Harley
“Itservesyourightfor using my shampoo. You’ve probably had an allergic reaction to it or something. Will you keep still?” I huff at Reed, who’s fidgeting and scratching at the back of his head.
“It’s completely organic. What’s there to be allergic to? Besides, I use it to jerk off with, not wash my hair.”
He grunts as I smack him around the shoulder.
“Just let me look. Then I can ask Maria what she suggests. She makes all her own home remedies for things; she’ll know what to do.”
I run my fingers through Reed’s hair again as he sits on the sofa in front of me.
“Fuck, Harls, that feels good. Do it again, harder.”
“Um, Reed? I think I’m going to go see if Maria’s home.”
“What? No. It’ll be fine. Just give it another scratch, Angel, and then let me take you to bed. I’ve had a bitch of a busy day and just want to get naked with you.”
“You have visitors.”
“Yeah, tons. All at the office. All fucking day long.”
“No, Reed.” I search again to confirm my suspicions. “I mean,youhave visitors.”
He’s silent, so I add, “You know, cooties, lice, nits, crawlers, whatever you want to call them. You have them. In your hair.”
His shoulders stiffen in his immaculately starched work shirt he’s still got on after coming in the door ten minutes ago.
“I’m a grown man, Harls. I do not have cooties.”
I fight to hold in my giggle at how sulky he sounds. I bet if I look at his face, he even has his bottom lip poked out.
“I’m well aware what abig boyyou are, Reed. But I am telling you. You have them. I can see them walking around and—”
“Stop. That’s… Eww.” He scratches his head again and then inspects his hand. “What the fuck? How… Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He scratches again with both hands and lets out a long, low groan.
“I don’t know. We all had them when we were at school. It’s usually kids who spread them. Don’t tell me you never got them?”
“I didn’t,” Reed grumbles.
“Maybe they couldn’t afford the tuition fees at the snooty boys’ school you and Griffin went to.” I laugh as he looks at me darkly.
“Book Page.” He sighs.
“You think Paige gave them to you?”
“Probably. Stuart said after we went for dinner with them the other week that her mom had found some.” Reed drops his head into his hands and presses his finger and thumb into his eyes. My heart squeezes at the sight of him. He’s exhausted. He’s worked really hard this week. I’ve already been in bed some nights when he’s finally gotten in. The election is a little over a week away, so things have been even busier than usual.
“I’ll run up to Maria and Griffin’s and we’ll sort you out. Don’t worry, Daddy, I’ve got you,” I whisper in his ear, earning myself a small smile from him. I plant a soft kiss on his cheek and then rush upstairs.
Ten minutes later, I’m back down, sitting on the sofa with a very quiet, somber Reed sitting on the floor between my legs with a towel around his shoulders.
“This stuff smells delicious.” I sniff the home remedy Maria gave me as I pour a little of the oil between my hands and rub it into Reed’s hair. He leans back toward me with a soft moan as I massage it into his head. He’s been so quiet this evening and I’m hoping it’s just because he’s tired and there’s nothing wrong.
“This won’t take long. I just need to rub it all in and wait fifteen minutes. The oil will suffocate them, and I can comb the dead ones out. In fact, I will just comb as soon as the oil’s all in. I can take my time, so I don’t miss anywhere.”
I run my hands through Reed’s hair again and smile as he leans into my touch. This feels weirdly intimate. I mean, sure, we have wild and dirty sex every day, but he’s always the one leading it, the one in control, the one on top, literally, or behind or wherever. But never below. Reed never lets me ride him. Never even lets me straddle him when he’s sitting up. Sex with him is incredible, but he always controls the pace, whether it’s hard and fast, or slow and deep. It’s always him. Never me.
I try and push Bea’s words to the back of my mind as they threaten to come and cause me unnecessary paranoia. She insinuated Reed doesn’t kiss, only likes sex from behind, which is just not true. He kisses me all the time. And he loves being on top of me and holding my gaze as he fucks me slowly. It’s not like he has an issue with intimacy, because he clearly doesn’t. Sickness creeps into my stomach and sits there like a weight, pulling me down inside as I recall what else she said about him using my name and me going on top. That much is true. He never calls me Harley, or Harls, when we have sex. I never noticed before, but after the day in the park, I realized Bea is right. And the going on top thing… she’s right about that, too.