10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Max
T he music from Peyton’s car radio isn’t doing a thing to smooth the tension between us. I’m not over Peyton tricking me into this whole mess, and losing isn’t helping, either. Damn Kennedy. And damn the whole stupid game.
“You know, this is pretty much your fault that we’re shaving our heads,” I say.
“Me? You jest.” She takes her eyes off the road for a moment to look at me, all bug-eyed. “And who was it that goaded us into playing Holly and Kennedy’s way? If you’d taken my side, then we could’ve reined in the rules so that only Nick, as the last person, would’ve been shaving.”
“The game wouldn’t have even happened if you and Ashima hadn’t dragged me to a salon!”
“Aha! I knew you hit her ball on purpose.”
“No! No, I didn’t. I already told you it was an accident.” I shake my head and watch out the window as Peyton parallel parks.
We both slam our car doors, getting out, then glare at each other over the top of the car. Today had started so nicely. Now I’m not even sure I’d use friends to describe us. How did we end up here?
She comes around to the sidewalk.
“Look, I am sorry about Ashima. I shouldn’t have hit her ball.” I look down at my shoes while I kick at a sprout coming up through a crack. “Granted, I’ve had enough of her meddling, and dragging me to her stylist was over the line. But even with all of that, I wouldn’t have intentionally made her lose.”
Peyton slumps a bit. She looks over at her car as she bites at the inside of her mouth. There’s a cagey energy to her. If she’s feeling guilty about her own role in all this bullshit, then good.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” She squeezes her hands into the tight pockets of her capris. “You’re right. We took things too far. And if you don’t want to shave your head, then that’s fine. I think your hair is nice as is.”
“Oh, I’m doing it. You know Holly and Kennedy are going to. There’s no way I’m letting them show me up.”
“Me too.” Peyton puts out her hand for me to shake. When I take it, she says, “We should shave our heads and paint ourselves blue. They’d be so jealous.”
This makes me laugh. “Let’s do it.” I pump her hand up and down.
Still holding my hand, she drags me toward the apartment. “Come on.”
And I guess all is forgiven because somewhere along the way it stops being that she’s dragging me and we’re just walking hand in hand. After this whole head-shaving thing, I should talk with her about where she sees us going. Used to be things would just flow for me with no big discussion, but with the friends comment, I’m not even sure if Peyton would go on a date with me. Except now she’s holding my hand. It’s like Tris knocked my mojo off-kilter. I couldn’t ever tell where I stood with her, and I sure as hell can’t tell with Peyton.
Once inside, she’s straight to business, turning down the offer of a drink, wanting to know where I keep the clippers. We go to the hallway bathroom, “my” bathroom, to find them. Immediately I notice how small the room is, how much closer together we are. I dig the clippers out from under the sink.
She pulls my towel off its hook. “Who’s going first?”
“Sure you want to do this?”
“Definitely. I’ve never done anything like this. It’ll be fun. And I think I’ll look good.”
I tuck her hair behind her ear. “But I like your hair.” This earns a frown, so I quickly add, “But you’ll look sexy with short hair too.”
She points to the toilet. “And you get to go first. Have a seat.”
After I position myself, she drapes the towel over my shoulders and stands at my side as she pulls my hair into a ponytail on the top of my head. She flops her arms around and does this funky little shake. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
I hand her the clippers. “We’ve got this.” But my stomach drops when she clicks it on and the mechanical buzz fills the room. It’s like she senses I’m chickening out, so before I can change my mind, she dives right in. She presses the clippers against my scalp near my ear. The vibrating metal lip tickles my scalp as she moves from the bottom up. As she moves around my ear, the tickle goes all the way into my ear canal and I resist from shoving in a finger. There’s a small, barely perceptible tug as the hairs are hacked away.
I haven’t had my hair buzzed since elementary school. With puberty, I needed something to rage against, so I rebelled against going to the barber. I’m not much for fashion or keeping up with styles—no one would ever confuse me for metrosexual—but longer hair grew on me. Pun intended. It sucks to kiss my hair goodbye.
As she works toward the back, the repetitive motion becomes a relaxing massage. Peyton’s hand warms my head where she’s holding the ponytail, which becomes lighter and lighter as less and less is connected to me. I close my eyes and breathe deep as my hair comes off a chunk at a time.
