Nobody's Prince Charming

by Walker, Aimee Nicole

  I pushed the morose thoughts aside and focused on the way I felt when I woke up that morning. I’d stretched lazily before I relived every second of the encounter in the shower. I held onto those euphoric feelings after I kissed my grandpa on his forehead and trekked to work in the blistering cold. I had my earbuds in, so I didn’t realize a vehicle had approached until it pulled slightly in front of me and stopped.

  Wren rolled down his window and gestured for me to take my earbuds out. “Get in.”

  “The wintry weather feels good,” I lied. “You can start walking with me in the mornings from now on.”

  “Never going to happen,” Wren replied, shaking his head. “I hate winter.”

  “Come on,” I teased. “You’ll save gas and reduce your carbon footprint.”

  “Those are both great things, and I’ll happily do my part when it’s not cold enough to get frostbite on my nuts. Seriously, get in. I have something I want to give you.”

  My face was so cold that I feared it would crack when I smiled, but my racing heart warmed the rest of me up. “Oh, and I desperately want to accept it. In your truck, though?”

  Wren released a long-suffering sigh. “Dare, I won’t pretend I don’t want to fuck you six ways from Sunday, but not in my truck.” An evil grin stretched across his face. “Well, not in broad daylight anyway.”

  A light bulb went off in my head and I had a sudden solution to our predicament. “There’s plenty of room to pull this beast in the garage and…”

  “Get the fuck in here now.” Apparently, Wren didn’t like going to work with a raging hard-on.

  I jogged around to the passenger side and climbed in. Wren dropped a brown bag unceremoniously on my lap. There were several things in the bag but none that I expected. Well, the lube and box of magnum-sized condoms were pretty much expected at this point, but I didn’t think he’d hand them to me before work.

  “What’s this?” I asked pulling out a bar of handmade soap wrapped in cellophane. The ivory and amber bar was roughly cut in a rectangular shape. I looked at the rustic, brown paper label that was wrapped around the middle of the bar. “Wood Nymph,” I read out loud. I held it up to my nose, and even through the plastic, I could tell it was the scent I associated with Wren. “Goat milk soap, huh?”

  “It has a lot of vitamins and minerals, so it’s good for the skin. It’s also organic. No chemicals.” Wren cleared his throat like he was a little embarrassed and refused to look over at me. Instead, he put his truck in drive. “They also make beard oil and balm.”

  “That’s why your beard is so soft,” I said. I closed my eyes and imagined him rubbing it all over my skin.

  “Stop it,” Wren growled. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Only because you’re thinking it too.”

  I glanced over at him and his blush was the only confirmation I needed. I also knew that he wouldn’t want to act on any of these emotions at work. Wren was as buttoned-up and private as anyone I’d ever met. None of us knew a single thing about his personal life, and it would remain that way until he decided otherwise. I wanted him to trust me as much as I wanted to feel his dick inside me, so I vowed to behave at work and treat him as I did the rest of my colleagues.

  “Do you mind if I leave this in your truck? I’ll raise a lot of eyebrows if I get caught sniffing it all day long. Plus, people might peek in the bag and see the other supplies.”

  “Sure,” Wren said gruffly.

  “Thank you so much, Wren.”

  “Hey, it’s no problem. We’re going to the same place. I brought another load of stuff to take to the apartment after work.” He pointed to the back seat with his thumb.

  “Um, I was thanking you for this thoughtful gift.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal.” I could tell Wren wanted to downplay it, and I’d let him, but not until after I said one last thing.

  “I said that I wanted to smell like you and you made it happen. That’s a big deal.” By this time, we had arrived at the salon so leaning over and kissing him was a big no-no. Instead, I folded the bag and placed it in the console between our seats. “I promise to behave today.”

  Wren looked over and I could tell he didn’t believe me. “Should we make a bet?”

  “That depends, Wren. What would your reward be or my punishment? If it in anyway would feel good or make me come, I’d most likely break my promise before we got inside the salon.”

