He obeyed, dropping into the chair, stiff as a board. His shoulders were high enough to graze his ears. After our earlier chat, I knew the tension wasn’t about me. He just needed something, anything, to drag him out of his thoughts.
“What can I do for you today, sir?”
He pushed a hand through his unstyled hair, the strands falling right back across his forehead. “Uh... a smoky eye, I guess. And something to hide the bags.”
I nodded and grabbed a colour-correcting concealer. “Right. So, more gothic shadow daddy, less tired emo boy.”
Bodhi blinked. “The fuck is a shadow daddy?”
Riff barked out a laugh. “The moody, broody guy in books who fucks women with shadow tentacles. Chicks dig it.”
Bodhi and I both turned to stare at him.
“How doyouknow what a shadow daddy is?” I asked.
Riff shrugged, still strumming. “I’ve read smut before. I’m cultured.”
“As cultured as bacteria,” Bodhi deadpanned.
Riff flipped him the bird and went back to playing, and I turned my attention to Bodhi.
“Ready?”
He nodded, and I got to work. We fell into silence. Not awkward, not heavy. Just... easy. I watched the stiffness gradually bleed out of his shoulders as I primed his eyelids, preparing them for the black shadow I planned to lay down.
A glance around the room told me Riff and Mick were busy, Thump and Ghost were still MIA, and Clara had vanished to continue her crusade of keeping a multi-city tour from collapsing into chaos.
“This takes me back,” I murmured, softly blending the black pigment into the crease of Bodhi’s eyelid.
He sat perfectly still, as if carved from marble. Like something you’d see in the Louvre if they specialised in beautiful, emotionally complicated rock stars.
“At least this time,” he said, “I know you’re not threatening me when you talk about beating my face.”
I huffed out a laugh, using a baby wipe to brush away a light dusting of black powder from his cheek. “This face is too pretty to punch.” I tapped his cheek with the handle of my brush. “Though I’ll admit, I was tempted when you pretended not to know me.”
“I would’ve deserved it,” he muttered, a small crease forming between his brows.
I smoothed it with my fingertip. “Water under the bridge,” I whispered.
When Bodhi opened his eyes, I sucked in a breath. His irises were shockingly blue, like oceans caught in a storm, and for one reckless moment, I was drowning. His warm breath ghosted across my lips, and that’s when I realised that I’d leaned in much, much closer than necessary to apply eyeshadow.
Clearing my throat, I snapped upright and tucked a strand of pink hair behind my ear. Bodhi’s cheeks had gone faintly red; he bit his lower lip as he watched me dig through my kit for a yellow concealer. My fingers fumbled, overeager, and the bottle slipped from my grip.
“Fuck,” I hissed, bending to grab it.
Unfortunately, Bodhi bent at the same time, and our heads collided with a dullthunk. I landed on my ass, mortified.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Shit, are you okay?” Bodhi crouched in front of me, handoutstretched like he wasn’t sure whether to help or cradle my skull.
“Try not to kill the new MUA on his first day,” Riff called without looking up, and Bodhi rolled his eyes.
I slid my hand into his and let him pull me up. “Sorry about that,” I said, laughing too loudly, too brightly, trying to brush off the embarrassment prickling up my neck.
“How’s your head?” he asked, voice threaded with real concern.
“Never had any complaints.” I added an exaggerated wink for good measure.