She completes the sides first, switching from one side of the toilet to the other. Then I rotate so she can finish the backside. Last, she moves in front of me and works on the top. I get a nice view of her boobs.
She must be thinking something similar because she winks at me. “Your eyes look lighter. They’re more golden without your hair shadowing them. And your beard is huge. You look like you could be in a biker gang.”
“Wanna ride?” I ask.
She smirks and looks to the side. Not what I meant, but now that she’s gone there, it’s going to be hard to think of anything else.
And with us both there, this all feels naughty—the hair tugging, us being squeezed in each other’s personal space, her boobs in my face. Then she repositions so that her legs are straddling mine. As she works, she leans in, her chest but an inch from my face. Probably this is the most comfortable way to get to the hair in front, but still I can tell she’s messing with me. I won’t give her the satisfaction. I close my eyes, but this does nothing to block the smell of her, the light floral scent—shampoo or soap or something—mixed with the scent of her warmed skin. I inhale deeply. Even with my eyes closed, I’m picturing them from her weird bathroom reprimand at the fundraiser.
“Take a look,” she says.
When I open my eyes, I’m expecting to see her topless, but she’s fully dressed, off to the side, and pointing to the mirror attached to the wall above the vanity. I stand up. With nothing framing my head, it looks both smaller and bigger at the same time. And my beard is enormous. And my ears—I’m Dumbo! I really hope this is just an optical illusion and that they’ll look normal-sized once I get used to not having hair.
“You could be a bouncer. You look pretty tough with the bald head and beard thing going on.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m going to need to see some ID.”
“You’re a natural. But, alas, everything must go. Remember, the original bet was ev-er-y-thing.”
Things are sounding very interesting.
She motions for me to sit and raises the clippers, but I take them from her. It’ll be easier and cleaner if I do it myself over the sink. While I remove my beard, she sits on the toilet watching me. After I clipper off the length, I dig out my old shaver to get it baby smooth. I haven’t used this thing in years. No surprise, it’s dead. I pull out a razor and shaving cream and get to work.
Once I finish, I run my hand over my face. My skin is smooth, though a bit irritated and blotchy. The top of my head and around my mouth are both a shade lighter than my cheeks, giving me a kind of reverse raccoon look. Thankfully, the difference isn’t too big. Nothing an afternoon at the pool can’t fix.
“You look so young.” She stands and pinches my cheeks. “Look at this wittle baby. Aren’t you such a cute wittle boy.”
“Whatever. I look like I’m joining the army.” I run my hand over my fuzzy head. “Do I really look younger?”
“A little. Don’t you think?” She runs a hand along my shaved head. “I’m not going to be able to stop playing with my hair once it’s buzzed. This feels really cool. If I press my hand flat against your head, the hairs poke me, but when I brush them sideways, they’re soft.”
She taps and rubs my head, the distance between us collapsing as she focuses on my hair. Then her body bumps against me, bringing both of our attention to other parts. We stare at each other and then I break the standoff by wrapping my arms around her waist. She collapses against me, tilting her head up, raising to press her lips to mine.
But I pull away. “You’re not tricking me. You’re not getting out of shaving your head.”
“I wasn’t trying to.” She tugs at the bottom of my shirt. “But I’m also not finished with you yet. We agreed. Everything goes.”
I give her a lopsided smile. “Seriously.”
“Yep. Let’s start with the chest hair.”
She lifts the bottom of my shirt, and I raise my arms as she removes it. She runs the electric shaver along my pecs and the center of my chest. The vibration tickles and I flinch and squirm. Then she follows my happy trail to the waist of my shorts.
There’s no hiding my hard-on. This seems the direction things are headed, but I’m suspicious she’s distracting me to get out of shaving her head. Then again, I’ve already told her I’d give her a pass, so none of this is strictly necessary. I’m not really sure what the purpose is. I’m also not going to stop her to ask.
“Drop ’em.” She undoes the top button of my shorts.
I shove them off, along with my boxer briefs and sneakers. She kneels before me and runs the clippers along the rest of my happy trail. She’s close enough that when she releases a big breath, her hot air blows over my dick. A blow job would be amazing.