  “Forget it then,” he growled.

  “That’s what I thought.” We got out of the truck together and headed toward the rear entrance. “I guess you could make me wear a cock ring all day or something to keep me in line.”

  Wren jerked to a halt and looked down at me. “Is that a possibility?”

  “I’m a man who believes that all things are possible if you want them bad enough, Wren. Do you want it bad enough?”

  The big man’s nostrils flared, and a devious idea came to my mind. It looked like I had an extra stop to make during my weekend shopping. Until then, I’d be a very good boy. Or very bad to make my punishment even better. I saw how bad Wren wanted to kiss me and how hard he battled to hold onto his ironclad control.

  “We’ll continue this conversation in private later,” I said sassily and continued up the steps in front of him.

  “You can count on it,” he growled in my ear when he caught up to me.

  His dark promise melted my tension and caused lust to simmer in my belly. It was going to be a very long day, but I looked forward to my delayed gratification.

  “Good morning,” Josi said to both of us when we walked in. She most likely saw that we arrived together but refrained from commenting. Sort of. “Wow, the two of you look more relaxed than my clients after an hour-long massage. Are you cheating on me?” She narrowed her eyes as if she was really considering it.

  I opened my mouth to remind her there were more ways to relieve tension than a massage, but I had promised to behave. “Never,” I said then kissed her cheek. “Do you have another busy day?”

  Wren stepped around us and left me alone with Josi in the kitchen. I grabbed a cup of coffee when Josi’s first client showed up then headed to my desk. I looked over the master schedule for the day, hoping to head off any disasters that might crop up. Satisfied that I didn’t see any potential for cataclysmic knockdown drag-outs, I began taking everyone’s daily lunch order. It was something new I had started when I saw how often we were skipping meals or eating junk because of our busy schedules. Hungry stylists and sharp scissors aren’t a good mix. I didn’t mind calling in the order to the diner and picking it up. We didn’t get to eat lunch at the same time, but the food from Edson and Emma’s was easy to reheat and just as delicious as when it was fresh.

  “I’m in the mood for broccoli and cheddar soup,” I said. “What’s everyone in the mood for?” I went to each station and took their order and tried my best not to lean in too close to Wren. “And what would you like?” He didn’t answer right away so I jerked my eyes off the notepad to look at him. Had I somehow asked in a suggestive tone? I glanced around and no one else seemed to be looking at us intently, so I deduced that I had sounded as professional as I intended. The look in Wren’s eyes said his mind had definitely headed straight to the gutter.

  “Something salty,” Wren said.

  “Salty?” his client asked. “That’s so unhealthy, Wren.”

  “Sometimes you must eat the things that make you the happiest, Mrs. Warren. Maybe I’ll have something sweet too.”

  “If you say so, dear,” Mrs. Warren replied.

  “I do.” Wren smiled when he saw how his words affected me. “I’ll take a mushroom swiss burger and onion rings. Maybe I should go with fries to get my salty fix. I don’t want to have onion breath for my clients all day.” I suspected he wasn’t so much worried about what his clients thought since he ate onion rings at least once a week. He was thinking about me and the kiss we’d share as soon as we were alone again.

  “You can
always chew gum,” I suggested.

  “Onion rings it is,” Wren said.

  The phones were pure chaos because the flu epidemic had struck Blissville and people were frantically rescheduling their appointments. I was relieved when it was time to pick up the food. “Take my SUV,” Josh said to me when he handed me cash for his lunch.

  “I don’t mind walking,” I told him.

  “No need,” Gabe, Josh’s husband and our police captain, said as he came through the front door of the salon with two large carryout bags from the diner. “I got you covered.”

  “Slow day in Blissville, Captain?” Josh teased.

  “Not really, but I’m never too busy to be nice,” Gabe answered, but Josh still looked suspicious.

  “Thanks, Gabe.” I tried handing him the stack of money I’d collected from everyone, but he refused it.

  “My treat,” he said.

