Page 63 of Cheap Heat

I looked around helplessly at my living room.

What was happening?

Was he just… here? Was this it for the rest of the day? He was just going to be in my house? Looking like that? While I still had to remember throwing myself at him the night before?

That was so fucking unfair.

I stood and walked cautiously over to the kitchen door, then watched him in silence as he opened a few cabinets before finally locating the glasses. He’d thrown out all the takeout trash. I noticed, because I hated mess.

Realising that if he turned around, I would once again be cementing my status as lechy peeping Tom by just standing here and staring at him, I took a deep breath and stepped stiltedly into the kitchen.

“Uh, thanks for the food.” I gestured at the hair dye stuff on the floor when he looked over his shoulder as he filled the glasses at the sink. “But uh, like you said, I should probably get the toner on…”

He nodded, gulping down water as he turned to face me. “Sure. I’ll help.”

I laughed awkwardly, assuming he was joking, but it trailed off when he set down the glasses and rounded the island to crouch by the hair products.

“What?” I asked stupidly.

“Got gloves? Ah, here they are.” He reached for the box. When he stood a few seconds later, snapping on a pair of black latex gloves, I was still just standing there like an idiot.

My stomach grew jittery when he looked at me, gloved hands on his hips. Why… why was that hot? They were just latex gloves. What was wrong with me? Was I really that horny for him?

Why did it have to be him?

“I’m… fine doing it myself,” I said slowly. “Thanks.”

“Better if someone else does it though, right?” He crouched again to grab the toner and grinned up at me. “You know I’ll do a better job than you, kitten.”

I stiffened at that stupid pet name again. I hated how my stomach went all weird every time he said it.

“Uh, no, I don’t know that.” I gestured at his stupid head of stupid, long, perfectly glossy and healthy, stupid blond hair. “You don’t do anything to your hair.”

“No, but I used to be a hair stylist.”

I gawked at him in shock. “What? Really?”

“Uh-huh.” He gestured at the towel he was kneeling beside. “Take a seat, handsome.”

Not sure what was going on or why I was going along with it, I found myself slowly sinking onto the towel with my back to him.

“Don’t… don’t fuck up my hair,” I croaked, wetting my lips nervously.

He snorted. “It’s toner, kitten. How bad could I fuck up even if I didn’t know what I was doing?”

I parted my lips to once again tell him not to call me that, but my breath hitched when I felt strong fingers gently pull my damp hair over my shoulders. They brushed against my neck, and I prayed to fucking god that he didn’t notice the way my skin pebbled from the brief touch.

Fuck.

This had been a mistake.

Chapter Seventeen

Don’t Call Me That (Except Please Do)

Rafe

This day was turning out so fucking weird.