The screen door opens with a squeal and slams closed behind me with a rattle as I go inside. The place smells like mildew, but that’s just the swamp. Mom does the best she can with what she has, and the inside of the house is a lot nicer than the outside, even though the furniture is older than I am.
Her missing car tells me she’s not home, but Dad is in his recliner, wearing boxers and a tank top, watching a football game. His eyes flick my way for a second then go back to the television. “Didya find the treasure?”
I probably wouldn’t tell him even if I had. Last time, he acted like I owed him for raising me when I told him we found some gold, even though I made it sound like it wasn’t that much. God knows what he would do if he knew the truth.
“Couldn’t find the wreck. We’ll have to do some more research. But I start my new job tomorrow, so I had to come back.”
He shakes his head, scratching his gut. “Can’t you at least work at a barber shop if you insist on playing with hair all day? How’d I raise such a pussy? Your brother didn’t turn out like that. Hell, even your sister is less girly than you are.”
I roll my eyes. It’s an insult I’ve heard a hundred times before. “It’s a very prestigious salon, Dad. I was lucky to get a job there. The clients are the wealthiest and most influential people in this city.”
“Great, so all the high class people are gonna think my boy is a fruitcake. Do you know how embarrassing that is?”
I snort. Like I’m the embarrassing one of the family? “I’m not gay, Dad. I have a girlfriend.” The words come out automatically, but a sharp pain hits me when I realize it’s not true anymore.
He points his beer bottle at me. “Oh yeah? Well then, how’s come I’ve never seen her? I’ve never met any of these girls you claim to have dated.”
“Probably because they wouldn’t want to go out with me if they saw this is what I had to offer!” I blurt out and wave my hand around. I don’t usually lash out at my dad, because it doesn’t do me any good, but the painful reminder of Coral’s disappearance and my frustration at the lack of respect are too much today. That, and my shoulder is starting to throb again.
“I’m going to say hi to Beck.” I leave the room before he starts yelling.
I knock three times on my sister’s door, but I hear pop music blaring from her room, so I’m not sure she can hear me. When I let myself in, she scrambles like I caught her doing something.
“Geez, can’t a girl have some privacy?” she yelps, but when she realizes who it is, her face splits open in a smile, and she throws herself at me.
“Hey Becky Boo.” I snag her up and sway her till her legs flail back and forth then plop her back on the ground. The move hurts my shoulder, though, and I grimace, resisting the urge to rub it.
“Hey Bucky Do.” She sticks out her tongue at me, and I stick mine back at her in response to the horrible name only she is allowed to call me. Everyone else calls me by my last name.
I hate my given name, Buck, but at least it’s better than my brother’s name, Stag. Yeah, my parents really went there. Mom put her foot down when it came to Becky, though. My dad wanted to call her Fawna, but Mom thought it sounded like a stripper name.
“What were you doing, anyway?” I glance around at the disaster.
Her room looks like a dressing room that was ransacked by fashion models. A half dozen outfits are spread across the bed, shoes are all over the floor, and a bunch of makeup is strewn across the top of her dresser.
Now that I look more closely at her, I see she’s all dressed up with a facefull of gaudy makeup. She’s eleven going on 27. There’s a hair tutorial playing on the laptop I bought her with some of my treasure money.
“I was gonna make a cover video, but I wanted to look older.”
I stifle a laugh. “You look older, all right. Why don’t you go more for teenage instead of middle age? You want some help?”
She nods eagerly. “Would you? Maddy told me it was weird to have my brother do my hair and makeup, but she doesn’t know how good you are.”
“Happy to help, kiddo. Come here.” I plop down on her bean bag and have her kneel in front of me. Then I grab a makeup remover wipe and clean off at least half the makeup she has slathered on. I tone down the bright eye shadow and pick a soft pink lipstick better for her pale skin than the bright red she had on.
The red reminds me of Coral, sending my mind drifting back in memories. God, she was so gorgeous that day I did her makeup, staring at herself in the mirror with those big, blue eyes, amazed at how she looked. It took everything I had not to kiss that lipstick right off of her.