  “That’s kind of you,” I told Gabe.

  “Kindness is my middle name.”

  “And here I thought I vowed to love and cherish Gabriel Allen Wyatt for the rest of my life,” Josh argued.

  “Ha ha ha,” Gabe said drolly.

  “Bribing the locals,” I heard Josh say after I took the bags of food from our police captain.

  I knew those two could trade good-natured barbs for hours, but I was too hungry to stick around for the show. I had just dug into my bowl of soup when Wren entered the kitchen.

  “I’m pretty sure that banter is their idea of foreplay,” Wren told me after he found the container with his lunch order written on the top.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “but it works for them.”

  When Wren sat down across from me, I realized it was the first time we’d eaten lunch together. I knew damn well it wasn’t a coincidence. My heart sped up a little as I contemplated what it could mean. Instead of mentioning it, I leaned over and grabbed one of his big onion rings.

  “Hey!”

  “Now, we’ll be on a level playing field.” Okay, maybe I wasn’t capable of being good. Wren’s smile told me that it wasn’t such a terrible thing. “Oh, and I ordered you a little something extra.” I rummaged through the bags until I found what I was looking for. “Ah-ha.” I slid it across the table to Wren. “To tide you over until you can have the treat you really want.”

  Wren smiled when he opened the container and saw his slice of black forest cake. He set his meal aside and tore into it, never even offering me a single bite.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled as much as I did since meeting Dare. The people around me only saw my grimace-for-a-smile on rare occasions, but I was smiling a lot on the inside. Maybe I was the only one who knew, but it didn’t make it less true.

  My absolute favorite part was testing Dare’s resolve every chance I got. Like licking the cherry sauce and chocolate off the fork the way I planned to devour his cock later. Of course, once he planted the idea in my mind, I couldn’t help thinking about one of those devices that would restrain his cock. I’d heard of cages, but there was no way to hide one of those beneath the worlds skinniest jeans that he preferred to wear. I bet his boys sighed in relief each night when he took them off. Or would the blood rush to his cock, instantly filling it to hardness?

  Dare’s laughter floated to me from his desk, pulling my attention to him. My good mood faded when I saw who made him laugh. How the fuck had I forgotten that Dr. Cock Drizzle had an appointment for me to cut his hair.

  “Don’t do it,” Josh said from behind me. I hadn’t even heard him approach me. “I bailed you out last time, and I’m not doing it again.” Josh was referring to the time that I got jealous when Trent brought Dare apology flowers. Apparently, Josh had promised his husband he wouldn’t cut his ex-boyfriend’s hair, and my immaturity caused him to take back his word. That didn’t sit well with me, so I jerked my head in a brief nod so Josh would know that I was on board. “We can fantasize about shearing off his hair later.”

  “Now you’re talking, boss.” I planted a polite smile on my face as I approached Dare’s desk. It must’ve looked more predatory than polite because both Dare and Dr. Dick Breath’s eyes widened in alarm. “You ready, Doc?”

  “For a haircut, right?” he asked hesitantly. “I’m not asking for a shave with a straight razor.”

  “I’m damned good with those,” I assured him, “but you booked a haircut.”

  “We got off on the wrong foot,” the doctor said. “I apologized to Dare before, but I’ll do it again if it’s necessary.”

  I figured he must own a pretty big pair if he was brave enough to schedule an appointment with me again. “It’s not necessary.” Dare and Trent both visibly relaxed, exchanging easy smiles. On second thought, Dare could use a taste of his own medicine. “Follow me to the shampoo room.”

  “Shampoo?” they both asked.

  Dare narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “He gets a dry cut.”

  “Yeah, I get a dry cut.”

  “Not anymore,” I told the doctor. I turned and walked toward the shampoo room. “You coming, Doc?” By the time I was done washing his hair, the man would be ready to come in his pants and Dare would know to never taunt me again.

  “I’m thinking about trying something new,” Trent told me when I wrapped the cape around his neck. “You know the style where it’s shaved close to the sides and back.”

