“I get the feeling that when you say two inches minimum, you really mean double that.”
“You’re catching on fast,” he says before clicking his fingers and ordering, “Sit.”
The last thought I have before giving Bobby free rein over my hair is that Harlow will pay for this. I don’t know how or when, but she will pay.
Four and a half hours later, I’m down five inches of hair, more money than I care to acknowledge a haircut can actually cost, and my ability to say no to the girl squad.
These women are masters at getting someone to agree to shit they don’t want anything to do with. I need lessons from them. The things I could get Wilder to agree to could change my life.
So far, I’ve said yes to a night out with them for drinks and yes to considering joining them next Friday for their weekly squad get together. I have no intention of turning up next Friday, but I quickly learned it’s far easier to pretend I do. I did manage to say no to three other things, but that doesn’t feel like a win when I’ve agreed to do shit that wasn’t on my bucket list in life.
“How about yoga?” Chelsea says as I watch Bobby take all my money from my bank account. Slight exaggeration there, but good God, how can a haircut cost so much?
I shake my head. “I don’t do yoga.”
“It’s great for back pain,” Harlow calls out from the other side of the room.
I glare at her, sending her a look that says “how the hell do you keep tabs on my conversations so easily?” She makes eyes at me that say “I adore you too, Scar.” I ignore that declaration.
“Oh yeah,” Chelsea agrees. “So good for back pain.”
“No, I’m good,” I say. Yoga just sounds like another name for squad time.
“You complained to me about your back yesterday,” Harlow calls out.
“Just come once,” Chelsea suggests. “Monday morning at six. If you hate it, I’ll never mention it again.”
Bobby finishes fleecing me and hands me back my card. “You know you wanna go, sweetie. Just give in to them already.”
“I’ll say yes to yoga if you promise to never fucking call me sweetie again,” I say.
“Deal.” Then, with a grin, he adds, “I can’t wait to hear all about this class next week when you come in for Friday with the girls.”
“Asshole,” I mutter.
He blows me an air kiss. “You won’t know yourself in a month with all this yoga-ing and drinks-out-with-the-girls, and Friday beauty seshes.” He fakes a giddy shudder and throws me a wink before walking out to the back room.
Chelsea and I swap numbers so she can text me the class info, and I agree to turn up on Monday morning. Everyone then exchanges goodbyes and hugs, mentioning something about a get together at the Storm clubhouse on the weekend. I try my best to slip out without the hug-fest but fail. By the time I get to Harlow’s car, I feel like I need to lock myself away in my flat for a week to recover from all this talking and laughing and planning and hugging.
It was a lot.
“Thank you for coming today,” Harlow says softly as she starts her car.
Her tone catches me by surprise. As does her thank you.
“Why are you thanking me?”
“Because I know this isn’t something you would normally choose to do. I love that you said yes.”
I give her a pointed look. “Well, you didn’t really give me a choice.”
“I hate to admit this to you, but you always have a choice where I’m concerned. I talk a good game and make out that I’m definitely not taking no for an answer, but I would never make you do something I thought you really didn’t want to.” At my arched brows, because I really didn’t want to do this, and yet she still made me come, she adds, “You have to admit you didn’t put up much of a fight today. You grumbled a bit and tried to argue with me, but you gave in pretty easily.”
She’s right; I didn’t put up much of a fight.
I’m going to need to dissect that, but for now, I go with “You caught me on a bad day. I needed the distraction. And honestly, I’m not convinced girl squad is for me.”
She gives me the Harlow smile that tells me she believes she’s right but that she’s gonna let me think I am. “Do you wanna talk about your bad day?”
“Jesus, no. Just take me home. I need a nap after everything you subjected me to.”
Half an hour later, I’m home and restless. I don’t want to watch TV. I don’t want to read. I don’t want to nap. I don’t want to do anything. Mostly, though, I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts, so I grab my keys and make the short drive to Trilogy.
The restaurant is busy tonight. Busier than I thought it would be. We must have had a lot of last-minute reservations, because we didn’t have this many when I left yesterday.
“I recall telling you I’d carry your ass out of here if I saw you today,” Wilder says when he spots me at the bar. I’d hoped to zoom on in undetected and help the staff out back, but here he is, clearing glasses from tables—something he rarely does.
“Why are you working the bar?”
“I’m meant to be here today. That’s why I’m working. You, on the other hand, are not meant to be here.”
“Yes, you’re meant to be here, but not clearing glasses. If you’re down staff, I can help.”
“We’re not down staff.”
I glance around and note how light on team members we are. “You are. I’m helping.”
Before he can continue arguing with me, I rush out to the staff room and find one of the dark grey uniform shirts.
I’ve got my tank over my head so I can change out of it when Wilder’s voice sounds from the door. “Christ, anyone could walk in on you, Scarlett.”
I carry on with getting changed, not sure why he sounds cranky all of a sudden. “So?”
“So maybe use the bathroom to get changed.”
His tone catches my attention and I stop to look at him. I’ve got the grey shirt on but not buttoned up yet, and Wilder’s eyes are not on my face. No, they’re glued firmly to my body. Seeing him watch me like this causes something hot and electric and completely unfamiliar to race through me.
Caught off guard and feeling all kinds of weird about this situation, I snap, “It’s not like I’m naked. I think everyone here has seen a bra before.”
His eyes cut to mine. “That might be the case, but let’s not start something where everyone feels like they can just whip their clothes off in here whenever they want.”
“Are you serious right now? There’s no one here but you. If seeing me get changed makes you think you can whip your clothes off in here whenever you want, I’ll be sure to pull you up on it, okay?” Jesus, he’s tripping on some strange shit tonight. That’s the only reason I can come up with for what he’s just said. Also, can he please stop it with the way he’s looking at me? It’s all heat and intensity like I’ve never experienced from him. I’m not coping over here.
Those lips of his flatten like I’ve seen a million times before. “I’m serious as fuck. There’s a reason bathrooms exist.”
Again, his tone stops me. I don’t know what the hell’s going on in his head, but he has never spoken to me like this before. He’s way more forceful than usual.