Then Jude came and carried her off, again. The fact that he told us not to wait up for them made it pretty clear what he intended to do with her. I was so jealous when she left with him, wearing the clothes I picked for her and the makeup I applied. I wanted to chase after them and knock him out, drag her away.
And then, after all that, those assholes left her alone the next day to fend for herself. They didn’t even call me to see if I could stay with her! I can still see the terror in her eyes when I found her curled up on the floor, hurt and terrified. It turned out to be an amazing day, though, and I had her all to myself.
She loved that apartment. I could see her fantasizing about living there, with me. And the way she let me kiss her after that interview with Hilda? The way she kissed me back, her hot, little fingers sliding up under my shirt? I thought my whole body would ignite in the front seat of my Mustang. Why didn’t I take her somewhere, anywhere, and make love to her like I’ve been wanting to since that first night on the island when she snuggled up next to me in the life raft?
I was trying to be a gentleman, and look where it got me — nowhere.
I make up my mind — if she ever comes back, I won’t let another moment pass before I show her how I feel about her. I frown and pinch my eyes, trying to hold back my emotions. Odds are, I’m never going to see her again. She was a fantasy come to life, but like all fantasies, she disappeared in the cold light of reality.
“Avery, are you okay? Why is your face all squinty?” Becky’s squeaky voice snaps me back to the present.
“Yeah, sorry, just daydreaming. I think we’re done here. What do you think?” I turn her around so she can look in the camera.
She grins, flashing a crooked smile. Maybe I’ll use some of my money to get her braces. She’s going to be a knockout, someday, but I don’t want her to be self-conscious about her smile.
“It looks great! How’d you make it look so good?” She peers into the screen, examining herself.
“Less is more, sometimes. You’ve got great skin. You don’t need to cover it all up with foundation. Most women would kill for that glow. And you want the other stuff to accentuate what you have, not outshine it.”
She smiles at the compliment but then frowns when she fingers a lock of hair flopping across her brow. “Will you do my hair, too? I suck at that.”
“Sure. You want a braid, or something different? We could do some barrel curls.”
She nods eagerly at that, so I grab a curling iron from my room and plug it in.
While it’s heating, I pick up her brush and start to stroke her hair but immediately feel a twinge in my shoulder. I ignore it, pulling myself up to my knees so I don’t have to lift my arms to reach her. That’s better, but I still feel a pinch every time I raise my hand.
“You want to take sections about this big and start curling from the top, like this.” I trap a section of hair in the clamp and show her how to pull it through a little bit at a time till it’s all curled. By the time I’ve done half her hair, my shoulder is screaming.
“Why don’t you try now, and I’ll watch to make sure you’re doing it right,” I suggest, hurting too much to do any more. I’m definitely going to have to load up on Tylenol tomorrow since I don’t want to smell like Jack Daniels.
She struggles a bit at first, but I give her a few tips, and eventually she gets the hang of it. “Gr
eat job, Beck! Now just run your fingers through it to soften the curls a bit.”
She does, and her long, blonde hair falls in perfect waves. Her eyes light up, and she slaps her cheeks, her mouth hanging open.
“I love it! I look just like Liv from Liv and Maddie!” She squeals and jumps up and down then lunges at me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders so tight that I yelp.
She doesn’t realize she’s hurt me, though, till she pulls away and sees the look of agony on my face. “Avery, you’re bleeding!”
She reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I grab her hand. “Yikes, for a little girl, you hug like a linebacker.”
I try to laugh it off, but her face melts with worry. “What happened? Did you get cut?”
“Yeah, I was running with scissors. I should’ve listened to the warnings.” I give her a wry smile and a dry laugh, but she doesn’t laugh back.
“I better go take care of this. I want to see your video when you’re done, though, okay?” I stand up and hustle out of the room, putting a hand over the blood on my shirt in case anybody is in the hallway.
