Chapter Sixteen-Donny
Stylists were like bartenders in the sense that people tended to treat their appointments like pseudo-therapy sessions.
I was used to it.
And sometimes I even enjoyed it.
But as my bestie turned cousin rambled on about her change in relationship status from woefully single to happily mated, I found myself growing oddly depressed.
Not only was she blissfully getting boinked every night—but Evie was suddenly on my case about my lack of said boinking.
But just because Evie was getting hot and heavy with a certain smexy Wolf Shifter didn’t mean the rest of us needed to hop on the supernatural sausage train.
“Evie, I am not into the Bear. Period.”
“Yeah, right,” she muttered.
“I’m not!”
But whether I was trying to convince her or myself it didn’t matter.
That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
The Bear was not for me.
No matter how good his pastries were.
“Come on, Evie, I thought we agreed not to talk about him,” I growled, setting the bleach bowl down a little harder than necessary.
“You can’t run from your fate,” she sing-songed. “Besides, looks like you need a good boinkfest.”
My girly bits bristled in betrayal.
I didn’t need my BFF rubbing salt—and lust—in the wound.
“Evie,” I warned, lifting the brush coated in enough bleach to strip the paint off a car. “Unless you want me to lighten your eyebrows down to invisible, I suggest you shaddap. It’s not fair of you to rub your suddenly overactive sex life in my face.”
She snorted. Loudly. The beyotch. She was lucky I loved her like a sister.
I went back to sectioning off her hair, smearing the magic-infused bleach with practiced strokes.
Highlighting was a sacred art form, and I was determined to make her look like a pinup angel no matter how annoying she was being.
“I’m just saying there’s no shame in it, Donny,” she said innocently, “besides, no one thinks you’re gonna boink the Bear just because he bakes.”
“Who’s boinking woodland creatures?!” Celeste gasped, dropping the mail all over the salon floor like she’d just heard someone hex a kitten.
“Celeste!” I barked. “Put the mail away, go back to your desk, and answer the crapping phone like I pay you to.”
“But—”
“The only butt you need to worry about is your own, and it better be in that chair before I zap it into next week.”
Celeste squeaked and scrambled.
Not fast enough.
I sent a little magical zap! right into her backside.
Nothing dangerous. Just enough sting to make her hop.
“OW! This is so wrong!”
“Then quit!” I snapped.
For the record, she wouldn't.
She never did. I wasn’t even sure how I’d hired her in the first place.
She just showed up one day.
Like a caffeinated mirage with bubble gum and zero boundaries.
“You angry 'cause your birthday’s coming up?” Celeste called from behind the register.
Snarl. Snort. Zap.
She yelped again. Good. That’s what she got for poking the Witch.
Fifteen minutes later, the salon was finally quiet.
Evie sat flipping through a vintage fashion mag.
I’d finished her highlights in record time and worked off my rage with some magically boosted hair perfection.
“Evie,” I said, my tone sweet as spun sugar. “Don’t you have something better to do than harass me all afternoon? You are the mayor.”
“Yes, I am,” she said primly. “And today, I’m playing hooky.”
My brows rose. “Oh, are you now?”
“Mm hmm.” She stood and twirled like a 1960s Barbie, admiring her reflection. “I have a date.”
A zip of satisfaction tingled up my spine. Her highlights looked amazing. Perfectly toned. Just enough shimmer to make her glow.
“Shame on you, Madame Mayor,” I teased, folding my arms. “Abandoning your post for a man.”
“As if. Stanley’s got it covered.” She tossed her hair. “Besides, it’s a picnic down by the falls.”
Celeste’s head popped up like a prairie dog. “Aren’t the falls closed?”
Evie smiled sweetly. “Yes, Celeste. That’s why I, the mayor, can still go. Duh.”
“She’s gonna get ticks on her butt,” I muttered.
“Ugh! Don’t say that!” Evie swatted at her pants like one had already latched on.
Snicker.
I couldn’t help myself.
Then it happened.
A low rumble echoed outside the salon—deep and sexy.
My stomach did a ridiculous little flip. But of course, this rumble was not mine.
I turned just in time to see Evie’s Wolf Shifter mate pull up on his Harley, wind in his thick black hair, leather jacket tight across his chest like some forbidden biker dream.
Evie glowed.
No, seriously.
Aqua and silver sparks flickered across her body, a soft swirl of magic that shimmered like moonlight on a lake.
It was all very fated-matey.
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a migraine.
“Wow, she’s literally lighting up,” Celeste whispered.
Evie’s smile was pure joy as she rushed to the door.
Jaxson stood there, tall and annoyingly hot, eyes locked on her like no one else existed.
“Donny,” he said with a nod, but his voice was pure velvet for Evie.
I crossed my arms and squinted. “Okay, lovebirds. Children present.”
“I am not a child!” Celeste shouted.
“Bye, Donny! See ya, Celeste!” Evie called, waving as she skipped out the door like a teenage girl with her first crush.
“Don’t get a tick on your butt!” I yelled after her.
“Don’t think I won’t zap you for that later!” she called back.
I grinned. “Bring it, mayor.”
“You know,” Evie had shouted, wrapping her arms around her man, “you look good as a blonde!”
I blinked. Wiggled my fingers.
“Don’t think I won’t get you back, Evie Castor!” I yelled out the door, but I knew she’d be gone before I could retaliate.
Jaxson revved the engine like a thunder god, then they roared off toward their romantic waterfall picnic.
Lucky forkers.
Once again, silence fell inside the salon, but it was short-lived.
I barely had time to sigh.
The bell jingled again, and I turned just in time to see my next clients arrive—a trio of Cat Shifter sisters who smelled like baby powder and floral perfume.
Great.
Another day, another round of magical mayhem and high-end hair.
But one thing was certain.
The blonde was not staying.
Probably.
Maybe.
Ugh.
Where the fork was my espresso?