Like The Wind

by Bengtsson, J.

  He chuckled. “I beg to differ. My car, my rules.”

  “No. Your stolen car equals no rules. I get fifty percent of the radio play.”

  He stared at me for an exaggerated minute before executing the most pathetic whine imaginable. “Breeze, don’t do this to me.”

  “Oh, it’s on, Buddy. I already have an entire playlist ready to go.”

  “Alright then. Two can play this game. I hope you like Justin Bieber.”

  I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Watch me.”

  Bodhi and me stood firm in our pissing match until both of us dissolved into laughter.

  “Dammit! I knew you were too good to be true. Country music, really?” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Ahh. You think I’m too good to be true? Thank you.”

  “Did… as in past tense.”

  “Oh, okay, well I guess our road trip won’t feature any rest area booty calls for you then.”

  “Nothing would make me happier than not having sex with you at a nasty-ass truck stop.”

  He had a point there. I patted my chair. “Whatever. Sit and let me make you look pretty.”

  Bodhi plopped down into my chair, a smile still gracing his handsome face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing. You’re fun.”

  Our eyes met in the mirror and, in that moment, I knew there was more to us than one night…one event.

  “So,” I cleared my throat still a bit shell shocked by the connection I felt for him. “Is that how it happens? You see or hear something that inspires you to write?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Have any of your songs made it on albums?”

  “Yes, but not in the way they were intended to sound.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I just hear them differently in my head. Softer. Acoustic. But by the time the powers that be get their hands on it, the song becomes something I don’t recognize.”

  “And you don’t like that?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I like.”

  “Sure it does. It’s your song.”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Bodhi said, brows drawn together. “People expect me to be a certain way even though it’s not really who I am. I’ve been playing a part for so long, sometimes I don’t know where the character ends and I begin.”

  “And you’re hoping this trip might answer some questions for you.”

  He nodded, but it was a cautious gesture. “That’s why I have to find her. I need to know where I come from. Why she left.”

  I understood his pain better than he knew. “My father left me too. It’s not easy knowing you weren’t important enough for them to stick around.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “But, I think some people just aren’t mature enough to nurture a tiny soul, and maybe I was better off not having him in my life.”

  “That’s what scares me most about meeting my mother. I’ve played her up so much in my mind that it will be near impossible for her to live up to expectation.”

  It didn’t take a clairvoyant to read the future for Bodhi and based on my own experience, I feared he was in for a massive disappointment. If his mother had stayed out of his life for this long, there was a reason, and it probably wasn’t a good one.

  “Okay,” I said, changing the tone. There was no room for heavy conversation in the middle of a makeover. “Let me show you the style I had in mind.”

  He settled back into the chair, appearing completely comfortable with the idea of my chopping off his iconic hair.

  “Here,” I said holding up a picture on my phone. Bodhi diverted his eyes before he got a look at the hip new style I was suggesting.

  “No. I want to be surprised.”

  When it came to new hairstyles, surprise was never a good idea. Although, with Bodhi’s strong facial features he could pull off just about anything.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be pissed if you don’t like it.”

  “I told you Breeze, I trust you.”

  And shockingly, I believed he meant every word.

  * * *

  I spent the following thirty minutes bleaching strips of blond into his naturally dark brown locks. Although his strands were free from highlights at the moment, Bodhi was no stranger to color as he related to me in hilarious detail. His hair had been all shades of the rainbow during his rise to fame and he had old pictures of himself on the internet to prove it.

  We chatted effortlessly throughout the process and I realized that this easy camaraderie had been lacking on the few dates I’d had since my break up. Despite our vastly different lives, we were just a guy and a girl finding our way in an upside-down world.

  “Okay, let’s get you to the sink,” I said, absently running my fingernails the length of his neck. Why I felt comfortable enough to touch him with such confidence, I didn’t know. I just was. From the look of lust in Bodhi’s smoldering eyes, he didn’t mind.

  A few miles away, the fire continued to tear its way through the coastal mountain range, yet even that roaring inferno wasn’t as hot as the intensity between us. Bodhi grabbed my hand, pulling me into his lap and, as it had been earlier, we were all over each other again. Our mouths collided, lips working furiously as our tongues danced to the beat of a pop-country song. Nimble fingers slid under my shirt while I cradled his face, rocking against him.

  “Oh god, this is… are you sure no one will come by?” he asked, hands poised at the tiny hooks on my bra.

  “No, not sure at all.”

  “What about the window? Do you think people can see in?”

  The entire front of the salon was a giant window. “Yes. It’s glass, which is typically see-through in both directions.”

  Bodhi’s laughed died when I ground my center against his burgeoning erection. Then an image popped into my head of his fried hair falling out in clumps at my feet.

  “What about the bleach?” I asked, enthralled by the hand that had mercifully appeared between my legs.

  “Fuck the bleach.”

  “Okay,” I panted, so far out of control that I wouldn’t even have cared if Hugh walked through the door with the final rose. “Fuck the bleach.”

  “Although,” he hesitated. “What exactly will happen if it stays in for too long?”

  I dipped my hand into his yoga pants. “Your hair will fall out.”