I head to the bathroom and peel off my shirt, wincing with every move. Man, I’d kill for some prescription pain killers right about now. Instead, I dig in the medicine cabinet for some Tylenol and take a handful of them. Our first aid supplies are a little lacking; I’ll have to pick some up tomorrow. I make do with what we have, taping a wad of tissue paper over the gauze that’s on there. I carefully drape my shirt over my shoulder so the blood and bandages are hidden then slip to my room.
My bed looks so inviting, I sprawl out, intending to rest for just a minute. When I wake up, the morning sun is shining through my window. Crap! What time is it?
I jump out of bed and grab some clothes. I barely have time for a shower before I need to leave for work. Afterwards, I bandage myself up the best I can then put on a black shirt with a black tee under it, just in case I start bleeding again. That’s the last thing I need to have happen.
I toss down a few more Tylenol, grabbing a Pop-Tart from the kitchen so the pills won’t upset my stomach. I’m in such a hurry, I slam right into Becky, not even noticing her.
“Ow!” She rubs her head and scowls at me.
“Sorry, Beck! I’m running late.” I grab her head and kiss her forehead. Last night’s makeup is smeared all over her face.
“But you said you’d watch my video.” She puts her hands on her hips and pouts like a little diva.
I wince but keep moving, grabbing my bag of supplies from my room, Becky on my heels. “I know, and I want to. I will. But I start my new job today. Tonight, okay? I promise. And you have to wash your makeup off before bed or you’ll get pimples.”
She curls her lip at that, putting her hand on her cheek.
“Love you, Becky Boo. See you later.” I blow her a kiss before pushing through the screen door. Thankfully, neither of my parents is around to hold me up.
I drive like a madman all the way to the salon, but once I get there, I force myself to take some deep breaths to calm myself. This is it. This is my big break. I’m not going to screw it up.
Hilda looks me up and down with a critical eye when I come in, but I guess I meet her approval because she doesn’t say anything negative.
“Good morning, Hilda.” I give her my panty-melting smile, which hopefully doesn’t have quite the same effect on old people. Her lips twitch into an almost-smile before settling back into her typical resting bitch face, so I’m calling that a win.
“Good morning, Avery. Glad you could make it.” She glances at the clock. Technically, I’m not late for my shift, but her look tells me she probably expects me to be ten minutes early.
I spot a vacant booth in the back, but surprisingly, she leads me to a booth with a prime spot in the front of the salon. “Dominique is out today, so I’m going to have you use her booth. I can keep a closer eye on you that way.”
That douses my excitement a bit, but I’m not complaining. Stylists who work the front booths get more visibility, and not to brag or anything, but I’m not too bad to look at. A lot of walk-in customers ask for me when they see me in action.
Hilda introduces me to the other stylists working today. The older ladies get googly eyed, but the younger ones seem a little cool towards me. I get it. I’m competition for them. Female clients tend to prefer a cute guy stylist over a pretty woman.
After I say hello to everyone, Hilda shows me where the supplies are kept, then she goes over a few house rules and the price book. Damn, even with the salon taking a 50% cut, I’m still going to be making good money. I can’t believe how much rich people are willing to pay for a haircut.
I haven’t met Dominique. I’m not sure how she’ll feel about me using her tools, so I tuck them away in her drawers and pull out my own from my bag, setting them up on her counter.
Her first appointment walks in then, a distinguished old man in an expensive suit with a red tie and gold cufflinks. His hair is perfectly styled and looks like it was cut less than a month ago. He’s probably a senator or something, but I don’t pay much attention to politics.
“Hilda, darling. You look gorgeous as ever.” He kisses her cheek, his hand reaching around to palm her ass. A hand with a wedding ring on it. Then he whispers in her ear, “When can I take you to dinner?”
What a lech. But Hilda manages to thwart his attempts at flirting without offending him.
“Henry, Dominique is out today, but Avery will take good care of you.”