“He’s kinda in the way. It would be easier if you were flaccid.”
“Sorry. He has a mind of his own.” And it’s like my dick has to prove my point. I don’t even mean to, but I shift a bit and my hips tilt so I’m even more in her face.
She looks up at me with parted lips, and I can tell her mind is going right where my dick already is. “Then I’ll speak his language.” She puts the clippers on the ground and then runs her tongue up the belly of my shaft.
“Oh, hello. I’m liking your greeting,” I say.
She pauses. “STIs?”
“None.”
“Me, either.”
Her lips graze the tip of my dick while she teases me with flicks of her tongue. I moan in appreciation to make sure I communicate this is good stuff. She swirls her tongue under him as she slides him into her mouth.
I run my hands through Peyton’s hair, grabbing a fistful at the back of her head as she slides my dick deeper into her mouth and sucks lightly. Okay, if this is her trying to convince me she should keep her hair, she’s won me over.
A guttural grunt echoes against the shower walls—pretty sure that was me. She returns to licking my dick, pacing me, but it doesn’t matter, I’m so close. I should hold back, prove I have staying power. Nah, this is like having a good meal, and it’s best to show how you appreciate the effort. When receiving head, coming is like a compliment to the chef.
She returns my dick to her mouth, and my breath catches while my limbs stiffen. She increases the speed of her rhythm, bringing me to climax. I brace myself on the sink vanity, my knees nearly buckling under me.
I’m still recovering when she flips on the clippers and returns to the business of trimming my pubes.
I flinch. “Careful. Very sensitive!”
“I will be.”
I cling to the sink while she works. The head was excellent, but her pillow talk could use some work. Thankfully, my hypersensitivity passes, and my dick shrinks into a satisfied sleep, not waking in the least as Peyton pushes him from side to side while tending to the hair trimming.
Once I’m sufficiently nude, she hands me the clippers. “Your turn.”
As I pull up my shorts, I notice how hairy my legs are. Not even going to bring that up, otherwise I’m sure she’ll be pulling out a Lady Gillette and telling me to get to work.
I clean up the shaver in the sink, then swirl the clippers in front of her. “Should I start at the bottom or top?” Sex has most definitely won out, because I’d much rather work on cleaning her up down below.
“Top please. Otherwise, it may never happen.”
Too bad. I direct her to the toilet. She flips her head over and puts her hair in a high ponytail. This really did help to keep my hair from going all over the place, and it now rests in one big clump on the back of the toilet. I press the humming clippers against the edge of her hairline at the back of her neck.
Soon the hair along the side of her head has been reduced to little stumps. I notice her fingers digging into the sides of her knees.
“You okay?”
“I had thought this would feel freeing. The thought of the time savings—ten, maybe even fifteen minutes a day—should make me excited, but I’m dreading seeing myself.”
“It won’t be that bad. Like you said, you’ll look like a Hollywood star. And it’ll grow back if you don’t like it.” A few more passes and her entire ponytail’s in my hand. I run my hands from the top of her head and down the sides and back. “You have a very round head. It’s a good bald shape. Very sexy.”
She stands up and checks herself in the mirror, turning her head from side to side. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“I like it.” I press my lips to hers. “You look hot. Confident. Like a top primate. You know, it’s like you’re the leader and nobody’s going to mess with you. This is an alpha cut.”
“Oh, are you trying to talk primatology to me?”
“Does that turn you on? Are your mammary organs perking with excitement?”
“My nipples are constricting as you speak.”
“They’ll have to wait. I haven’t finished de-hairing you.” I unbutton her capris and try unsuccessfully to push them down. They end up bunched around her thighs.
She sits on the toilet and wrestles a leg free. As she jerks her foot through, her sock flies off and smacks me in the chest. “Clearly, I am deficient in the striptease mating routine,” she says.
“I’m finding this rather alluring. Plus, you’ve now initiated the female-in-distress routine, so I’m compelled to help you.”
I grab the bunched-up pants clinging to her calf and tug. It doesn’t budge, so I grip tighter and jerk hard. Her entire body lurches forward, her butt squeaking across the toilet lid as she slides to the edge. She catches herself on the sink vanity, abruptly stopping our motion, and I drop her leg with a thud to the floor. She yelps, but I’m too preoccupied with catching myself as I tip over the side of the tub, taking the shower curtain and rod with me.