  It was then that we came to our senses and laughed at the absurdity.

  Nudging me forward, he adjusted his erection. “Sorry, Breeze. You lost me at clumps.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  Untangling our limbs, I hopped to my feet, and ushered Bodhi to the shampoo bowl. Once he was in the reclining chair, getting him to focus proved difficult. His hand slid to the back of my leg as I worked my fingers gently through his hair. And then that talented mouth clamped down on my nipple through the thin fabric of my shirt.

  “Bodhi,” I said, jumping back. “Focus. Clumps, remember?”

  “Yeah, okay but don’t shampoo me like that then.”

  “Like what?” my fingers returned to his locks, kneading his scalp in a circular motion.

  “All erotically and shit.”

  “I shampoo everyone this way.”

  “And your clients don’t have multiple orgasm per day?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, no.”

  Bodhi spent the next couple minutes of my sexually charged head massage moaning seductively under his breath, and every celebrity fantasy I’d ever harbored seemed to be coming true. It took everything in my power not to climb on top of him again. Did he know what he was doing to me? Did he care?

  It wasn’t until I had him back at my workstation that my professionalism kicked in. I went to work on Bodhi’s signature mane, clipping it short and tapering up the sides. I left some length on the top so he could wear it slicked back, messy all over, or spiked to the heavens. Streaks of caramel blende
d seamlessly into his dark locks, subtle enough to give his hair texture and shine without making an overt statement.

  When I was finally done, I swung Bodhi’s chair to face the mirror. Getting the first view of his newly chopped hair, his eyes bulged. “What the…?” He tugged at the strands. “I don’t even look like me.”

  A flush of panic gripped my insides. He hated it. Oh god.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, rushing to force more words of apology passed the lump in my throat. Bodhi probably had a high-end stylist. Why had I ever thought I could compete with that? “I wanted you to look at the style first but you told me to surprise you… so… um surprise.”

  “Relax, Breeze,” he said, angling the hand mirror to check himself in different angles. “It’s a sick haircut. I love it.”

  “You do?”

  Grabbing my hand, he pulled me to him for a kiss. “I do. Thank you.”

  I pretended to faint on top of him. “You scared the heck out of me. I thought you were going to be so pissed.”

  “Of course not. Even if I hated it I wouldn’t have been pissed. After what happened last night, I’m done sweating over the small stuff.”

  “I like your thinking.”

  “Yeah?” He stared up at me with an irresistibly sexy smile.

  “Yeah,” I whispered back, twirling a strand of my own hair because I just honestly didn’t know what to do with myself in the vicinity of such hotness.

  “Breeze?” The smile on his face faded.

  “Yes?”

  “I know this is a horrible thing for me to ask, but can I borrow some money? I promise I’ll pay you back with interest.”

  A multi-millionaire was asking me for money? What had the world come to? “What do you need money for?”

  “Uh, clothes, of course. I’m not meeting my mother looking like Richard Simmons.” He pulled at the fabric of his loaner wardrobe. “Neiman-Marcus or Macy’s will be fine.”

  I coughed out a laugh. As if. “Yeah, that’s a little rich for my blood. You need to shop like the penniless dead guy you are. I have just the store for you.”

  * * *

  We had to drive to an adjacent town to find a discount clothing store that wasn’t closed.

  As I parked, Bodhi examined the sign over the store. “Marshalls? Is it a men’s store?”

  “It’s an everything store.”

  “Like Macy’s?”

  “Um…sure,” I lied. “Like Macy’s.”

  I grabbed the hoodie I’d packed for him. Bodhi had lost interest in Marshalls and was again marveling at his transformation in the rearview mirror.

  “Here, put this on and cover your head.”

  He scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “First, I don’t want to mess up the do’ and second, that sweatshirt’s baby blue.”

  “So?”

  “And it’s a woman’s cut. Not a chance I’m putting that on. I draw the line at Twilight attire. Besides, no one’s going to recognize me with shit clothes and short hair.”

  “I didn’t give you a face transplant. It won’t take much for you to be recognized. If you won’t wear the sweatshirt then, here, at least put this on.” I handed him a surgical-style facemask I’d grabbed from the salon, the kind we used for smelly perms. Today it would double as both a disguise and protection from the smoky elements.

  “Fuck me,” he exclaimed. “This just keeps getting better. I honestly embarrass myself.”

  I watched in amusement as he secured the mask over his mouth.

  “Now I look like Michael Jackson… if he were an unfashionable white guy. Hey Breeze?”

  “Yes?”

  “On a scale from one to ten, how attracted are you to me right now?”

  I laughed. It was true, Bodhi Beckett had seen better days. But his flirty banter was doing a number on my insides and, even looking like he did, I still found him indescribably hot. “Eleven point five, baby.”

  “Hot damn, let’s go shopping!”

  * * *

  There are apparently two ways to shop. One was for rich people and the other was for average Joes.

  “This is not Macy’s,” Bodhi said as he got his first look at the bargain aisle.

  “I never said it was.”

  “But you implied as much.”

  “That was just to get you in here and now that you are, I’m giving you that taste of the normalcy you crave. Now, do you want to complain or do you want to shop?”

