The Bride Test(37)

Moving to stand behind him, she said, “I’m starting.”

“Okay.”

But just like before, she had difficulty making the first move. He couldn’t see her from here. What if she surprised him and ruined this whole thing before it began?

She held her left hand by his ear. “Can you put my hand in your hair?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, gave her a puzzled smile, and pressed her hand to his hair before facing forward again.

Her motions were tentative at first, but she gained confidence with every snip of the scissors. She gathered his hair between her fingers, taking care to keep the tension tight, cut, and smoothed her fingers over his scalp before gathering more hair. Over and over, she did this, and before long, the rhythmic nature of it relaxed her as much as it did him.

She trimmed the back and sides and ended up in front of him. With a last snip of the scissors, dark hair floated to the kitchen floor. She took a step back to assess her work, widening her focus to take in more than just his hair, and the transformation made her gasp. He’d been good-looking before. This was too much.

The short haircut opened up his face, showing off his strong features to full advantage. Girls were going to throw themselves at him. Starting with her, if she wasn’t careful.

“How is it?” he asked.

Making sure to keep her touches firm, she tugged on the strands to see if the lengths were even on both sides. “It’s good.” Tapping the handle of the scissors on her jaw, she let a smile sneak onto her lips. “I’m good.”

He dug his cell phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to her. “Take a picture for Vy, please. She’s the hair police.”

Esme took pictures from several different angles, but before returning the phone to him, she sent her favorite one to herself. “She’s going to like it.”

He scratched at his neck where small hairs stuck to his skin as he sent the same picture to his sister. “We’ll see.”

She got the broom and dustpan and had half of the hair on the floor swept up when his phone buzzed. Chuckling, he showed her the text messages on his screen.

Finally!

Who cut it? Tip 50%!


My baby brother is a hottie!!!

“I guess she approves,” he said.

Esme grinned. “I told you she’d like it.”

“Thank you.” He returned her smile, and it was one of his rare real smiles that wrinkled his eyes, dimpled his cheeks, and revealed even white teeth.

Sky and earth, she wanted to taste that smile. And each of those dimples. Pure wanting speared through her body on electric currents, making the fine hairs on her skin stand up, and she almost swayed toward him. If she was better at being Esme in Accounting, would he want her back?

His smile dimmed. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Without taking time to think, she answered, “I want to kiss you.”

When she heard the words fall from her mouth, a furious blush heated her cheeks, and she spun around and busied herself emptying the dustpan into the garbage. Why had she said that? Why?

He approached her. “Esme …”

She stepped around him and swept up the rest of the hair on the floor. “Sorry. Forget I said that.” She dumped everything in the garbage again and hurried to return the broom to the closet. “When do you want to go to Cal Berkeley?”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, he said, “We can go after I eat something and shower again, I guess.”

“Okay, I’ll get ready.” She limped toward the hallway.

“Wait, aren’t you hungry?”

Not for food. “No, thank you, Anh.”

“I’ll get you when it’s time to go, then,” he said as he ran his hands through his newly short hair.

“Take your time.”

She’d just be in her room, trying not to think about him.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN



As Khai drove Esme to Berkeley, he couldn’t get her confession out of his head.

She wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to kiss her back.

But he couldn’t.

You kissed a woman if you wanted to date her and have a relationship, if you wanted to love and be loved in return, if you could love. If you kissed a woman when you couldn’t deliver on the rest, you were an asshole. It was better to jack off in the shower.

He wished that was an option. Ever since Esme had come into his life, he was in a constant state of arousal, and there was no relief—except for what happened by accident in his sleep. To date, he’d had to get up four times in the middle of the night and change his boxers. It was embarrassing as fuck. Like being twelve again. And his dreams always involved her. Always. Half the time, they involved her Hammer pants, too.

It had been a while since he’d seen those particular pants. Currently, she wore a pair of blue jeans that looked like they’d been painted onto her legs. He didn’t care for denim himself, but he wouldn’t have minded running his palms along her thighs. For someone who didn’t like touching, he spent an awful lot of time fantasizing about it.

When they reached campus, he parked as close as was humanly possible to the registrar’s office, and they walked down the road together. More accurately, he walked. She limped.

“The doctor should have given you crutches.” Instead of his phone number. Opportunistic bastard. “How are you feeling? Do you need help?”