  “Like a fade?” I asked, studying the shape of his face. I ran my fingers through the longish strands at the top. He was sporting an asymmetrical cut that was cute, but not very professional.

  “Yeah, but with length on top. Kind of…um…like Dare’s style.” It was cute how nervous he was just saying Dare’s name in front of me. “I’m hoping you can teach me which stuff to use and how to style it right.”

  Even though I was the one who gave Dare the cut, I wanted to make sure it would work on Trent too. They did have the same angular jaw with the cute dimpled chin. I stepped to the door and looked toward the reception area of the salon and caught Dare looking in our direction. His eyes widened then narrowed when Trent joined me.

  “Do you think that cut will work on me?”

  “Yeah,” I told him. “I can teach you how to style it and you can purchase the brush and products you’ll need.”

  “Perfect,” the doctor said, plopping down in the chair in front of the sink.

  I’d changed my mind about giving Trent the same kind of scalp massages I gave Dare because it could send the wrong message to the doctor, but then Dare found a lame excuse to enter the shampoo room to keep an eye on things. He had his little inventory notepad in hand and acted like he was counting shampoos and conditioners, as if he hadn’t already done it that week.

  “I haven’t tried a new st…. Oh! Oh my God!” Trent moaned when I dug my fingers into his scalp. I kept my eyes trained on Dare’s reaction and nearly laughed when he dropped his notebook in shock. “Fuuuuuck,” Trent moaned like a porn star when I really dug in. “I think I need to start coming here at least once a week. My God! Are you for hire?”

  “He’s not a whore, Trent,” Dare snarled. “Wren, the illegal happy endings happen upstairs, not in the shampoo room.” Then he angrily stomped out. I almost gave him a happy ending in the mixing room once, but I didn’t point that out to him.

  “Oh,” Trent said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to imply you were a whore.” His eyes were as wide and unblinking as an owl’s.

  “You didn’t,” I assured him. “Sorry, if I got a little carried away with my hands.”

  “Did you do that on purpose to get even with him for taking me to Thanksgiving dinner at Josh’s house?” Trent asked when I rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. “You know that was all my fault, right?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “Sorry. Do I need to bring you flowers too?”

  The doctor laughed good-naturedly. “You should’ve seen your face. If looks could’ve killed….”

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “It’s not my place to s
ay—”

  “You’re right about that,” I said, cutting him off. “We’ll sort this out.”

  “Before some innocent bystander gets caught up in the middle of it,” Trent suggested.

  “Point taken.”

  I spent the next forty minutes cutting Trent’s hair and teaching him how to style it with products, a rounded brush, and a blow dryer. I followed him over to the shelves that held our styling products and handed him the ones he needed to buy.

  “The volumizer goes on wet,” he said. “Then I dry it with the rounded brush and finish with the styling clay, right?”

  “Yep. Make sure you work the clay really well with your hands first,” Dare suggested. “Or else you’ll end up looking like you have globs of cum in your hair.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Trial and error, Trent,” Dare said sheepishly. “Do you want to go ahead and book your next appointment with Wren?” He was back to being professional and I didn’t like it. Hell, I should like it, demand it even, but I missed his teasing looks and gestures.

  “Sure,” the doctor agreed. “How often should I come in to maintain this cut?”

  “How fast does your hair grow?” I asked him. “Most people can go six weeks, but some people need trimmed every four weeks.”

  “I’ll go with four weeks to keep it nice and tight.” The doctor ran his hands over the super short sides as he looked at his reflection in the mirror behind Dare’s desk. “I love it, Wren. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Doc. See you in a month.”

  I went to retrieve the broom from the closet next to the mixing room. When I turned around to go back into the salon, Dare stood in my way with arms crossed over his chest.

  “You better kiss it and make it better. That was just mean.” He wasn’t playing either. His calm professional demeanor before was because I’d hurt his feelings. That I just couldn’t abide.