Tragic

I sigh.

This is a lucky break. A total lucky break.

And even though I'm pretty sure I can handle the hot and cold water at the shampoo station, I'm going to be sweet and smile for Ronin as he explains these things to me like I'm an idiot. I can do that. And then I can ditch him and eat my leftover breakfast from Cookie's and spend a nice quiet evening watching TV alone.

Ahhhhhh… I let out a nice long breath and smile. I almost feel normal.

I slip my feet into my old Converse sneakers and head to the studio. Totally ready for shampoo station training. The weather outside is so perfect and the concrete is a bit damp, like it rained last night. I didn't hear any rain, but I was pretty dead to the world. The sweet scent of cherry blossoms wafts in the crosswind and even though there are all sorts of cars and people making noise and commotion down on the street, these trees cancel it all out. They make me feel like I'm walking across an orchard out in the country.

Inside the studio is bright and cheery and when I round the corner into the salon, Ronin's mood seems to match the atmosphere of the room. "Nice," he says.

I raise my eyebrows at him. Did he just use a player word on me? Ugh… how can such a good-looking guy be so irritating? "OK, I'm ready. Lay it on me, please explain all the technical details of how the hot and cold water handles work."

He grins. "You think it's easy, don't you? That shampooing doesn't require skill."

"Oh, I'm sure it does, but am I buying your whole I'm-an-expert-in-shampooing-stations act? No. But proceed. Teach me all I need to know about sinks."

"I think you've misunderstood, Rook. I'm not here to teach you how to use the sink. I'm going to teach you how to give a great shampoo."

I laugh. "OK, I'll ignore the fact that you specifically said hot and cold water and detangler earlier, but I've been shampooing my own rather lengthy, high-maintenance hair for a while now. I'm pretty sure I can handle it."

"But have you ever shampooed a man's hair? Huh? Because we have male models who need a shampoo here and Elise usually does her own shampoos. She's quite good at it, I hear, so they will be expecting the same treatment from you."

Is he for real? I look for the smirk that says he's joking but I can't find it. "O-kaaaaaay," I say, drawing out the last syllable.

"So I'm going to show you how to give a Chaput Studios-worthy shampoo and then I'll test you and see if you've got it down."

"Test me how?"

"You can do me after I do you."

Again I look for the grin that will let me know he's playing around, but there is no hint of innuendo there. He seems serious. I frown. "We're going to shampoo each other's hair? Like a Gidget sleepover from the Sixties?"

This cracks his facade for a moment and he squints his eyes at me. "A what?"

"Please," I beg in an exaggerated manner, "do not tell me you're ignorant of Gidget? I might have to walk out."

"Do you buy it in the App Store?" he asks innocently.

A laugh puffs out through my cheeks and I smile, because this is just too much. "No," I say, shaking my head. "And since you're clueless, you get to be Larue."

He shrugs like he could care less and points to the chair. "I do you first."

And there it is. Just as I'm turning away to sit down, I catch it. The smirk.

He is totally messing with me.

I sink into the soft leather chair and relax back against the sink. My eyes want to close immediately because this position is like a relaxation trigger. I never went to the salon much back in Chicago, but I went enough to know that Ronin is right—the shampoo comes with expectations. Elise certainly delivered the other day with me because I was willing to forget all my troubles for a few moments in her care.

Ronin gathers my hair and turns the water on. He messes around to get the correct temperature and stays silent, which makes this whole thing on the edge of awkward. "So," I begin. "Are you a certified shampooer?"

"I'm a total professional, Rook."

"Is that right?"

"Mmmm," he says as the warm water runs over the crown of my head and tickles me.

"Most professionals would put that little bib thing on their clients, though. Right?"

"Only the ones who plan on getting their clients wet."

"So… you don't plan on getting me wet?"

He chokes down a laugh. "Be good, Gidget, or I'll have to spank you." The water stops and I smell coconuts. He rubs his hands together and lifts my wet hair from the basin, massaging the sweet-smelling soap into the longest strands first.

"I used to be blonde, ya know. In my other life."

"Huh," he says.

"What?"

"I can't see you as blonde at all. What idiot made you do that?"

"Why would someone wanting me blonde make them an idiot?" And more importantly, I ask myself, why did he suspect I was forced so quickly?

"Because you're probably the most perfect natural beauty I've ever seen, so anyone who wanted you to have blonde hair was looking to ruin you."

"Yeah, you're probably right about that."

He stops the massage on the ends of my hair. "I'm probably right? Or I am right?"

I shrug as he takes his fingertips to my scalp. His touch has just the right amount of pressure and he rubs my skin in small circles, starting from my temples and moving back down my head, and then under my neck.