I wrestle myself free. “And clearly I’m deficient in the undressing-a-woman mating routine.”
Peyton laughs as she stands and helps untangle me from the curtain. “I can’t undress myself. You can’t undress me. I guess I’ll just have to stay in my clothes,” she says.
I undo the top button of her shirt. “I don’t give up so easy.”
She pushes my hand away. “I don’t have chest hair. No need to take off my shirt.”
“I just want to see them again.”
She lets me undo the remaining buttons. We kiss as I fumble with the fastener on the back of her bra. After losing to the capris, I refuse to let the bra win as well. Then she’s naked, except for one ankle where the jeans continue to stubbornly cling.
“You should take those off,” I say.
She hops onto the vanity and wrestles her leg free, her arms flexing and her boobs jiggling while she works.
“This striptease routine is working for me.” I grab the clippers. “And now you’re at a good height for me to clean up the bush.”
I kneel in front of her and run the clippers down the triangle of hair above her pussy. When I move to the lips, she exhales, then puts her legs over my shoulders. A pass on each side and she’s all cleaned up. She keeps her legs in position as I brush away the loose hairs.
“Rub your head against my leg.” She runs her hand all the way up her inner thigh. “I want to see what the little buzzed hairs feel like.”
“My hair? On the top of my head?”
She rubs my head. “Yes.”
“Sit on my head ,” I sing to the Monty Python tune.
I rub the side of my head against her inner thigh, then twist the top of my head between her legs.
She giggles. “Okay, that’s prickly.”
I kneel and suck on her lips. She’s digging her fingers into my neck, so I’m taking it she’s enjoying it. I continue licking and sucking on her until her legs are squeezing me, then I add fingering to the mix. Her pussy is wet and silky, and I can’t get enough of the smell and taste of her. I increase my tempo as her hips twitch. Her breathing is jagged as she releases an uneven moan.
She collapses against the vanity mirror. “That was good. I want more.”
I get a condom from my wallet. “Shall we?”
She snatches and opens it. I shove off my shorts. While I put on the condom, she situates herself on the edge of the vanity, which is at a good height for me to slip in. We wrap around each other and I watch in the mirror as we move together. With our shaved heads, we look wild, carefree, and yet harmonious.
Peyton
In comparison to other primates, humans are basically hairless to begin with, so it’s ironic that removing a tuft of hair from the top of the head would so alter one’s appearance. Equally ironic is how naked I feel even after donning my clothes. Max and I take one last look at ourselves in the bathroom mirror.
“We’re badass,” he says.
I stare at our reflections, trying to capture his perspective. Yes, I see it—we do look rebellious.
As Max struts back to his bedroom, I tiptoe in the opposite direction to ascertain if Ashima’s around. What I didn’t expect was to find her sitting on the arm of the couch staring into the hallway.
“Ah!” I jump backward. “You gave me a heart attack!”
“Peyton! It really is you.” She catapults from the couch and lands before me with a flourish of hands shaking. “Your hair! It’s…it’s…wow! Your hair!”
“I like it,” I rush to say, to stop her from saying anything I don’t want to hear.
“Of course!” She takes a deep breath, but her hands keep flapping about. “Because it’s so…so bold.” She presses her cheeks, and no longer looks as though she’s trying to take flight.
“Thanks.” I rub the side of my head, wishing that Ashima were a little better at lying.
“Wow! You really did it. I can’t believe you went through with it.” She shakes her head and looks down the hall. It’s empty. “So, I guess Max did, too.”
“We’re both as naked as mole rats.”
“Well, there’s that. Though I’m not sure it matters now. At least you two have had fun today.”
I cringe at what’s implied at her remark, at what she may have overheard.
She walks to the kitchen. “I need some water. Too much sun. I’m getting a headache.”
I follow her and hover in the doorway as she pulls out a large plastic cup, fills it to the brim, then chugs down half before telling me, “This is my fault. I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this.”
“It’s fine. I really do like my hair. You said it—it’s bold.”
