by West, Sam
“Excuse me?”
“Like other beauty treatments. You know, waxing, and all that other stuff girls do to themselves. What did you think I meant?”
“I... I didn’t think anything,” she said too quickly.
She began to wish that she hadn’t sent Bethan home early today. This guy felt dangerous, somehow, dangerous and so incredibly fucking sexy. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be here alone with him.
“Well, do you?” he prompted.
She met his gaze square on in the mirror, the pale-blue of his eyes causing her breath to catch in her throat and her stomach to flip. She set to work with the scissors and comb, trying at least to look like the perfectly competent hairdresser she normally was.
“I do, as it happens,” she said. “I have an NVQ level four in Beauty, and I did that for a few years before I went into hairdressing.”
“Impressive.”
“Not really. I’m sure what you do is a lot more interesting.”
Forcing her treacherous, trembling fingers to cooperate, she concentrated on cutting his hair, trying not to think about what a devastating effect he was having on her body. Trying not to think about his cold, predatory gaze watching her every move.
“Oh, I suppose what I do is quite interesting. I certainly get to meet some interesting people in my line of work. And it pays well.”
Fleetingly, her thoughts dwelled on her own money problems. She was behind on the rent for her flat and for the shop.
She hadn’t banked on starting up her own business as being quite so tough; the bills kept on rolling in with no foreseeable way of paying them. Just thinking about it brought on the all-too-familiar icy flutter of panic in her guts.
Business will pick up, she told herself. It has to.
“I can’t say my job pays all that well,” she said with a small laugh. “But I guess I come across some pretty interesting people, too.”
Like you.
She fell silent, frowning slightly as she finished the cut; she was nothing if not fast.
“There, all done.”
“Well, you are certainly the quickest I’ve ever had.”
“Shouldn’t that be my line?” she quipped, as she unfastened the plastic sheet around his neck.
Shit! I can’t believe I just said that.
He smirked in that delightfully cold, confident to the point of arrogant way of his, that sent shivers down her spine.
“I’ve never had complaints before,” he said, getting to his feet.
He threw only the most cursory of glances at his new haircut, like he really couldn’t care less.
“I’m sure you haven’t,” she said, shocked at how breathy her voice sounded.
Are we flirting here?
“Thank you very much, the haircut was exactly what I was after. How much do I owe you?”
“Eight pounds fifty.”
He raised one perfectly arched brow. “Cheap at half the price. Keep the change.”
She accepted the offered note, balking when she glanced down and saw it was a fifty.
“That’s too much,” she stammered. “I can’t take all that.”
“Yes, you can. Really, it’s no big thing. Thanks for the haircut, it’s great. Goodbye.”
He turned to leave, and she stared after his departing figure in confusion.
He’s leaving?
But then, she reasoned, what had she been expecting, exactly? For him to ask her out?
Yes, actually, she had…
Don’t go, she wanted to call out to him. But Christ, that would just sound so lame.
Come on, come on, just please, turn around with an, ‘oh, one more thing…’
To her dismay and crushing disappointment, he didn’t.
“Bye,” she said finding her voice at last as he shut the door behind himself.
But if he heard her, he showed no sign, and he left without a backward glance.
Twenty minutes later, she was next-door in the newsagents buying a packet of cigarettes.
“So I saw that hot guy go into your salon after he’d been in here,” Beth said, all set for a good gossip, leaning forward over the counter-top between them.
A good twenty years separated them, but Stacey considered Beth to be a good friend. She was warm, open, and full of mischief.
“Uh-huh,” she said causally.
“Oh my God, are you blushing?”
“No.”
“Yes, you are. Did he ask you out?”
“No.” She sighed. “But he was gorgeous, wasn’t he?”
“I’ll say. If I weren’t married,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I’d be on that hot piece of arse in a heartbeat.”
“Beth!” she admonished. “You are terrible.”
“What’s wrong with that? You’re only twenty-nine, you act like you’re my age half the time. You should get out there, have some fun.”
“Before it’s too late, you mean?”
“No, I mean you’re so bogged down with your business, you keep forgetting about this delicious thing called men.”
Stacey rolled her eyes, not wanting to admit that her friend was right. She’d had her fingers burned one too many times, and had decided to put all that stuff on the backburner for a while.
But she had to admit, she wasn’t getting any younger and sometimes she got lonely.
“I have you and Jeff.”
“And you know we love you, but you should be getting out there, searching for a mate, not spending your weekends with a fossilised couple like me and Jeff.”
Stacey’s parents had died when she was just twenty, so in a way, Beth and Jeff had become replacement parent figures of sorts.
“You’re not that old,” she said, wishing to get off the subject, because, truth be told, these home truths were making her a little uncomfortable. “Let’s talk about the handsome guy.”
The woman smirked, not being able to resist the bait, and leaned over the countertop even further. “So, as I was saying, he came in here before he went into yours, and you’ll never believe what happened.”
The bell above the shop door sounded, making them both jump. An elderly man had entered the small shop.
“What happened?” she asked, lowering her voice, irritated at the man for interrupting them.
“He bought a scratch-card,” she said in a loud whisper. “And he only went and won fifty grand.”
“What? No way.”
Beth looked smug with herself at imparting this juicy titbit.
“Yes, he did. And the strange thing was, he didn’t seem at all surprised. Like, at all. It was almost like he had been expecting to win the money.”
Stacey frowned at this information. She didn’t know why, but a bad feeling niggled in the back of her mind.
They said their goodbyes, amidst promises to hook up for drinks round Beth’s house at the end of the week.
Stacey trudged home to her one bed flat, pulling her denim jacket more tightly around herself against the unseasonably cold, May weather.
END OF SAMPLE