I gasped for air between peals of laughter.
“Don’t,” I gasped, putting my good hand against his chest. “Make. Me. Cry. Shit. Bird.”
“Oh shit,” he sobered up quickly, and pulled his hands away from my sides, leaning back on his haunches above my waist.
His curls had fallen into his face, and I found myself wishing I could touch them, but I didn’t want to fuck them up.
“What?” he asked, when he noticed my stare. “Does my hair look crazy?”
“No. It’s just gotten long and was in your eyes.”
He huffed, pushing and twisting the curls away from his face.
“Better?”
I nodded. “Will you have to cut them for the military? Your curls, I mean.”
“Uh, yeah. I will actually. I’ve been meaning to get my hair cut, but then I kept thinking this is my last chance to grow it long before I’m stuck with short hair for four years.”
“They don’t make you buzz it, do they?”
“Only at basic training,” he said. “What about you? You always keep your hair this long?”
He fingered the ends of my braid absently as he waited for my answer.
“Since I was little. I’ve got a fear of cutting my hair actually.”
“Wait, for real?” He cocked his head with intrigue. “Why?”
I sighed deeply debating whether it was worth telling him the story. His fingers trailed back up the sides of my waist untilhe was fidgeting with the hem of my sweatshirt. I shuddered and his eyes filled with mirth.
“So?”
“Um. Right. Hair.” His hands slipped beneath the hem of my sweatshirt and his fingers brushed against my stomach leaving a trail of goosebumps. “My dad buzzed it off when I was like seven. Full on Eleven buzzcut. Although, I definitely didn’t pull it off like she did. I looked like a pediatric cancer patient. And, uh, haven’t touched it since.”
“Did you get, like, lice or gum in your hair or something?”
“Uh, no. He just decided I was a being a brat one day and buzzed it off.”
He hummed in thought, his fingers still tracing shapes against my stomach and ribs.
“That sounds like a really good reason to not get another haircut.”
My breathing was awkwardly loud in the room, and I wished I wasn’t so affected by just his hands on my ribcage. I could feel the fire beneath my cheeks running down my chest.
“Was it something I did or said the other day?”
It took me a moment to process what he was referring to, his hands on my body were causing my brain to malfunction.
“Um…no. No. It wasn’t you.”
“Okay, then tell me what happened.”
His hands were stopped at my sports bra, and he traced the hemline, causing my breath to catch in my throat. Jesus, he was getting me turned on and he wasn’t even doing anything overtly sexual. When his hands stopped moving, I realized I had closed my eyes and opened them to find him watching me intently.
“Is it about your brother? Your ex?”
I huffed in annoyance that he was being so insistent.