“You do have a good face for it.” She drops her head forward and massages her temples. We were mostly keeping to the shade at the park.
“I’m sorry you have a headache. Do you want something for it?”
“No, the water should help. Maybe I need a nap. Maybe then things won’t seem so bad.”
“Bad? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Just my headache.”
I learned this game in college. It’s Ashima’s version of twenty questions. She’ll keep dropping hints that something is bothering her, and it’s my job to guess the answer.
“Are you mad at me for having sex with Max?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know. You tell me?”
“I never said I was mad.”
That definitely confirms that she’s mad. “Do you have a thing for him?”
“No! How can you suggest such a thing? I’m completely, happily in love with Nick, and Max is definitely not my type. Seriously, Peyton.” She rubs at her temples even faster.
“So why do you care?”
She comes beside me and peeks around the corner into the hallway before whispering, “I thought we were on the same page with the plans, but I’m not seeing how doing those things in the bathroom fits into our plans.”
“Were you out here listening to us?” Her concern may be our plans, but mine is how creepy it would be if she’s been perched on the arm of the couch the entire time.
“Seriously? Gross! I came home at what I’m assuming was the grand finale and couldn’t help but hear. I was really hoping it was somehow Holly in there.” She squeezes her eyes shut, but then they fly back open. “How could you, Peyton?” This must have been intended to be an internal thought, because she presses her fingers to her lips.
There’s been enough overhearing for one afternoon, so I pull her to the far corner of the kitchen. “Shh…calm down. You wanted Max cleaned up, and now he is.”
“That’s true. And this would be good, except it doesn’t really matter if we’re no longer trying to hook him up. Remember, the end goal is to get him with someone so he could move in with said person. Now both of you are going to be around here.” She swishes her hand in the air. “All the time.”
“Because I feel so welcome.”
“I’m sorry, but you see my point, don’t you?”
At the moment, I’m sympathizing way more with Max as I get a firsthand dose of Ashima meddling in my love life. But I have no one but myself to blame because I knew this would be the outcome if I did anything with him. None of this is a surprise and yet it is still so very uncomfortable. However, I do see her point. My actions do not align with the plan.
“Max and me having sex doesn’t mean that we’re STIMPs. Nothing has been decided or even discussed. If he’s interested in Holly, then he’s free to pursue her.”
She buries her head in her hands. “How am I supposed to work with this, Peyton? I want things to be how they were before Nick and I had a third wheel.”
“How about this—if things progress between Max and me, I promise to invite Max over to my place often to give you a break?”
“That’s fine for the next month, but then your internship will be over and then what? Will you date him long-distance?”
“You know I think long-distance relationships are a waste of time. The main point is for physical intimacy, which is negated due to the distance.” I grab her hands. They’re super hot. Probably from all that hand flapping earlier. “If you would talk to Max and Nick, then there wouldn’t even be a problem at all. But since you refuse to do what you should, I’ll simply do it. I’ll tell Max that he needs to get his own place. Then it won’t matter what happens between Max and me.”
Ashima immediately perks up. “Do you think that’d work?”
“Of course. I really should make you do this, but since I can’t trust you to do it…”
She throws her arms around me. “No, it’s better this way. This is brilliant. I love it. Such a simple solution.” She releases me to pace the floor. “But it has to be all you. If Max thinks it’s me, then he might complain to Nick. But it would make sense for you to say something. As his girlfriend, it’s fine that you’d want him to get his own place.”
“Not his girlfriend. But I’ll tell him how horribly awkward this right here is for me.” I point a finger back and forth between us. “And that I’d rather not have to repeat it.” Because this is so very much true. I’m still creeped out that she was sitting on the couch arm waiting for me to come out.
She throws her arms around me. Despite my annoyance, it’s nice to feel needed.
I’ve never been one for adornments, but my short hair necessitates it. Ashima spared me an emergency trip to the mall and lent me several sets of large earrings. The short-hair, big-earring combination makes me feel like a Hollywood star, and the jewelry makes me feel less exposed, which has helped with my nervousness in showing up at work with such a big change.
The security guard gives me a thumbs-up as I’m swiping in, which helps calm me. I run into Harris in the hallway on the way to our morning team meeting. He stops midstride. His mouth drops open. He’s definitely shocked, hopefully in a good way.
