“Bodhi,” I said, jumping back. “Focus. Clumps, remember?”
“Yeah, okay but don’t shampoo me like that then.”
“Like what?” my fingers returned to his locks, kneading his scalp in a circular motion.
“All erotically and shit.”
“I shampoo everyone this way.”
“And your clients don’t have multiple orgasm per day?”
“Not that I’m aware of, no.”
Bodhi spent the next couple minutes of my sexually charged head massage moaning seductively under his breath, and every celebrity fantasy I’d ever harbored seemed to be coming true. It took everything in my power not to climb on top of him again. Did he know what he was doing to me? Did he care?
It wasn’t until I had him back at my workstation that my professionalism kicked in. I went to work on Bodhi’s signature mane, clipping it short and tapering up the sides. I left some length on the top so he could wear it slicked back, messy all over, or spiked to the heavens. Streaks of caramel blended seamlessly into his dark locks, subtle enough to give his hair texture and shine without making an overt statement.
When I was finally done, I swung Bodhi’s chair to face the mirror. Getting the first view of his newly chopped hair, his eyes bulged. “What the…?” He tugged at the strands. “I don’t even look like me.”
A flush of panic gripped my insides. He hated it. Oh god.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rushing to force more words of apology passed the lump in my throat. Bodhi probably had a high-end stylist. Why had I ever thought I could compete with that? “I wanted you to look at the style first but you told me to surprise you… so… umsurprise.”
“Relax, Breeze,” he said, angling the hand mirror to check himself in different angles. “It’s a sick haircut. I love it.”
“You do?”
Grabbing my hand, he pulled me to him for a kiss. “I do. Thank you.”
I pretended to faint on top of him. “You scared the heck out of me. I thought you were going to be so pissed.”
“Of course not. Even if I hated it I wouldn’t have been pissed. After what happened last night, I’m done sweating over the small stuff.”
“I like your thinking.”
“Yeah?” He stared up at me with an irresistibly sexy smile.
“Yeah,” I whispered back, twirling a strand of my own hair because I just honestly didn’t know what to do with myself in the vicinity of such hotness.
“Breeze?” The smile on his face faded.
“Yes?”
“I know this is a horrible thing for me to ask, but can I borrow some money? I promise I’ll pay you back with interest.”
A multi-millionaire was asking me for money? What had the world come to? “What do you need money for?”
“Uh, clothes, of course. I’m not meeting my mother looking like Richard Simmons.” He pulled at the fabric of his loaner wardrobe. “Neiman-Marcus or Macy’s will be fine.”
I coughed out a laugh. As if. “Yeah, that’s a little rich for my blood. You need to shop like the penniless dead guy you are. I have just the store for you.”
* * *
We had to drive to an adjacent town to find a discount clothing store that wasn’t closed.
As I parked, Bodhi examined the sign over the store. “Marshalls? Is it a men’s store?”
“It’s an everything store.”
