Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men #9)(77)

I blinked rapidly, feeling utterly schooled and kind of small for having lived so much of my life according to complete strangers who knew nothing about me but hated me anyway.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, pulling back so I could look up into his face. “Where the hell have you been all my life?” And why had no one helped me really see this before?

He grinned and leaned in to kiss me. “I’ve been looking for you, baby doll.”

This feeling of contentment expanded inside my chest until it felt so big and full I thought it might burst right out of me. I stared up at Colton, not sure if he had any idea what he was doing to me right now. I kind of hoped not because I wasn’t too sure if I wanted him knowing quite that much.

When his smile turned from affectionate to amused, he leaned up to flick his finger at the top knot of my head scarf. “Okay, I gotta know. What is this thing?”

I scowled and patted my head to make sure he hadn’t dislodged anything. “It’s my hair wrap. Duh.”

“Hair wrap,” he repeated curiously. “Do you wear it every night?”

“Of course.” I stared at him as if he were insane. But how the hell did he not know about hair wraps? “What’s wrong with it?”

When I arched my eyebrow challengingly, he lifted both hands in surrender. “Not a damn thing. I think it’s f*cking adorable. But doesn’t it bother you? I think it’d bother the shit out of me to sleep with something on my head.”

“I’ve slept with something on my head for as long as I can remember, so…no. Doesn’t bother me.”

“Cool,” he murmured in awe, still gazing at my wrap and reaching up to tweak the top knot again.

I slapped his hand away but then ruined the stern reprimand with a giggle. “Will you stop?”

“I can’t help it. It’s so cute.”

“Oh my God, you’re impossible. It’s not meant to be cute. It’s to keep my hair on my head.”

He snickered. “Where exactly do you think it’s going to run off to?”

“Lord have mercy.” I rolled my eyes, realizing he needed some educating. “I have extremely dry hair. In fact, I can only wash it once a week or it’ll break off until there were only about four frazzled strands left. Plus, I iron it, which dries it out even more. So I have to condition and wrap it—in silk, mind you because cotton draws out the moisture which would dry it even more—every night to keep it as healthy as possible.”

“Really? Huh, I had no idea. I have to wash my hair every morning or it’s a f*cking grease pit.” His gaze wandered over my scarf again. “You know, I could just rub my head against yours and give you some of my—”

When he tipped his head to the side and tried to buff his hair against my shoulder, I screeched out a laugh and shoved him away. “Eww. No!” Even though I knew his hair was nowhere near the eww stage yet, it was fun to pretend disgust.

He laughed and tried to share his hair oils with me again. “Hold still. I think I almost got enough for you.”

“Oh, that’s sick. You are so sick.” I planted my hand on his face to keep him from getting closer just as his phone dinged with an incoming message.

We both froze, our grins dropping.

“That might be Noel,” he said, straightening as he reached for his phone.

If his brother needed him, I knew he’d have to go. I swallowed, greedily hoping his brother didn’t need him.

A second after he read the message, his shoulders relaxed. “It was just my sister, Caroline,” he reported. “She went over tonight and helped with the kids.” He turned the screen to me so I could read what his sister had typed.





I began to smile, glad his sister-in-law had experienced a good night. A second later, Caroline messaged him with another text that popped up while he was still letting me read the first.





I blinked. “A chainsaw?”

“What?” He turned the screen to himself, only to grin. “Oh, sweet. I was having no luck.” As he typed out a reply, I stared at him.

“Do I even want to know why you and your sister talk about chainsaws?”

“Hmm?” He glanced up, only to say, “Oh,” and shrug. “We’re Viners.”

To me, that explained nothing. So I stared at him longer. “You’re…what-ers?”

“I’m a Viner.” He set the phone down and gave me an odd look. “Don’t you have the Vine app?”

“No. Sorry. What’s the Vine app?”

His mouth fell open. “You don’t…wait, you don’t even know what Vine is? How is that possible?”

“Hey,” I muttered, “you didn’t know what a hair wrap was.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll explain. Vine is just another social media sharing service, this one for short three-to-seven second videos. People use it to post pranks, music, journalism crap, comedy, political stuff and shit like that. My profile is strictly comedy skits. Actually, it’s not just my page. My sister, Caroline, and I share it. She learned a bunch of neat editing tricks in college and taught me some, so a year ago when I got started in it, I asked her for a little help, and…” He rolled his eyes. “You know sisters. She butted her way in until we were splitting the page, fifty-fifty.”