  Suppressing a smile, he stomped his foot like an insolent toddler. “Shop.”

  I laughed, pointing him in the direction of the shoe department. But first he needed a cart—to ride. What he didn’t factor into the equation was the tip radius of the smaller than average shopping cart. The minute his weight was added to the bar below the rolling contraption, the opposite end popped up and nearly toppled over on top of him.

  I took control of the navigation from that point on. Which was a good thing, because the minute he got to the shoe aisle he lost track of reality.

  “Oh my god. Can you believe the prices?” he asked, perusing the labels in the higher price range.

  I peeked over his shoulder at the $49.95 tag. Good lord! What was it made out of —whale penis?

  “So damn cheap,” he marveled, ignoring my obvious shock. “This place is the shit!”

  Obviously, we had different definitions of cheap. After trying on a dozen pair of shoes, Bodhi dumped four boxes into our cart and started off to the clothing section.

  “Not so fast, big spender.” I grabbed his arm. “Here’s how it works on a budget. You have to pick your favorite pair and that’s all you get.”

  “Really?” he said, giving me the side-eye. “That sucks.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “How do you pick just one?”

  “When you don’t have a choice, it becomes easier.”

  “Huh. Okay.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he stared longingly at his cart full of shoes. “Well…”

  He spent the next five minutes agonizing over his choices. In the end he went with a pair of boat shoes and, pleased with his selection, we were off to the Men’s department where the process repeated itself until he had a modest pile of clothing he could be proud of.

  While Bodhi was in the dressing room, I wandered the store and found the perfect item to kick off his childlike bucket list.

  “Hey!” I called and when he turned in my direction, I blew a wand of bubbles into his face.

  He batted at the soapy mess. “What in the hell?”

  “Bucket list, baby!”

  “You don’t think I’ve blown bubbles in my life?”

  “Have you?”

  “Well, not directly, but I’ve walked through them on stage a thousand times.”

  “That’s not blowing bubbles. Here.”

  I dipped the stick back into the canister, then handed him the wand. Pulling down his mask, Bodhi blew the entire load of soapy water into my face. His grin was infectious as he reached for the bottle. But this time, when he loaded the wand, he tipped forward and blew the bubbles straight into my cleavage. Yelping, I ducked behind a rack of clothes. Dropping to his knees, Bodhi sprayed the next assault before grabbing my shirt and dragged me out of my hiding place.

  “Did you know there’s no angry way to say bubbles?” I asked as he dipped his head to give me a soapy kiss.

  “Bubbles,” he bit out, attempting a hostile tone. But then a wide smile curved his lips and we both laughed.

  Until a manager strolled up with a sour expression.

  “Off the floor, please,” he ordered, glancing us over with disdain.

  “He needs to say bubbles,” Bodhi whispered to me.

  I lost it then, squealing with laughter. The manager wasn’t amused.

  “Up, now, or I’ll have security escort you out.”

  I’d seen their security on the way in—one lowly dude with a crossing guard vest on. I wasn’t too concerned. But then I ca
ught sight of Bodhi’s fully exposed face, and my humor faded. Motioning for him to replace the mask, I nudged him toward the row of registers where we paid as quickly as possible.

  I wasn’t sure if Bodhi caught the look of contempt as we scooted by the manager, until he whispered close to my ear, “He must be on Team Jacob.”

  On his way out of the store, Bodhi was already stripping off his Twilight tee and changing into a bicep hugging Hurley shirt. I’d barely managed to get him into the vehicle before the yoga pants came off. Clearly he was comfortable with nudity. With his bits and pieces fully exposed, Bodhi took his sweet time removing the tags on his board shorts. My embarrassed giggle was a source of great amusement for the flasher.

  Next, we stopped at the pet store to buy a proper cat carrier for Lucy, as well as food and supplies for the rest of the pack. Rounding out our shopping trip, we grabbed some snacks for the road before heading back to my place to pack.

  Coasting to a stop in front of the house, I spotted the landlady standing at my front door.

  “Oh shit! Wait here,” I told Bodhi as I jumped out of the car.

  I made it to her side in time to see her turning the key in my lock.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, panic rising in my tone.

  She swung her irritated gaze my way. “Dogs, Breeze. The barking hasn’t stopped for two hours. You know they aren’t allowed.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was pet sitting when the fire hit. You’ve seen the news. I couldn’t leave them to die.”

  “Take them to the shelter now,” she ordered. “If I hear that dog bark one more time, I’ll chuck him in the garbage.”

  Bodhi skidded to a stop at my side, shoving the pet carrier and food into my hands. And then, as if he wore a bodysuit and cape around his neck, my hero stepped valiantly in front of the landlady. “We’re leaving in a few minutes. If you think you’re going to trash that dog, you’ll be going through me first.”

  Pat’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you threatening me?”

  “No. I’m telling you — no one touches that dog.”

  And so began the most awkward stare down I’d ever witnessed. Bodhi in his quarantine mask and Pat in her sleeveless flannel button up. Neither budged as they glared at each other. Rather than step between them, I decided to take the opportunity to duck inside the house to give Bodhi the chance to lay on the charm he claimed as his superpower.