1
ADAIR
“I’m turning thirty-six, not six. I’m not a fuckingchild, and I don’t need —or want —to do anything for my fucking birthday.” Jack folds his arms and glowers at me.
“Well, we didn’t do anything for your thirty-fifth last year because of the timing of the wedding and all,” I argue. “I told you I felt bad about that.”
“And I told you I didn’t give a shit,” Jack retorts.
“I thought you were just saying that to be nice,” I say, my voice smaller.
Jack rolls his eyes with a snort. “Nice?”
“Touché,” I concede with a sigh of irritation.Bossy asshole. I don’t think I’m the real reason for his grumpy mood, though.
I know that for sure when Jack stalks over to the mirror above the console table. Running a hand over his beard, he scowls at his reflection like he’s annoyed at it. “Goddammit,” he snaps.
“What’s really the matter?” I ask, putting my tablet down on the sofa next to me. It’s been raining on and off all morning, so I’ve just been hanging out in the living room, sketching andtrying —mostly unsuccessfully — to ignore the low-key anxiety in my guts when I think about tomorrow.
Jack doesn’t answer me. Blowing out a harsh sigh, he rakes his thick, dark-brown hair back into a ponytail with his fingers. Holding it away from his face, he turns his head from one side to the other, eyes narrowed in a contemplative squint. “Maybe I’ll just cut it off,” he says abruptly.
“No!” I protest.
Jack aims a hard stare through the mirror at my reflection, his dark eyes meeting my blue ones. “You’re being awfully opinionated about another man’s hair.”
My jaw drops. “You’re kidding me, right? The entire reason I grewmyhair out was becauseyouwanted me to, and you badgered the shit out of me until I did!” When he just smirks in response, a brilliant idea pops into my head. I hop to my feet and glare at him with my hands on my hips.
“If you cut yours, I’m cutting mine.” I use a challenging tone, but I’m secretly hoping Jack doesn’t call my bluff. Once it grew out, I realized my wavy, dark-blond hair looks better long —although I’d never admit that to him.
He frowns, as if that consideration never entered his head before. “Don’t you dare,” he growls, a moment before his eyes drift back to the mirror. “Maybe I’m just getting too old for this shit,” he says with a sigh as he lets go of his hair.
The sight of it tumbling over his shoulders makes my belly flutter. Jack’s hair is so fucking sexy. How it looks, the way it smells when I bury my face in it, the feel of it against my skin… fuck. He better not cut it. I pull my lower lip between my teeth and gnaw on it.
My mind goes back to his words.Too old for this shit. “Does this have something to do with your birthday coming up?”
“No… Not just that,” he mutters. His expression is still grumpy, but the fire has gone out of him and he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Noticed a couple of grays this morning.”
Huh. I actually started seeing the occasional silver strand amidst the nearly-black ones a while ago. But I don’t think this is the best time to tell him that. “You know, I’m not going to think you’re any less sexy with a few gray hairs,” I say instead. “Honestly… I think you’ll look even hotter.”
Jack snorts out a laugh. “Dumb bunny,” he says, but his tone is lighter.
I tip my head to one side, getting into the idea once I start picturing it. “Oh yeah, it’ll be hot when your hair goes kind of salt-and-pepper. I just know you’ll have this silver-fox, papa-bear, daddy-dom thing going on.”
“Ugh—fuck no!” Jack’s aghast expression makes me crack up. “A what-what? Do all those come from your smut books? No, no andno. Don’t youeverlet any of those phrases come out of your mouth again,” he says sternly. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”
I roll my eyes. “OK, OK — I promise.” I’m still snickering a little as I walk over to the box next to the bookshelf Jack built me for me. I check —again — to make sure I have all the supplies I need for tomorrow, when a local independent bookstore is hosting a book signing for my client-turned-friend Olivia, known to her fans and readers as Calla Sylvan. It still feels like an unbelievable stroke of luck that we met at a book convention when she was looking for a cover artist for her queer shifter romance novels —and that she lovedmyfan art.
So when Olivia got the chance to do an event introducing a special edition of her very first series featuring new covers I drew, she asked me to do it with her. I designed a limited-edition bookplate for readers coming to the event and agonized over how many to order. They’re now nested into a smaller box insidethe big one. I dig through it to make sure I’ve got my favorite pens, although I told Olivia I doubted any of her readers would wantmeto sign anything.
Even though I’ve attended a few book conventions, I’m not really sure what to expect tomorrow. When I look up, I realize Jack is studying me.
“Nervous?”
I shake my head. “Nah, not really.”
He snorts. “Liar.”
“Hey! Why do you think I’m lying?”
