10. Chapter 10
ten
S ince Cassie clearly was not going to become the old lady of the hottest Devil’s Flyer in history anytime soon, or even date him casually, she needed to get the hell on with her life.
And that meant getting out of her dad's house, and out of this little town.
But she couldn't do that till she got a better job, one that used her AA in business, and thus paid well. Her boss Warren might be so laid back he was practically horizontal, but her job at Mamba Mama’s didn’t pay enough for her to actually support herself.
Thus, even though she wanted to dive back under her covers and hide from life for, say another week or so—or maybe a month, she instead did what she always did, and got herself up and moving.
She began by accepting RaeAnn’s offer of an appointment at Iris Salon.
Her stepmom was smart, savvy and knew things a woman could do to feel better about herself, and present their best selves to the world.
Sunday was ordinarily one of RaeAnn’s days off, since Iris Salon was closed on Sundays and Mondays. But Rae convinced Cassie that since Mac was off doing something with the club that morning, there was nothing Rae would rather do than spend a couple of hours at the salon with Cassie, her scissors, some highlights and her makeup kit.
And so, a week after the ill-fated Rides for Kids concert, Cassie found herself in RaeAnn’s station in the small but chic salon, which was only a few blocks from their house, just off the main road through town.
The salon took up the main floor of an older home. Rissa, the owner, her husband Streak and his son Javier had recently moved out of the upstairs apartment into their own home in town.
However, this morning, Rissa was at the salon herself. She sat in her own station chair, legs crossed, and wearing a pair of deep pink stiletto-heeled sandals, skinny jeans, and a darling peasant top with pink-and-cream flowers and cream lace insets in the sleeves and low neckline. Her long, blonde hair was caught up in a messy bun with long curls escaping, her look accented by dangling diamante hoop earrings and matching bangles.
She held a latte in one hand from the Flying Bean, the local coffee stand, and she was currently tipping her head to one side, studying Cassie with interest while RaeAnn ran her fingers through Cassie’s shampooed and conditioned, but still wet hair.
RaeAnn herself wore a purple top with cutouts along the tight sleeves and a deep vee-neck accentuated by a chunky gold-and-silver necklace, tight black jeans and boots, with her hair in long curls, her makeup perfect.
Honestly, the two were like an ad for biker babe chic.
Cassie herself wore her favorite skinny jeans, an old white tee with a faded print of cute puppies, and her sneakers.
Rae pulled Cassie’s hair back and behind her ears. “Okay, to begin with, what I see, Cassie, is that you have these gorgeous eyes, and cheekbones, and you have lovely skin. But your current hairdo doesn’t do much to show them off.”
“Okay,” Cassie said slowly. “So, what do we do?”
Rae looked to Rissa, and then back to Cassie. “I say … we, or you go short.”
Cassie blinked. “Wait, what? Cut it all off?” She knew her hair wasn’t great, but she didn’t want to go that extreme.
RaeAnn leaned in, her face earnest. “No, no, honey. What we call a boy-cut.”
“Think Carey Mulligan,” Rissa said. “Scarlett Johansen, Sharon Stone—I mean, she’s older but still a bombshell. They’re all blondes--at times, anyway--who look stunning with short hair. And of course, they’re not the only ones–there are so many more.” She handed Cassie her phone, on which she’d brought up headshots of the mentioned celebrities, and pages of models, all with variations of short blonde cuts.
“Oh,” Cassie breathed. “But… but they’re all gorgeous. I mean, I—”
Rissa and RaeAnn exchanged a look, and RaeAnn leaned in close, meeting Cassie’s gaze in the mirror. “Cassie. Remember what we talked about at home. You. Are. Lovely. Just like your mama. I see it, your dad sees it, and I know he’s told you so.”
“Yeah, but he’s my dad,” Cassie mumbled.
“I see it,” Rissa said. “And so do other folks. Sara Vanko was just saying the other day how pretty you’ve grown up.”
Cassie blinked. Wow, the first old lady of the Flyers was a fashion icon, as far as Cassie was concerned. She was a statuesque, Nordic blonde who radiated biker old lady chic. But had she only said that about Cassie to be nice?
Cassie gazed critically at her reflection in the salon mirror. She’d always known she was cute enough that guys didn’t exactly run the other way, but lovely? Nope, she did not see it.
“Not that a woman’s appearance is the most important thing about her,” Rae said. “Because of course it isn’t—your sparkly personality and your big heart are. But we’re modern women—we have cosmetics and nearly endless options for our hair and clothing. So why not make the best of ourselves, in a way that shows us off outwardly, too?”
“It’s a fact that people—not just guys, but everyone—respond better to a woman who takes care of herself,” Rissa agreed. “Not in an ‘I’m all that’ way, but in a way that says, ‘I care about how I look, and how I feel about myself’. Like presenting a fabulous gift in the best wrapping.”
“Ooh, I like that,” RaeAnn murmured. She gave Cassie a bright look.
Cassie nodded, because both women were right.
As professional stylists, these two women were in the position to know. Also, both took clearly excellent care of themselves. And they projected that in a good way. Not in a smug way like that bitch Heavy had chosen, but in a way that made other people take a second look, and also want to be near them, like some of their awesome chic might rub off.
