“Don’t do it, girl. I’m telling you, that edgy look won’t fly with any het guy outside the art world,” she’d warned me after I told her my plan for my dreadlocks. “I’m still regretting cutting off all my hair after Roderick died. I wouldn’t be getting any swipes if I didn’t get a weave put in, but it’s destroying my edges….”
Jada and Dennis had made it clear that this style wouldn’t be most guys’ cup of tea.
So I wasn't surprised when Zion rushed toward me to get a closer look at my now partially shaved head. His clippers had revealed the gray underbelly of the dreads I'd dyed black every six months. I forced myself to stay still with my chin raised whilehe tilted his head back and forth, examining the style with an arched eyebrow.
He had on a forest green turtleneck today underneath a tweed jacket with actual elbow patches. Even while waiting for his harsh rebuke, I couldn’t help but notice how well he wore the stereotypically academic look on his lean frame.
“Is this why you borrowed my clippers?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes.
“Sorry.” My defiant brace turned into an apologetic wince. “I was hoping to return them before you noticed.”
“I noticed,” he informed me with a severe look. “The bathroom still has a lingering scent of sugar cookies. It made it incredibly hard for me to concentrate while I brushed my teeth after my quick lunch.”
“Sorry?” I tried again, unsure how to respond to the fact that he could scent me in their bathroom.
But then a smile spread across Zion’s face. “The only thing you have to be sorry about is that edge line. But I’ll remedy it once I return home. Other than that, B-plus work. This style suits you, and I imagine it will match your orange coat quite well.”
I blinked. “You like it?”
“No,” he answered emphatically. “We allloveit. Ravik’s even considering taking a leaf from your book and letting his hair grow longer so he’ll look cooler and not so uptight. And Boone—as he prefers to be called now—is concerned that his severe lack of grooming might become a problem.”
“I wouldn’t call it severe,” I said, though I wasn’t exactly sure why I felt the need to defend Boone’s messy white hair and unkempt beard.
But behind Zion, Ravik leaned across the counter to tell Boone, “I’ll get a pair of clippers for you on the next Barrington’s run.”
Then, he held up a to-go tumbler that said World’s Best Teacher Dad. “Z, you’ll be late getting back to the schoolhouse if you don’t go now.”
“Alas, my lunch break is done,” Zion told me with an apologetic bow of his salt-and-pepper head. “I must away, but I look forward to our line-up date.”
I scrunched my forehead. “It’s not a…”
“Thank you, my good maul,” Zion said to Ravik. Then he took the tumbler and was out the door before I could finish correcting his notion that we would be having anything resembling a date.
Leaving me alone with the other two bears. Both of whom were openly staring at me…with nothing but approval in their eyes.
My throat tightened. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to see me as damaged, difficult, not worth the trouble. Instead, they looked at me like a sparkly supermodel had just entered the room.
Should I shave my head completely? But what if they just accepted that hairstyle, too? I wasn’t sure what to do, and I felt completely thrown off balance.
“So, Zion’s a teacher?” I asked after a few excruciating seconds ticked by, awkwardly changing the subject from my failed hair reveal.
“Yep, he was just on his lunch break,” Boone answered. “Glad he got to see you before he had to leave, though. Job’s got him stressed out. He was real cranky before you came in with that hot new hairstyle.”
He patted the stool beside him. “Take a seat, sugar. Vik’s dying to know what you want on your sandwich.”
I gingerly sat on the stool, deeply aware of how Ravik’s eyes tracked me. Dressed in a simple navy blue polo and crisp dark-wash jeans, he wasn’t lean like Zion or huge like Boone. The polo hugged his shoulders and chest, outlining a solid build—strong, but not showy.
Just right….
The two words whispered across my mind before I could stop them.
I cleared my throat and quickly averted my eyes to the counter.
“Oh, I can make my own sandwich,” I offered when I saw that all the fixings were already set out, including mayonnaise, pickles, Havarti cheese, lettuce, and sliced tomatoes.
Ravik’s eyes slit, and Boone chuckled. “Not in this house, you can’t. Maybe when you get your own place. But for now, I’d just tell Vik if you prefer ham, turkey, or roast beef on your sandwich.”
“Oh, turkey’s fine,” I answered. “And I just want hummus.”