“Like it?” The long bauble earrings smack against my neck as I twist my head side to side.
He makes no effort to hide his grimace, but he at least regulates his words. “It’s different.”
Never mind Harris, he’s a stick-in-the-mud, anyway. “I love it. It feels amazing.” I rub my hand over the top of my head as I walk into the conference room. I don’t know why, but Harris’s snub actually steels me. If that’s what’s coming, then I’ve got this.
We enter the meeting room together. Dr. Wahl and Ada are already seated. Dr. Wahl’s eyes open wide when he sees me. Then Ada spots me. I’ve already texted her a picture, but nonetheless, she claps her hands. “It looks really good on you. I love it.” She runs her hand over the top of her own chin-length hair. “I looked up Dr. Snazzeh and she wears her hair pretty short too.”
“That’s true!” Though her hair is probably a good two inches long, it’s still pretty short. “I’m channeling my inner-Snazzeh.”
Ada looks at me. “You really do have a good head shape for it.”
Dr. Wahl nods in agreement and his smile looks genuine, so I think he truly does like my hair. But before he can respond, Harris says, “Your head is pretty round, isn’t it?” as he sits beside me. “Reminds me of a basketball.”
I ignore the jab and twist it to my advantage. “Thank you, I like basketball.”
“The style suits you, Peyton,” Dr. Wahl says. “And the earrings accent it nicely.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I flash him a smile. Then we dive into the latest details on Project Shuggazoom.
After the meeting, Ada and Harris shuffle from the room, but Dr. Wahl asks me to stay for a moment. He places a folder on the table. It’s blue with the program logo embossed in gold on the front. “With funding now secure, I’m able to offer you a full-time position.” He pushes the folder toward me. “The offer letter, as well as some information on our full-time benefits.”
Inside are some pamphlets—paid time off, health care, continuing education—as well as a letter addressed to me. I want to hug it and scream and dance around the office, but I refrain. Tonight, I can take Max out and dance around like a fool, but at the moment I need to play it cool.
“I would be honored to join your team. I look forward to reviewing this information.” I give the folder a little pat.
As we walk out from the room together, I can’t help but hug the packet to me tightly. I have a skip in my step as I proceed down the hallway by myself. The offer has me so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I don’t notice anyone as I pass by the break room. Harris calls out. I backtrack and find him alone, holding a coffee carafe completely upside down as the remains dribble into his half-full mug.
“What did Dr. Wahl want?” he asks.
I’m tempted to lie. I don’t want to rub it in that I have an offer halfway through our internship. Next year’s budget hasn’t been approved yet, so this offer has arrived sooner than I’d have ever hoped. Plus, I’d like to first share the news with people who I know will be excited for me, like Ashima and Max.
“He was sharing some information with me,” I respond.
“Duh. I gathered that. What was it?” He plunks the metal carafe down on the counter. “Anything wrong with the project? You should tell me if there is. I’m supporting it, too, you know.”
“Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong.” I avoid looking at him by topping off my water bottle from the filtered water dispenser, but when I turn around, he locks me in with his stare. My enthusiasm boils over and I break into a huge, tooth-bearing grin. “He offered me a position.”
“Seriously?” He picks up the carafe and shakes it over his cup, forcing out a few more drops. “Well, that’s good for you.”
“Thanks.” I fight with screwing my bottle top back on, but the threads don’t want to align.
Harris frowns and puts the coffee carafe in the machine. “I won’t hold you up. I think I’m going to brew more coffee.”
“Right.” I stop fighting my lid and leave it askance. I’ll fix it at my desk. “See you back in the office.”
I pause at the door. “You know this is good news for you too. Another project. More work to be done around here. Increases the odds of them hiring you full-time.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “I hope so.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No seriously, I do. Why wouldn’t I want you to get a job?”
“That’s not…never mind. Congrats to you.”
Unsure of how to read his mood, I thank him again and leave him to his brew. The response was cold, but if I were in his position, I can’t be positive I would’ve handled it better. I like to think I would’ve—I’ve never viewed our internships with the same winner-take-all mentality—but primate studies have most definitely taught me that scarcity of resources does not bring out the best in us.