Chapter Six
Ruby
I suppress a sigh of contentment when I finally allow my fingers to thoroughly run through Dash’s dark strands again. His hair is so much silkier than it looks. It’s got just the right amount of body with the tiniest bit of a wave. Simply… perfect.
After thoroughly soaking his entire head, I squirt some shampoo into my palm. Tentatively, almost painfully slowly, I work it into Dash’s tresses to create a nice, foamy lather.
“That smells really good,” Dash murmurs, drawing my attention to his face. His gorgeous eyes are locked on mine and there’s the barest lift of his lips. The impact of that smirk is enough to make me look away.
“It’s mint and tea tree oil.”
“I like it.” His eyes flutter closed as he settles a little further back, letting his head hang deeper into the bowl. “Do you sell that here?”
“We do.”
“I think I’d like to purchase some,” he lazily murmurs.
For a moment, I wonder if he might fall asleep. Wouldn’t be the first time a client fell asleep on me. Some of the older people who come in to get a cut and wash take a micro nap while I lather their hair. Makes things a little harder to navigate but…I might prefer it in this situation.
While his eyes are closed, I channel all my energy into giving him a good, standard hair wash. Even if my rogue fingers want to linger in his thick mass of hair just a tad longer than they should.
The more he remains silent, the easier this interaction becomes.
Maybe it’s good that he dropped by here unexpectedly.
Better to meet him now than to have to deal with my own internal panic and obvious awkwardness in front of my little brother.
Too easily, Beckett picks up on my verbal—and sometimes non-verbal—nuances.
I don’t need him figuring out I’m attracted to his gaming icon at our first meeting.
I turn off the sprayer. “Do you use conditioner?” I quietly ask, hoping I’m not disturbing his slumber. But he did say he had somewhere to be… And anyway, some clients don’t use conditioner, so it’s always polite to ask.
“Usually.” He huffs a sleepy laugh. “Why, does my hair feel extra greasy?”
“Oh, no. It feels amazing.” My nose scrunches with a full-face wince as soon as the word leaves my mouth. “I mean it feels good. Hydrated.”
His hazel eyes pop open and latch onto mine. “Hydrated?”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
“Is that just another word for greasy?” There’s a playfulness in his expression and tone of voice, giving me the barest smidge of confidence.
“No, I promise, it’s not. I was just asking if you use conditioner because some of my clients don’t. And I don’t want to use it now if you’d rather I didn’t.”
“Hm. Well, like I said, I usually do. Unless I run out at a hotel or something.”
Now’s when I’d normally ask my client what they do for work. But I already know what Dash does.
Ugh. Why is making small talk so hard to do with him?
I focus on selecting the right conditioner for his hair type. The one I want is a little higher on the shelf, though, forcing me to reach up onto my tiptoes.
“Mm,” Dash hums. “You smell good, too.”
I freeze, clutching the conditioner to bolster me as I peek down at him. “Oh. Um. Thank you?”
His deep, familiar laughter stirs all sorts of wildly girlish things inside me. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I just got a whiff of your perfume or shampoo or something when you leaned over me.”
Oh. My. Was I really leaning over him? Great. Just…perfect.
A nervous chuckle spills out of me. “Sorry about that. Just grabbing your conditioner.” I squeeze a generous dollop into my palm and begin working it through the ends of his hair. Maybe if I pretend he didn’t compliment me, I can also pretend not to be affected by it.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he says in a quieter tone, like he doesn’t want the ladies across the room to hear. “I wasn’t trying to hit on you or anything.”
I suck in a breath. His statement feels like tiny little knives poking holes in my chest, instantly deflating me.
“Not that you’re not lovely, it’s just—”
“You’re taken.” Said with all the confidence of a girl who knows because…well, I do.
I force a small laugh so he knows he didn’t offend me and try not to look directly at his face. But he’s gazing up at me, waiting for me to meet his eyes. When I do, the corner of his mouth hitches.
“It’s not that. I’m single. But I sometimes say things without thinking through how they might make another person feel.
And I realized after the fact that my saying you smell good might make you uncomfortable.
Or make you think I was coming onto you, when in reality, it just… ” He shrugs. “Slipped out.”
He’s single?
My brain desperately tries to catch up to this life-changing piece of news. Okay, maybe life-changing is being a bit dramatic, but if Nadine thinks a book can change a person’s life, surely news of Dash’s relationship status can too.
“I get it,” I reply. “We all say things without thinking them through sometimes.”
My intrusive thoughts get the better of me more often than I’d like to admit. Especially when I’m in a situation as awkward as this.
