But right now, I had a gorgeous man’s hands rubbing delicious circles into my scalp, a glass full of bubbles, and a niece who couldn’t stop giggling over whatever Stasia was saying to her while they worked on temporary lowlights.
Stef and Jeremiah were deep in conversation about hair textures and product. I wondered if I was imagining the hint of spark between the two. The lingering smiles, the long flirtatious glances.
It had been a while since Stef had been in anything resembling a relationship, and the gorgeous, talented Jeremiah was definitely his kind of catnip.
I heard the roar of a motorcycle out on the street. The engine revved once before cutting off abruptly. A few seconds later, the front door opened.
“Hey, boss,” Stasia called out.
My bubble of bliss popped.
The responding grunt had my heart trying to flutter its way out of my chest like an anxiety-ridden butterfly trapped in a glass jar.
“Stay,” Jeremiah said firmly, pressing a hand to my shoulder.
I couldn’t see Knox. But I could feel his presence.
“Knox,” Stef drawled.
“Stef.” I opened my eyes, wondering when the two of them had gotten on a grudging first-name basis.
“Hey, Way,” Knox said, his voice a little softer.
“Hi,” she chirped.
I heard the approach of his boots, and every muscle in my body went rigid. No woman looked good with wet hair in a salon chair. Not that I was going for alluring or anything. Although I was wearing the underwear he’d bought me.
“Naomi,” he rasped.
What was it about my name from that mouth that made my nether regions feel like they were being electrocuted? In a super sexy, fun way.
“Knox,” I managed to choke out.
“Your face is red,” Jeremiah noted. “Is the water too hot?”
Stef snickered.
I swear to God I could hear a smugness in the steady clomp of boots as they slowly retreated to the back of the shop.
Way to be cool, me.
Stef let out a low whistle from the barber chair he was occupying. “Spaaaaarks,” he sang quietly.
I raised my head out of the sink, sending a tidal wave of water over the lip of the bowl. “What is the matter with you?” I hissed. “Shut. Up.”
He raised his palms in surrender. “Fine. Sorry.”
As Jeremiah gently stuffed me back into the sink, I fumed. I didn’t want or need sparks and I certainly didn’t want or need anyone else calling attention to them.
Jeremiah wrapped a towel around my sodden hair and led me back to his station. Waylay was in the chair behind me, discussing cut and style options with Stasia and Stef.
“So. How do we feel about getting rid of some dead weight?” Jeremiah asked, holding my gaze in the mirror. He hefted the bulk of my damp hair in one hand and held it above my shoulders.
“We feel really good about that,” I decided.
I was mid-second-thought panic as Jeremiah aggressively snipped his way through my long hair when Knox returned with a cup of coffee and some kind of short, leather apron over his worn jeans. With his tattoo-adorned arms, the ruthlessly trimmed beard, and those scarred motorcycle boots, he looked like the definition of a man.
Our eyes locked in the mirror, and my breath caught in my throat.