He winked.

He winked right at me.

He had never done that before.

What the fuck was going on?

“Okay,” I practically choked out, awkward and weird and instantly internally cringing at how I should have kept the joke going but didn’t. Damn it. “Let me get my clippers real quick and lower your chair. I don’t get anyone over six feet tall in front of me very often.”

“Okay,” he replied.

“Same cut as always?” Pulling the drawer open, I kept my gaze down as I took out the clippers and set of attachments I had in there.

His voice was low. “Whatever you think looks good.”

Grabbing a cape, I slipped it over his shoulders and made the Velcro parts meet together. “You sure?”

“Sure,” he answered back, all raspy and hoarse. “I trust you.”

Why did he do this to me?

I turned my body away from him to let out a deep breath. Those hazel-colored eyes were on me through the mirror. I could see them out of my peripheral vision as I moved around him to plug the clippers in to the extension cord I had hidden beneath my station. “You’re the one looking at me more than anyone, do what you want.”

I sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

Our eyes met as I stood up again and walked around to take in the cut of his hair. I could do it with my eyes closed and one hand behind my back. I reached up to touch my thumb against the hollow at the base of his head and moved the clippers around to where they needed to be. His face was peaceful as I shaved from the front to the back of his head, over that gentle curve of his skull, gentle, gentle, gentle not to cut him. I slowly moved my way around him until I stood in front. His knees hit my upper thighs as I paused where I was, and he let me move his head around without any resistance to get the spots I needed to reach.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t let my fingers linger just a split second longer than necessary over the smooth skin of his forehead and his temple and that ultra-soft skin right behind his earlobe. I could feel his stare on me as I worked, but only let myself look him in the eye a couple of times, smiling each time like this was no big deal, when it felt like anything but. The clippers were loud between us, a distraction to the tension I felt in the pit of my stomach in reaction to how close we were.

“Sorry if I stink,” he apologized in that near-whisper voice.

“You don’t smell at all,” I said to him, forcing myself to keep my gaze on the very center of his newly trimmed hair. “I’m almost done. I just need to use my shears on a couple of spots.” Did my voice sound hoarse or was I just imagining it?

“I’m not rushing you. You doing this for me is a hell of a lot better than my usual barber.” God, how could a voice be so attractive? “I might have to start coming in every two weeks if you’re gonna be rubbing the back of my neck like that, Buttercup.”

I smiled, but it was off and my stomach was fluttering, and I’m sure my face was turning pink.

“Why you blushing?” he asked in that croon that sang straight to my ovaries.

“Because.” I laughed again, awkward and stupid, and why the hell was I doing this to myself? You know better, Diana. “You reminded me of something I heard. That’s all,” I said, rubbing my hand on my pants before moving around him.

He hummed. “You can tell me. I can keep a secret,” he said. “I don’t share.”

“Me neither,” I kind of mumbled before shuffling over to stand behind him, trading one tool for the other to catch a couple of super fine hairs right by his ears that I hadn’t been able to get. “It’s stupid. I’ll tell you another day.”

I spotted his Adam’s apple moving. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear my heart racing inside my chest. It only took a couple of minutes to finish up, to make sure the lines and edges along the nape of his neck were clean and straight. After brushing his bare skin off, I pulled the cape off him. I slowly shook it out as he got to his feet, avoiding the small pools of rich brown hair on the floor.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked.

I gestured toward the front desk area with my head, conscious that Sean and Ginny were nosey as fuck and still not done with their clients. “How about ten bucks?”

He touched the back of my hand again with his, and I knew without a single doubt, for one split second, his pinky finger hooked around mine before letting it go. “That’s how much I pay my old guy to cut me behind the ears and shove his sweaty armpit in my face. How much?”

He sounded just like Miss Pearl.

I kept myself from coughing and from glancing down at his hands, and somehow even rolled my eyes, trying to keep this light and playful even though it felt like something more. “Ten bucks. That took me fifteen minutes, tops, Dallas. It’s a friend discount, and don’t think about tipping me. I’ll sneak the money back in your bag during practice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You help me all the time. I can avoid shoving a stinky pit in your face and make sure I leave you without any cuts.”

“You sure? I know you charge like a hundred bucks for a haircut.”

I’d do it for free at my house if he wanted, but in that moment, that seemed like a dangerous idea. “I don’t charge a hundred dollars for a haircut. It’s like eighty, and it takes me over an hour to do that usually. Ten bucks. Cough ‘em up, Captain.”

That slow smile crossed his harsh features, lighting up my gut. “As you wish.”