Henry looks over at Dominique’s booth but scowls as soon as he sees me and turns back to Hilda, talking like I’m not standing two feet away from him. “Hilda, where are your standards? Are you really hiring queers now? Look at him. Does he even know how to give a man’s haircut?”
Hilda puts her hands on him and smoothly guides him into my chair. “Now now, Henry. It’s the twenty-first century. You can’t say those things anymore. Avery is a very skilled stylist. I’m sure you’ll be totally satisfied.”
She nods at me, so I take a cape and flick it over him in a practiced move, fastening it at the back of his neck. The movement hurts my shoulder, but I hide my grimace.
“He may be able to cut hair, but I don’t think he can satisfy me like Dominique does.” Henry winks and leers at Hilda.
“Good morning, sir. Just a trim today?” I try my best to act polite and respectful, even though I want to knee him in the groin.
“Yes, let’s see if you can manage not to screw it up. Dominique will be back next time, right?” He tugs at the collar of the cape and glances back towards Hilda.
“Of course, Henry. She just needed a personal day.”
I get busy trimming a millimeter off Henry’s neck and sideburns with the electric clippers, but the vibration going up my arm and into my shoulder feels like a jackhammer. I’m going slow, trying to be as precise as possible since he’s obviously a demanding customer, but by the time I’m done, my hands are shaking. I can barely hold the scissors still when I go to trim the longer hair on top.
“So, are you one of those rainbow flag-flying homosexuals, then?” He asks me when Hilda steps away from the front counter.
Seriously? Nobody other than my father was ever rude enough to talk to me like that. Is that how the clients here act, like they’re entitled to say whatever they feel like just because they’re paying a lot of money to come here? Irritation boils up in me, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from saying something that will get me fired.
“No sir, I just like doing hair.”
He eyes me in the mirror. “Could’ve fooled me. So, there’s women out there that like guys like you?”
“I’ve never had any problem finding them,” I growl. I’m one insult away from jabbing these scissors into his eye socket.
“You’ve got a girlfriend?”
“Yes, I have a beautiful girlfriend named Coral.” I whip out my phone and show him her picture. Take that, you prejudiced bastard.
His eyes get wide,
and he whistles as he stares at her picture. “Hot damn, son. That looks like a good lay if I ever saw one.”
I should’ve expected that, but it still makes me so angry I can’t see straight. “We’re done here,” I say, brushing the hair off his neck and whipping the cape off him.
He stands up, leans over the counter, and looks in the mirror, running a hand through his salt and pepper mane with admiration. “Well, you’re not as nice to look at as Dominique, but I have to admit, you give a good haircut.”
He digs out his wallet and peels off a bill. “Take that woman out for a hot date tonight and get some tail for the both of us.”
He shoots his finger at me and winks then takes off, waving at Hilda on the way out. I’m standing there with a hundred dollar bill in my hands and a stunned look on my face when Hilda quirks her lip and nods at me.
“Very good, Avery. Consider that a bonus.” She looks at the bill in my hand.
Wow. Okay then. The huge tip almost makes up for the asshole behavior.
The next few clients are a little easier, mostly middle age women who try to flirt with me. I’m right about the prime location, too. Almost every walk-in takes one look at me and asks if I have any openings. Hilda manages to keep a steady stream of customers flowing in and out of my chair all morning, barely giving me time to go to the bathroom.
My shoulder is killing me after a few hours. I have to compensate for my injury with almost every move I make. Hilda keeps looking at me strangely, probably wondering why I’m holding my arms in such weird positions, but I still manage to do a good job, so she doesn’t say anything. I really need to take some more Tylenol, but I didn’t bring any with me. What was I thinking?
I finally finish with my eighth customer at 12:30, and I’m desperate to take a lunch break when a tiny, old lady wearing a blue Chanel suit totters into the salon.
“Mrs. Ellington, so nice to see you again. What can we do for you?” Hilda rushes over to the lady, taking her arm, probably to prevent the woman from falling down and breaking a hip.
The Mermaid's Return_A Reverse Harem Romance Page 7