So, even if Heavy hadn’t chosen her, Cassie, and even though her heart felt like a glacier had replaced it in her chest, sharp and cold and jagged, and a part of her still wanted to curl up in her bed at home and cry, she was not gonna do that.
Damnit, she was her father’s daughter, she was a biker chick… by proxy at least, since she didn’t have a bike of her own, although she’d like to someday. She was gonna fight her way through this, and come out on the other side, a winner.
Which started with being a heartbreak survivor.
She frowned at her reflection, trying to look past the heaviness of her eyes, and the sadness in them.
Time to follow up on her big words to RaeAnn, the morning after the concert. Even if she didn’t have the man she wanted, she could still look good for herself. Maybe even more because she couldn’t have him. She wanted to be able to strut past him looking good, more than good. Looking her goddamn best.
She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.
“So, both of you think a boy cut would be a good look for me?” she asked, her gaze darting from Rae in the mirror to Rissa and back.
The two women nodded. “And with the right makeup to bring out your eyes and lips, sexy as hell,” Rissa added meaningfully.
What the heck, last fall she’d let a budding beautician in the Tri-Cities shave part of her head and dye the remaining ends of her hair purple. She could try a new short cut. God knew she was in much safer hands with Rae than at the beauty school.
Cassie took another breath and blew it out. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
At twelve-thirty that afternoon, Mac Cooler Carson walked into his house, dropped his keys onto the rack, and looked to the kitchen and then the living area.
Connor was lounging at the kitchen island, one eye on the TV and the other on the textbook and notebook spread before him on the counter.
“Hey, bud,” Mac said, going to give his son a squeeze on the shoulder. “How’s your day goin’?”
“Okay,” Connor sighed heavily. “But math sucks.”
“Keep at it, bud. You’ll get it.” Mac had felt the same way about English lit, but he’d ground his way through to a passing grade. So would Connor. “Where’s your mom?”
“Upstairs with Cassie. They’re doing fashion shit.”
“Ah-huh.” That could mean anything from trying on old clothes they might get rid of, or new clothes they’d just bought, to doing hair and makeup. None of which Mac wanted to be involved in. He headed around the island and to the sink, where he washed his hands. “In that case, I’ll make us lunch. ‘Cause they might be up there a while, and I’m hungry. You?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry,” Connor agreed.
Mac grinned to himself again. His son was hungry, the Seahawks were playing football that afternoon, and the sun was in the sky. Everything was normal.
He peered into the fridge, saw that Rae had all he needed for tacos. Good, he’d fix those for their Sunday lunch.
Half an hour later, he’d fried up the seasoned burger, chopped the tomatoes, and he and Connor had dumped the shredded cheese and shredded lettuce in bowls, set out the salsa, olives, guacamole, and hot sauces. The tortillas were wrapped in foil, warming in the oven.
“Go tell the ladies lunch is on,” he told Connor.
When his son didn’t move, Mac turned to see what the seventeen-year-old was gaping at.
Mac’s mouth fell open too. He did not notice, as he was busy staring at the familiar stranger who stood with his wife at the foot of the stairs. RaeAnn widened her eyes at him and tipped her head meaningfully, and Mac found his voice.
“Baby girl?” he asked, a catch in his voice. “Is that you?”
She looked like his pretty girl, but yet very different. More grownup, more feminine. He groaned inwardly. And absolutely guaranteed to turn the heads of every young stud in the area.
And he couldn’t quite figure it out, because they’d shorn her blonde hair nearly off, far as he could see. Well, not on top, where it fell in a silky sweep to her brows. But the sides were nearly short as his own, revealing her dainty ears, the curve of her jaw and her slim throat.
He scratched his jaw. “Your eyes look twice as big, but is that the hair, or the eye-makeup?”
Both, he guessed, but he wasn’t sure. Just that his baby girl looked like a woman—a gorgeous one.
She shrugged coquettishly, and her glossy lips curved up in a happy smile.
“You look good, sis.” Connor said. Coming from a teenage boy, this was high praise. Cassie beamed, and so did RaeAnn.
Mac had to admit he liked the way they’d dressed his girl too. For once, everything she wore actually went together, from her black sandals, black fitted jeans, and her little, floaty black top scattered with green flowers or some shit.
“You look … taller,” he decided. And sure enough, this upped the wattage on her smile even more.
He grinned back at her. “You’ve been wanting to be taller and more grownup your whole life, kitty cat. Looks like you finally made it.”
He swung out his arm to indicate the dishes set out on the table. “And now, come siddown so I can admire both my gorgeous gals, and so we can eat.”
“We’re having tacos,” Connor added, unnecessarily.
Somehow this made them all laugh, and they gathered around the table together in accord. Mac beamed as they did so. His family was together under his roof, and his little girl was on her way back to happy.
Life was good … except for one thing.
As he looked at Cassie, tossing her head and laughing with Rae at something Connor said, Mac’s neck tightened with foreboding. He hoped he wasn’t gonna have to start keeping a loaded shotgun by the front door. ‘Cause the guys were gonna come around now, like bees to honey.
And only the best of them would be allowed to win his daughter, or he wasn’t a Devil’s Flyer.