Was it wrong of him to choose briefs he’d love to see Noah wear? Or drop to the floor? He also picked up a pair of sturdy hiking boots, along with deodorant, razors, and other things Noah might need.
Slade made his first appointment with five minutes to spare. A young man barely in his twenties looked up when Slade walked in. A million different scents assaulted his nose: sweat, leather from the chairs, various hair products, and a few things he couldn’t name. For a moment, he imagined himself with Noah’s heightened senses. But nope. This place would make Noah’s eyes water.
And Noah’s ears might bleed from the loud screaming passing itself off as music.
“Good evening. I think we talked on the phone, right?” This guy’s jeans were so tight Slade’s balls ached in sympathy.
Slade nodded at the barely-out-of-high-school guy with a pierced eyebrow, dangling earrings, and hair a bright shade of not-found-in-nature red.
“My last appointment left early,” the guy said, “so we can get started.” He ran his gaze up and down Slade’s body. “And not a moment too soon. Tell me, what are we doing?”
What exactly did Slade want? He should have asked more about Noah’s likes and dislikes. But no, he had to do this for himself. No more hiding behind a mask. “Haircut, something simple, lose the beard.”
“Yes!” The young man pumped his fist into the air. “Hallelujah, there is a God!”
What? “It’s not that bad, is it?”
“Do you see a lot of kids during the day?”
“Well, no.” Especially not in Slade’s line of work.
“For reasons. Right now, you’re the scary biker mamas use to threaten their kids. But, with your eyes and cheekbones, I’m thinking we can find sexy biker under there somewhere. Now…” He waved a hand toward a red chair—a perfect match for his hair—surrounded on three sides by mirrors.
Slade sat.
“By the way, I’m Brad.” Brad hummed and aahed around the chair a few times, stroking his narrow chin. “First things first. Shampoo bowl.”
Brad chatted nonstop while shampooing Slade, an endless list of names of people who’d pissed him off and their offenses. He finally towel dried Slade’s hair and returned him to the chair. “I mean, the nerve of the woman!”
“Wait a minute, weren’t you talking about your mother?”
“Oh, honey, do keep up. Mom was three topics ago.”
Slade watched in the mirror as Brad clipped and prattled on, dropping thick, long hanks of hair onto the floor. “There. We’ve got the length off; now I can work my magic.”
This time, whirring clippers drowned out much of the one-sided conversation until Brad set them down, giving Slade a critical eye. “Finally, I can get to work on the beard. Gone, short and stylish, or a bit of sexy scruff?”
Slade wouldn’t dare say, “Make it sex-friendly.” Better not go too extreme. Easier to cut hair than grow it back. “Short.”
Brad winked in the mirror. “Good choice. Scruff is too hard to maintain, and as long as you’ve had your beard, your face would be different colors if you shave.”
More clipping, shaving Slade’s neck, and Brad stepped back, letting out a low whistle. “Oh, I see bar fights in your future when all the women are looking at you instead of their men. The face that could launch a thousand beer bottles.”
Slade stared into the mirror at a face he hadn’t seen much of in years. More lines around the eyes, but Brad told the truth. Slade did look better. Felt better too. What would Noah think?
“Sometimes, I even amaze myself,” Brad said, giving a deep bow. “You look younger. The length of your hair and beard made you look grayer than you are.” He held his fingers to Slade’s temples, measuring the length. “We could add some color…”
“No. I don’t need color.” Hell, getting used to a haircut and a beard trim was enough of a change for now. “How much do I owe you?”
Brad followed Slade to the register at the front of the salon. “I should pay you for the privilege of removing Sasquatch”—Brad scrunched his face and shivered—“but…” He swept his gaze over the piles of hair on the floor. “Cleanup will take a while. Your wife or girlfriend is gonna love your new look.”
Not a wife or girlfriend Slade wanted to please. “Boyfriend.” Well, Noah was sort of his boyfriend, anyway.
Brad exaggerated wide eyes. “Oh, dear. I had a real live gay man in my chair and didn’t even flirt? What would my friends say? I’ll lose my reputation.” He batted his lashes. “Can I call you Daddy?”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Slade paid, adding a generous tip, and strode out to his bike. His head felt lighter, his neck cold without the built-in insulation he’d worn for so long. His helmet fit funny.
Two stops down, now for the third.
