“I finished a big tiling job. It was a good day,” he answered, brushing the back of his hand against mine.
This couldn’t be happening to me. Not with my neighbor. Not with this man who was technically still married and was Josh’s coach. It couldn’t be. I wouldn’t let it.
“One day when I have the money, I’ll ask you to give me a quote on redoing the floors in my house, but that isn’t going to be any time soon,” I told him.
“All you have to do is ask, Diana.” He looked down at me from over his shoulder. “We can do it together when you have the time off.”
“Together?”
“Together,” he repeated.
I hummed and eyed him. “All right. For free?”
That had him smirking. “Yeah. You get a special discount.”
“What? The single parent who feeds you discount?”
Dallas shook his head and smiled, but didn’t say anything.
All right.
“We’re going for a Mohawk then or what?” I made myself ask.
The expression on his face was that playful one that squeezed the shit out of my ovaries every single time he brought it out. “Maybe next time.”
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?