“And don’t worry,” I add, “I never would’ve thought you were hitting on me.”
I can literally feel his eyes boring into me.
“Wow, never?” He laughs again. “That’s refreshing, I guess. Most women take what I say and—” He stops abruptly. “You know what? I’ll just stop talking now. I’ve already put my foot in my mouth once today.”
A smile of my own threatens to slip free.
I have no doubt this man gets flooded with fan mail from women all over the country.
Not to mention the hockey-obsessed girls who swoon in the game chat on the regular.
Their comments range from sweet and complimentary to downright vulgar.
Thankfully, Dash’s moderator stays on top of it.
But it’s not lost on me that the only reason he thinks I’m refreshing is because I didn’t jump to conclusions when he told me I smelled nice. It has nothing to do with my outstandingly introverted personality or excellent haircutting abilities.
Cue internal sigh.
“Ready for a shave?” I ask, setting the sprayer back into place.
“When you are.”
I step around him, giving his beard a good once over. “Are you sensitive to aftershave at all?”
“Not that I know of.” He scratches the side of his newly trimmed beard.
I wrap a hot towel across the lower part of his face to open up his pores in preparation for the shave, then line up the shaving supplies I’ll need. I also grab the aftershave from the same line as the shampoo he liked the smell of.
“It’s been too long since I’ve had a professional shave,” he says, the towel muffling his voice a bit. “Gotta look my best for work, though.”
Oh, look! Another opening where I could easily and conversationally ask about his line of work, yet I can’t bring myself to do it! What the heck is wrong with me?
“I promise to be gentle,” is all I manage to say before realizing how flirtatious it sounds. I remove the hot towel, cursing my stupid wayward tongue.
Nervous all over again, I squirt some of the shaving cream into my palm. Only it doesn’t stay in my palm. No, this shaving cream has a mind of its own and slides across my hand like it’s a slip and slide, just to plop right in the center of Dash’s beautiful face.
He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut, but otherwise remains perfectly still.
“Oh my. I’ll clean that right up. Just—” I frantically grab for the paper towels, only to knock them off the counter. “Oh, crap. Give me a second.”
His deep chuckle rumbles through his entire body, making the chair squeak. He doesn’t speak, probably because shaving cream is leaking down the sides of his mouth. One wrong move and he’ll be eating it.
“I am so sorry,” I say once I’ve got a wad of paper towels at the ready. “Let me just…” As carefully as I can, I swipe the shaving cream off his face. But it seems I only make more of a mess. “Gee whiz, is this stuff made with slime?”
Dash’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he lifts his hand toward mine. “May I?” The humor in his voice soothes some of my nerves.
“Sure. Go right ahead.” I try to guide the paper towels to his hand, but his calloused palm gently closes around my wrist, guiding me where he wants me to clean him up. The tips of my fingers accidentally graze his top lip and a shiver zips down my spine.
“There,” he says in a gruff tone. “That’s better.”
When I look down at him and notice he still hasn’t released my wrist, I lick my lips. “Um. I’ll try again but hold the shaving cream over the bowl this time.”
He blinks and instantly releases me. “Right. Good idea.”
By some miracle, I’m able to get the shaving cream into my hands and work a nice lather over his skin. If only his sharp jaw didn’t feel so dang perfect. Or his rough skin didn’t promise to leave a permanent memory on my fingertips.
I subtly shake my head and remind myself that this attraction I feel toward him is one-hundred-percent one-sided. And it’s likely not even attraction. I’m just meeting a hockey god/internet celebrity. It’s star-shock.
Wait, is that a thing?
Part of me wishes I could foist him onto Alayna, but that would only make me look incapable and my pride won’t let that happen. Besides, she’s still with her eleven o’clock.
It’s just a simple shave, Ruby. You do this all the time.
Somehow, I expertly work through the quivering in my hands.
“All done,” I say, wrapping a cold towel around the lower part of his face. “After this sits for a few minutes to reduce any redness, I’ll apply the aftershave and a moisturizer. If that’s okay.”
“Sounds good.”
I could walk away and leave him to sit alone, but I don’t. If I did, I’d likely die from mortification and never return. Instead, I organize my station like a good stylist, putting away the products I’m done with.
“This is a really nice place,” Dash starts, surprising me. “The owner has great taste. It’s very…” He pauses, almost like he can’t find the word he’s looking for. “High end. Reminds me of the hotel I’m staying at.”
“Oh?” I ask, curious. “Which hotel is that?”