Page 15 of Made for Mayhem

“Right now?”

She shrugged. “Do you have other plans tonight?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I thought about the empty apartment waiting for me. About packing boxes. About the absolute nothingness waiting for me tomorrow.

“No,” I said finally.

Her eyes sparkled. “Then what’s the problem?”

I looked down at the table, then back at her. “You realize this is my face.”

“And?” she said. “Beards grow back. I’m not pressuring you—you can say no. But that’s the dare.”

I huffed out a laugh and reached for my wallet, pulling out cash and dropping it on the table. “You’re unbelievable.”

She hopped out of the booth, practically bouncing from foot to foot. “So, are we doing it?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered, sliding out after her.

She grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the door. The night air hit us like a reset button—cool, sharp, and buzzing with city noise. Daisy bounced ahead of me on the sidewalk, hands shoved into her jean pockets, almost vibrating with excitement.

“I just want you to know,” she said over her shoulder, “this is already my favorite dare I’ve ever given.”

“You say that like this is a regular occurrence.”

She grinned. “You’d be surprised.”

We stopped at a corner drugstore, fluorescent lights humming overhead. I held the door for her, and she shot me a pleased look on her way in.

Inside, I headed straight for the grooming aisle, grabbing a beard trimmer, a pack of disposable razors, and shaving cream like I’d done this a hundred times before—which I had, just never for this reason.

Daisy leaned against the shelf, arms crossed, watching me like this was the most entertaining thing she’d seen all week.

“You sure?” I asked, holding up the trimmer one last time.

She nodded, those blue eyes alight with joy. “Oh, hell yeah.”

I snorted and headed for the register, paying without thinking too hard about it. It was just hair, and I’d already decided I was going to shave tonight. It wasn’t like I couldn’t shave the mustache off the moment I got home.

The men’s restroom was empty, thankfully. I locked the door behind me and stared at my reflection, trimmer heavy in my hand.

What the hell are you doing?

I pictured Daisy’s grin, how she’d dared me without hesitation. She looked at me like this spontaneous, fun version of myself already existed. And dammit if I didn’t like that.

I turned the trimmer on.

The first pass sent dark hair tumbling into the sink. I paused, breath catching, and watched it slide toward the drain like evidence. Years of habit. Of sameness. Of being exactly who everyone expected me to be.

I kept going.

The beard fell away in uneven clumps, exposing skin that hadn’t seen the light in a long time. With every pass, something loosened in my chest. Like I was carving away more than hair, shedding weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying.

When I shut the trimmer off, the sink was a mess and my reflection looked…different.

Lighter.

I cleaned up the edges with a razor, careful and precise, until all that remained was the mustache. Bold. Unapologetic. A statement, just like Daisy had said.