In the Stylist’s Chair
The salon was quiet for early afternoon. It was a nice little place, had an upscale feel with wood laminate floors throughout, cool pastels at least I think they were pastels. The walls weren’t white, I was sure about that.
A receptions desk sat empty save for the phone and an open appointment book, the waiting area to my left was cozy with comfy overstuffed chairs and the latest hair magazines.
The soft squeak of shoes drew my attention. A woman, dressed in a royal blue top and low rise jeans offered me a smile.
“You must be W. Lynn, come on back.”
I followed her around the small partition to her styling chair. I have a love/hate thing with these chairs. On one hand I like spinning around, on the other that little metal footrest…well that’s the hate part.
“Can you talk while you work.”
“Oh sure.” She shrugs into a black smock, then looks at my hair. “Your ends are horrible.”
“Just trim them please.”
She rolls her eyes. “I am not one of those scissor happy stylist who mistakes a trim for a cut.”
I settled in the chair and was draped in a cape to protect my clothes. “How did you meet Zach?”
“A mutual friend, then he asked if I would braid his hair and well the rest sorta went from there.”
“So you’ve been attracted to him for a while now?”
“Can you blame me?” She caught my eye in the mirror. “I mean the man is just made for sex. All those muscles and his hands. And his lips.”
That’s right, her quest was to find the best orgasm. “Did you retire b.o.b.”
She giggles. “Not entirely. Zach has some pretty inventive ways to use…uh b.o.b.”
“And what about your ex?”
“What about him?” The easy manner she had a moment ago vanished and she attacks my ends with a vengeance.
“A trim. Just a trim.”
“Oh sorry. That man is the worst human being imaginable. Taking pictures without my permission. I hope he drops the soap.”
Okay, she hates her ex. Stay away from that topic, especially if I want to keep my hair. “Have you and Zach been able to work things out since that whole photo snafu?”
“It’s been rough, and I’m still upset about that. I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive him yet.”
Uh oh, that might be a problem. “Does that mean you’re talking to him or not?”
“He sends flowers and candy, but I haven’t seen him in minute.” She chuckles. “Don’t look so panicked. The readers will have a happy ending.”
I hope so. The last thing I need in my inbox are a bunch of angry letters.
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