She tugs her glasses off, throwing them on the top of her station before she sinks down in her chair. I watch as she spins around to look at me.
“I don’t remember most of the night, except I remember getting really mad at Beaumont and being a smart ass,” she groans.
“You were. It was pretty awesome.” I grin.
She shakes her head with a whimper as she lifts her hand and cups her forehead. “I was plastered. Why did I drink so much?”
“Because it was Beaumont up there, after nine years of me being whatever I am about him, there he was.”
She pokes out her bottom lip, nodding slowly, then takes another sip of her coffee. “It was like he hurt me too, watching you all these years.”
I let out a sigh, lifting my own coffee to my lips and taking a drink. I hate that my life affects hers so much, but then again, if a man hurt her the way Beaumont did me, if she felt so deeply about someone the way that I did him, I would feel the same way.
I’m about to tell her that, my mouth opening to say the words when the bell to the shop door sounds. Turning toward the doorway, my lips parted to speak, I freeze at the sight in front of me.
“Holy shit,” Laurie breathes.
Beaumont is standing in the middle of the entryway of my shop, right there in the middle of Baker’s Square. Holy shit is right, but I don’t say that. Blinking, I snap my lips closed and press them together, rolling them a couple of times, standing from my desk and walking around before I gather the courage to speak.
“How can I help you?” I ask.
I try to sound cold, but it doesn’t work. I can’t turn off the customer service person, or the southern hospitality that my MeeMaw engrained in me. She’d give me a disapproving frown and a stern talking to if I was ever blatantly rude to anyone, even if that person hurt me the way that Beaumont has.
“Need a cut, darlin’ girl,” he murmurs with a shy grin playing on his perfectly shaped lips.
Lifting a brow, I turn my attention over to Laurie. “You have time for a cut this morning?” I ask her.
She opens her mouth, but isn’t able to speak before Beaumont does. He makes a tsking sound, then I hear his boots against my vinyl wood flooring. “Don’t want Laurie touchin’ my hair, no offense,” he says.
I turn to him just in time to see him dip his chin toward her in that perfectly delicious southern gentleman style. God, why does he have to be so handsome, so seemingly courteous and chivalrous? Why?
“Only want your hands on my hair, Hutton,” he murmurs.
The sound goes straight to my belly, and shifts between my thighs. The words actually heat me from the inside out. I don’t know how he does that, but he does, and his gaze never breaks my own while he does it, too.
“Beaumont,” I whisper.
There’s a noise and I hear Laurie move, then her high heels walk down the small hall to the back, presumably to the small room that we use to mix our color. Beaumont takes another step toward me, then another until he’s almost touching me. If I inhale a deep enough breath, I think my breasts would actually touch his belly.
I press my lips together, again, when he lifts his hand and cups my cheek with his palm. “I’d like you to cut my hair, Hutton,” he murmurs.
“Beau…”
He shakes his head. “We should talk, but for now, please cut my hair.”
His words are barely above a whisper and I try not to think about them sounding the exact same way when he would slide inside of me, whispering words about how good I felt. It reminds me of the past, a past that should be long forgotten, but still feels like yesterday, especially right now.
Clearing my throat, I take a step back. “Go ahead and have a seat in my chair,” I instruct, dipping my chin toward my station.
His lips twitch, then turn into a full-on grin. He looks like he’s a victor and I wonder if he isn’t, because I’m smiling instead of scowling. I’m wrapping the cape around his neck, holding my breath as my fingers intentionally touch his warm skin more often than needed.
Slowly, I eventually lift my gaze to meet his in the mirror. He’s smiling at me, but it’s not his lips or his white straight teeth that have me in awe.
It’s his eyes.
Those dark eyes are focused on me and if I could guess at what they’re trying to tell me, I could interpret that maybe there’s an apology written in them. Inhaling a quick breath, I hold it for a moment, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, instead he clears his throat and ends the moment.
BEAUMONT
I want to take her in my arms, strip her bare and show her just what she does to me. I may never be able to trust a woman again, but that doesn’t mean that my mother and Chelle have taken everything from me. Hutton is indeed special. I’ve never forgotten her, no matter who has been in my life and in my bed.
“What do you want?” she asks.
I blink, surprised that she’s asking me that, but then I realize that she wants to know what I want to do with my hair. Shaking off the moment of surprise and excitement, I grin and lock my gaze with hers.
“Shorten the sides please, keep the top longer, maybe just trim it up.”
Hutton nods, then I watch as she begins to gather her tools, her eyes never meeting mine again.
“Noticed the name of the shop, it’s yours,” I point out, trying to get her to talk.
She hums as she lifts the bottle of water up and begins to spray my hair. “I opened it a few years ago. Laurie is my only employee, it works for us.” She shrugs.
“I like it. Proud of you, Hutton,” I murmur.
“Seems you’ve been a bit busier than me,” she points out.
Clearing my throat, I wait for her gaze to find mine again before I speak. “Nothin’s as good as people make it out to be in the media, darlin’ girl. Trust me.”
Her eyes round, then she nods. “Never doubted you’d be some famous rock star.” She grins. “Knew you were something the first time I saw you at the Bluebonnet Festival.”
I snort, remembering the first time I laid eyes on her. She was this pretty little thing I saw from across the way. Nervous, shy, gorgeous. Nothing has changed, not really. Nothing except for the fact that I had her in the palm of my hand and I let her go.
“Have dinner with me tonight?”
“How long are you in town for?” she whispers.
I grimace at her question. “A few days, but Hutton, I got a place here. This is home,” I lamely attempt to explain.
She nods, her fingers working quickly at trimming my hair. She doesn’t say anything immediately and I think that she’s just going to ignore my invitation. Then she lets out a sigh.
“Okay. I need closure,” she mumbles so low that I don’t think that she meant for me to hear her.
“Pick you up at your place?” I ask.
Her eyes find mine, and those green orbs fucking hold me hostage. She nods once, her tongue peeking out to taste her lips. “Yeah, my place is good. Around eight?”
My lips turn up into a small smile. “I’ll be there, write down your address?”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and she tilts her head to the side. “Big famous rock star can’t find out where I live in a postage stamp sized town?” she teases.