“Good answer.”
I don’t wait for her to say anything else, needing to get the fuck away from her before I do something stupid.
Surprisingly, security never shows, and I dart into the men’s room. I choke on acid and memory, rinse my mouth, and pretend I didn’t just puke up my past.
When I reappear in the salon, Poppy looks up at me, concern lighting her eyes, but she keeps a forced smile firmly in place.
I secretly love that I know her real smile from her forced one. “Everything okay?”
“Yep. All good. What do we have going on here?” I nod to where the technician brushes clear stuff over her nails.
“Just finishing up,” the technician answers.
“That’s all you wanted?” I ask Poppy, wanting her to have whatever she wants.
“It’s all I can have. The director doesn’t want bright colors, and long or artificial nails get in my way.”
“Gotcha.”
“All done. Melena will be over in just a few minutes to do your hair.”
“Melena?” Poppy asks, intrigue in her voice. “The owner?”
“Exactly her,” the woman appears, smiling at both of us. “I apologize for Bristol. She’s new here, and her methods are…assertive.”
“No problem.” I nod, knowing she will literally not be a problem again.
Poppy’s eyes narrow at me in the mirror. “What did you do?” she mouths.
I just smile and wink while Melena takes Poppy’s long hair in her hands. “So, what are we thinking today?”
“Anything she wants.”
“Except blond.” Poppy smirks at me, stealing another piece of something because instead of making a big deal out of something she could tell was serious, she’s making jokes.
“I would never turn your hair blond,” Melena tells her as she combs through the long, fiery strands. “This is the stuff people pay me hundreds of dollars to create. Is it natural?”
“Every strand.”
“It’s truly beautiful. I’ve never seen so many natural shades of red on one person before.”
She’s right. It is beautiful. Even pulled back, her fiery hair full of coppers, cinnamons, and gingers was the first thing I noticed about her after her eyes.
“What about cut? Looking to go shorter?”
“I wish I could,” Poppy huffs, looking annoyed as she shakes her head. “It’s too hard to pull back like I need to without a gallon of pins and products unless it’s long. Maybe a couple of inches off the length and some layers to bring the curls and waves back to life?”
“I agree. Now let’s get you washed.” She looks across the room, calling someone. “Bring Mr. Davis a chair.” She turns her attention to me. “It seems our young man is struggling to tear himself away from the pretty girl.”
I don’t think I’ve blushed a day in my life. But suddenly I am dropping my head with a smile while my cheeks flame.
It’s safe to say my unhealthy obsession with Poppy has developed into an unhealthy attachment. Just as any addiction would. It’s hard not to want to cling to the thing that makes everything that hurts disappear.
And the last half hour just increased all of it because a month ago, my reaction to the mental images of the past made me volatile. Facing it would’ve made me homicidal. I walked out without laying a finger on her.
Some guy around my age brings over a bright orange upholstered chair, winking at me as he walks away. I chuckle when I see Poppy’s face. She is quite intrigued that I’m attracted to guys. She looks at me with raised brows, and I shake my head. “Nope,” I mouth because it’s not happening. Maybe one day we can find someone and play, but today, the thought of anyone else touching her makes me want to rip off dicks.
She huffs, rolling her eyes as Melena gets to work. I retrieve my phone, pretending to check emails, though I’m listening to every word they’re saying.
