I used to love it when Dean would play with my hair, but that was eons ago.
“Hold still,” Flint says.
I grit my teeth and try to hold still. I could do this myself, but that time I got my hair caught in the chain on Dean’s show?
When it aired, the editing made it look like I spent the entire job trying to get it untangled.
Much like every bit of the rest of the show, it wasn’t an accurate representation of what I did on that job—we shot and worked that house for a full week, and I wasnotstuck to that swing for very long—but it still took three of us a good fifteen minutes to accomplish the task.
Help is good.
I know this.
But I still distract myself while he works the knot—whichiscoming free—by staring at his phone.
And then I get mad all over again because while I’m twisting the phone to try to keep the light aimed correctly, I catch sight of the picture on his phone’s home screen.
It’s his Demons soccer team that he won’t let Junie try out for.
“Mom?” Junie says again. She’s close now. I can tell by her voice.
“Got my hair tangled,” I tell her. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
And now my daughter is sighing just like the man whose fingers keep brushing mine, making sparks shoot up my arm and my vagina flip inside out.
You are getting nowhere near this man,I remind her.
His breath on my ear makes her flip again.
Clearly, I have a type.
I like the guys who don’t like me.
“How did you get it this knotted?” Flint asks.
“I asked myself,Self, what’s the very worst way we could tie our hair up around this chain and make for a super-uncomfortable situation for everyone tonight?and then I did that, but worse.”
Yep, I amtotallyat my best today.
“Back up,” Junie says to Flint. “You’remaking it worse. Mom, stay. I’ve got this.”
“Junie—”
“Remember last Fourth of July parade? And the lamp chain on your float?”
I wave Flint’s phone at him, gesturing for him to take it back. “She’s right. We’ve got this. Thank you so much for thinking of us and bringing our dinner. That was very kind.”
“I’m half done,” he says.
“Half done isn’t all—”
A howl cuts her off midsentence.
A not-soft howl. A not-distant howl.
It’s answered by three more howls.
Chills race across my body. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. My stomach flips, and my shoulders hunch in on themselves.
