Friendly? Absolutely. A jokester? Sure. A smart-ass? One thousand percent. But flirty? Nah, that wasn’t his thing.
However, he was finding that the more time he spent with Freya, the more he enjoyed flirting with her. The way her skin would flush at his words. The way her lips would kick up. The way she’d shake her head like he was ridiculous. It fascinated him. And he wanted to learn more. Wanted to see how far the flush spread. Wanted to know if her lips were as soft as they looked.
But holy shit, that wasnotwhat he was looking for. He wasn’t a relationship kind of guy, and Freya most definitely seemed like a relationship kind of woman.
Which sucked. Because that left him at an impasse. And holy fuck was he gettingwayahead of himself. He hadn’t even taken the woman out. He had no clue if this attraction was all one-sided. Yeah, he had a pretty good feeling she didn’t think he was a troll, but that didn’t mean she’d actually be interested in more.
Chastising himself for jumping the gun—big-time—he continued to watch her work. Once she turned the clippers off, he asked, “How are you settling into your new place?”
She swapped the clippers for a pair of fancy-looking scissors. “It’s been really good. Now that I don’t have to commute back and forth to Whidbey Island, I have a couple extra hours a day.”
“What are you going to do with yourself?” he teased.
“Right?” She chuckled, pulling a section of his hair through her fingers and snipping. “I was thinking about taking up knitting. I live in the apartment above Knit Wits, and I’ve runinto the knitting ladies a few times. They’re all super nice and welcoming.”
“I’ve heard a rumor that knitting night is more alcohol than yarn.” He shrugged, mesmerized by how fast her scissors worked and how she didn’t cut herself. “But no judgement here.”
Freya snickered. “Oh, by the laughter coming from the shop on knitting group nights, I can say the rumor is most definitely accurate.”
Her smile slipped a tiny bit. If he hadn’t been watching her so intently, he’d have missed it. His brow furrowed as he asked, “Not your crowd?”
She shook her head. “Oh, it’s not that. I was planning on joining next week with Hazel, but...” Her eyes darted around the salon before meeting his in the mirror. She leaned toward his ear and dropped her voice. “Hazel got let go.”
“The interview she did?”
Freya nodded.
He wasn’t surprised. Gabriel Ortiz ran a tight ship, and the Pacific View Resort wasn’t world-renowned by accident.
Freya set down her scissors and ran her fingers through his hair again. “I haven’t talked with her since she called me about doing the interview. And now... I don’t know. It’s awkward all the way around, so who knows. But enough about that.” She moved his hair this way and that before meeting his gaze. “What do you think?”
Tearing his attention from her, he looked at himself in the mirror. His jaw dropped. Holy shit. He looked like himself but way cooler. “Damn, woman. You weren’t kidding about the Viking cut.” He turned his head to the left and then the right. “You’re saying it’s actually a thing?”
She nodded, and the hopeful grin she gave him warmed his insides. “There are only certain kinds of guys who can pull off this style. You like?”
“I do. The better question is, doyoulike?”
She tsked and rolled her eyes. “Fishing for compliments, mister? You know you’re smoking hot. Now, come on.” She patted his shoulder and gestured to the hair-washing station.
He’d relaxed through their conversation and reined in his wayward thoughts. However, once he leaned back, his head dangling in the sink with Freya’s hands on him, her body hovering over him, all relaxation flew out the window. Was he imagining her hovering over him and her hands on him in a completely different scenario? Absolutely. Thank God the long black fabric cape was still draped over him, or else he’d sorely embarrass himself.
“Let me know if it’s too hot,” she murmured.
He knew she meant the water temperature, but he was having a difficult time keeping his thoughts out of the gutter. As she rubbed a citrus-scented shampoo into his hair that left his scalp tingling, all he could think of was just how hotshewas.
Freya continued a steady chatter while she worked his scalp, rinsed the shampoo out, and repeated the process with a minty conditioner. The massage was equally erotic and relaxing. An odd combo that had all his nerve endings on alert, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.
Warm water washed the conditioner out, and after she wrung the excess water from his hair, she squeezed the back of his neck. “You doing okay? You’re pretty tense.”
Woman, you have no idea.
“I’m good.” He closed his eyes and made a production of moving his head side to side. “The neck cradle thing is at an odd angle, I guess.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me see if I can adjust it.”
“It’s fine, Freya.” He heard her moving above him, and he rushed on before she could adjust the perfectly fine contraption, “Are we still on for dinner after all this?”
She chuckled. “If you’re not sick of me yammering on, then sure.”
