"Took a shower after work yesterday," I tell her.
She rests her hands on my shoulders, gently guiding me to lean backward until my neck fits into the divot of the sink—the setup makes sense, then. She gathers my hair so it hangs into the sink.
"Oh, I know. But…um." A brief hesitation. "Can I ask what you use to wash your hair?"
"I dunno. Bottle of some shit Riley picked up for me at Target the day I got out."
"And let me guess, you wash everything with the same bottle? Hair, beard, and body?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Water sprays me in lukewarm droplets. "Too hot or too cold?"
"Cold."
The water warms until it's pleasantly hot. "Good?"
"Yeah."
"So, I'm guessing you didn't intentionally grow your hair out? You just sort of never cut it when you were in jail?" She asks, gathering my hair in her hands and dousing it with the hot water.
"Right."
"And you never trim it, or tie it back, or anything?"
"Nope.”
“Okay, well, a few things, here. The all-in-one stuff is…convenient, I suppose, but for hair as long and thick and glorious as yours, you need better products. You need a good shampoo and conditioner, for one thing—separate bottles.” She pinches a dry strand of hair and shows it to me. "Feel it."
I run my forefinger and thumb over the strands. "Okay?"
She bends over me so her hair dangles over my face. Her scent washes over me, making blood rush to my head…and elsewhere. Lavender and vanilla and roses…and something else that's just indefinably female. And intoxicating.
"Feel mine."
As gently as I can, I slip a lock of her hair through my fingers—it's soft, cool, silky. "Totally different."
"Yours is dry, Bear, that's the only difference. It needs proper hydration. It’s just thirsty.”
"Water doesn't hydrate it?" I ask, feeling stupid.
She giggles, not unkindly. "Seems counterintuitive, I know, but no. The chemicals in the stuff you use are what dries it out. Good shampoos and conditioners are specially formulated to help your hair stay healthy. The same goes for your beard. We don't stock men's products here, but after I'm done we can swing by Target and I'll help you pick out better stuff. And then your hair and beard will be healthy, shiny, and not in your way all the time."
"Sounds good."
All this time, she's been rinsing my hair, kneading it, squeezing the water out, and re-rinsing. Now, I hear a bottle cap click open, a soft fart sound as she squeezes shampoo into her hand, and then she starts applying it to my hair.
She even lathers my hair differently than I do—I just glop it onto my crown, rub it in for a few seconds, and then rinse it out. Noelle rubs her hands together and then starts at the ends of my hair, scrubbing and lathering her way up to my scalp. Once she gets to my scalp, her strong, nimble fingertips knead and massage all over, from my hairline by my forehead to the back of my neck to around my ears.
It feels fucking incredible. It's so…intimate. Almost sexual in feeling. I want to let out a moan, it feels so fucking intense.
I let my eyes close, sunlight bathing my eyes with yellow warmth, and her massaging fingers dance and knead endlessly over my scalp. Her fingers pinch my ears, running down the cartilage to my earlobes and then pressing in behind my ears, focusing for a moment on the tender dips where ear, skull, and mandible meet.
Which is when a little grunt of pleasure does escape me.
Her soft giggle is close, her breath warm. "Feels good, huh?”
"Fucking intense," I mutter.
