s very, very clear that it’s not just an affectionate touch.
God, I want to bury my face in his neck for a moment.
He always smells so good, like citrus and spice.
But I’ll just take this cozy moment of having coffee together.
“What are you up to today?” I ask.
“I was going to listen to this new album a band I like released and clean, I guess,” he says. “Nothing exciting, but it’s been a long week.”
“The fact that you can wake up and want to clean without an elaborate ritual to get yourself in the mood is crazy to me,” I say.
“The music helps.” He puts his toe out for Pip, who butts his head against it. “What about you?”
“I need to do my hair, so that’s basically most of the day,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I have a few shows I want to start, so I’ll have that.”
“Really? It only took two and a half hours or so with Jeremiah,” he says, leaning against the counter.
“Jeremiah has bigger locs than me, so he has fewer to get through. And it’s just easier to do it when it’s someone else’s hair for whatever reason.” I shrug. “I can zone out and let my fingers fly instead of thinking about how my arms hurt from having them up for so long.”
“Makes sense.” He glances at my wrapped-up hair. “Actually, you want me to go to Sarah Jane’s and pick up breakfast? And better coffee than this?”
“Would you?” The coffee machine is straightforward, but Ash’s coffee never tastes the same each time. Some days it’s good, and other days it’s watery bean juice.
“Yeah, it’s no problem. Just text me what you want.” He slams the rest of his coffee like it’s not hot and puts the mug in the sink.
He goes to get dressed and I text him my order. With him gone, I force myself to go get set up in the living room to do my hair.
I bought a new couch secondhand, and it’s more comfortable to lean against than the old one that the ceiling crashed onto. Once I pull up my show, I set up my mirror and tools. Pip finally comes over and sits on couch near me.
I heave a sigh and look up at the patched ceiling, then start. I always have to start in the back—if I don’t, I’ll end up getting tired and only do the front. I get a small section done by the time Ash gets back. He puts down my half-caf pistachio latte and pastries.
“Thank you so much,” I say. I take a long sip of my coffee. “God, that’s better.”
“Want company?” he asks.
“Sure, if you don’t mind watching this show. It’s a sci-fi mystery or something. Bianca said she and Waylon liked it,” I say, scooting over so he can have space at the table.
“I thought you didn’t like sci-fi.” He puts down his coffee and his bag, sitting on the couch behind me.
“No, I just hate whatever pretentious bullshit Jeremiah finds, like that movie last night.” I open my bag.
I got a Danish and a “surprise me” pastry of Sarah Jane’s choosing.
“He insists he likes ‘art,’ but a lot of it is just nonsense. The only reason my dad and I haven’t taken away his movie choice rights is because he chooses an amazing movie once every like… five times.”
“Twenty percent of the time, he chooses well?” Ash raises an eyebrow. “That’s a low success rate.”
“My dad and I choose stinkers, too. But we just suck it up and roast it if it’s not good. It’s the law at this point.” I take a bite of the surprise pastry and moan. “Here, taste. It’s like peach cornbread or something.”
I hold it up to Ash, and he leans over to take a bite directly from the other side. I don’t mind.
“I wish I’d gotten that,” he says. “And if you moan like that again, I’m going to have to pull that sound out of you another way.”
God, this man’s voice could make me do damn near anything.
“If you say another word, my hair will not get done.” I press my thighs together and grab my crochet tool, ignoring the wolfish smirk that spread across his face. “Seriously.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“But your face…” I glare at him over my shoulder.
“My face is my face.” His grin spreads even more. “And once your hair’s done, I can bury it between your legs.”
That’s all the motivation I need. He’s actually skilled enough to make me enjoy getting eaten out as much as I like being fingered.
I’m going to get my hair done so fucking fast.
I press play on the show and get started on a section in the back.
It takes me a few locs to get into the flow, but soon I’m working steadily.
The show is actually pretty good from the first episode, thank god.
If any of my friends recommend another show where it takes a whole season to get good, I’m going to scream.
Ash sticks around, even after he clears the table of our empty coffee cups and pastry boxes. Pip comes and goes, presumably to visit with CC through the door.
After about an hour of working, I shake out my arms and blow out a breath. The only decent loctitian I’ve been to is over in Nashville, and I don’t want to spend the money getting a retwist when I can do it on my own.
“Do you want me to help?” Ash asks. “At least in the back? I watched you do some of Jeremiah’s, but if you showed me again, I could probably get it.”
I look up at him over my shoulder. Besides my occasional visits to the loctitian, no one else has done my hair. Much less a white man who, as far as I know, has never dealt with a Black woman’s hair before.
My initial reaction is hell no, but my arms ache. And I want to get this done faster. I can trust him to not fuck it up. He’s being sincere.
“Sure?” I say, unable to keep the question out of my tone. “Here, let me show you a video on what I do, and we can do a few test ones. Then I’ll tell you which ones you can do.”
I find the video that I’ve gone back to over the years, and he does a few test ones in the back with my spare crochet tool. His fingers are surprisingly nimble, and he doesn’t make them too tight or pull at my roots. They lay nicely, too.
“Okay, those look good. You can do this section right here.” I show him which one.
He works on the right side, and I work on the left side toward the front. Every once in a while, he asks me if one is too tight, but they never are. Eventually I give him another section to work on, then another. He finishes the back in record time.
“Wow, you’re really good at this,” I say, using my two mirrors so I can look at the back. It’s perfect. “Thank you. I always hate doing the back.”
“It’s meditative.” He shrugs and crosses his legs. Pip climbs into his lap from the arm of the couch. “Want me to help in the front, too?”
“It’s okay. I’ve got it, and I do the last few in the front a little differently,” I say.
“Alright. So you’ll be ready and naked for me once you’re done?” He stands up, tucking Pip under his arm. “I’m going to get that cleaning done in the kitchen.”
I bite my lip to contain my grin, but it doesn’t work. The confidence and surety in his tone is making me even hotter for him, especially because I know he can deliver.
“Yeah,” I finally manage to say.
“Good.” He throws me a smile over his shoulder and disappears into the kitchen.
I want to rush through the front, but since it’s what I see every day, I have to take my time. Ash cleans quickly and well, so he comes back in as I’m on my last two locs.
“Your clothes are still on, Jada,” he says, absently stroking himself through his shorts.
“I know, I know. I’m almost done.” I rush the last two—I’ll fix them later—and start to undress.
Ash helps me with my shirt, then makes me stand up. We swap places, with him nudging me to sit down on the couch. He kneels in front of me, his eyes bright, and runs his hands up my thighs. They’re warm, but I get chills everywhere he drags them.
He parts my thighs and drags me forward so I’m leaning back against the couch. The moment his mouth touches my pussy, my thighs try to clamp around his head. But we’ve done this a lot lately, so he knows to brace himself or get clocked.