Things We Never Got Over

by Lucy Score

  “Hi,” she chirped.

  I heard the approach of his boots, and every muscle in my body went rigid. No woman looked good with wet hair in a salon chair. Not that I was going for alluring or anything. Although I was wearing the underwear he’d bought me.

  “Naomi,” he rasped.

  What was it about my name from that mouth that made my nether regions feel like they were being electrocuted? In a super sexy, fun way.

  “Knox,” I managed to choke out.

  “Your face is red,” Jeremiah noted. “Is the water too hot?”

  Stef snickered.

  I swear to God I could hear a smugness in the steady clomp of boots as they slowly retreated to the back of the shop.

  Way to be cool, me.

  Stef let out a low whistle from the barber chair he was occupying. “Spaaaaarks,” he sang quietly.

  I raised my head out of the sink, sending a tidal wave of water over the lip of the bowl. “What is the matter with you?” I hissed. “Shut. Up.”

  He raised his palms in surrender. “Fine. Sorry.”

  As Jeremiah gently stuffed me back into the sink, I fumed. I didn’t want or need sparks and I certainly didn’t want or need anyone else calling attention to them.

  Jeremiah wrapped a towel around my sodden hair and led me back to his station. Waylay was in the chair behind me, discussing cut and style options with Stasia and Stef.

  “So. How do we feel about getting rid of some dead weight?” Jeremiah asked, holding my gaze in the mirror. He hefted the bulk of my damp hair in one hand and held it above my shoulders.

  “We feel really good about that,” I decided.

  I was mid-second-thought panic as Jeremiah aggressively snipped his way through my long hair when Knox returned with a cup of coffee and some kind of short, leather apron over his worn jeans. With his tattoo-adorned arms, the ruthlessly trimmed beard, and those scarred motorcycle boots, he looked like the definition of a man.

  Our eyes locked in the mirror, and my breath caught in my throat.

  After a too-long beat, Knox whistled and hooked his thumb at the client in the waiting area. The man hefted his tall frame out of the chair and lumbered back.

  “How’s it going, Aunt Naomi?” Waylay called from behind me. “Still look like a wet mop?”

  Kids were jerks.

  “She’s being transformed as we speak,” Jeremiah promised, sliding his long fingers through my significantly shorter hair. I choked back a purr.

  “How’s your hair?” I asked my niece.

  “Blue. I like it.”

  She said it with a mix of reverence and excitement that had me smiling. I gave up worrying about whether or not I was overcompensating and turning Waylay into an entitled brat and decided to just go with it.

  “How blue? Like Smurfette blue?”

  “Who’s Smurfette?” Waylay asked.

  “Who’s Smurfette?” Stasia scoffed. I heard her rummaging through her pockets and then the telltale sound of the Smurf theme song coming from a phone. “That’s Smurfette.”

  “Wish my hair was as long as hers,” Waylay said wistfully.

  “You cut it pretty short before you came in here. But it’ll grow,” Stasia told her with confidence.

  Waylay was silent for a moment, and I craned my neck for a glimpse of her in the mirror. “I didn’t cut it,” she said, eyes meeting mine.

  “What’s that, sweetheart?” Stasia asked.

  “I didn’t cut it,” Waylay said again. “My mom did. As a punishment. Couldn’t ground me ’cause she was never around. So she chopped off my hair.”

  “That fucking b—ouch!”

  I kicked Stef then spun my chair around.

  Waylay shrugged at the suddenly silent adults around her. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  That’s what she’d told herself. I remembered the tidy bins of hair accessories in her old bedroom. Tina had taken something from her, something she’d taken pride in.

  Stef and Stasia looked to me, and I searched for the right words to make this okay.

  But someone beat me to it.

  Knox dropped the razor on a metal tray with a clang and crossed to Waylay’s chair. “You get that that was a dick move, right?”

  “Knox, language,” I hissed.

  He ignored me. “What your mom did was born out of a place of unhappiness and meanness inside her. It had nothing to do with you. You didn’t cause it or deserve it. She was just being an asshole, yeah?”

  Waylay’s eyes narrowed as if she were waiting for the punchline. “Yeah?” she said tentatively.

  He nodded briskly. “Good. I don’t know why your mom does the things she does. I don’t really want to know. Something’s broke inside her, and that makes her treat others like shit. Got it?”

  Waylay nodded again.

  “Your Aunt Naomi over there isn’t like that. She’s not broken. She’ll probably still fuck up now and then, but that’s cause she’s human, not broken. Which is why when you mess up—and you will cause you’re human too—there has to be a consequence. It won’t be cutting your hair or not making you dinner. It’ll be boring shit like chores and grounding and no TV. Got it?”

  “I got it,” she said quietly.

  “From here on out, if anyone says they have a right to decide what to do with your body, kid, you kick ’em in the ass, then come find me,” Knox told her.

  Well, hell. The man’s hotness had just escalated into underwear melting territory.

  “And me,” Stef agreed.

  Jeremiah gave her a level look. “Me too.”

  Waylay’s lips quirked and she was having a hard time keeping her smile under wraps. I, on the other hand, suddenly felt a little damp in the eye and underwear areas.

  “Then when they’re done kicking ass, you come find me,” Stasia said.

  “And me. But preferably me first before anyone goes to jail,” I added.

  “Party pooper,” Jeremiah teased.

  “You got it, Way?” Knox pressed.

  The tiniest of smiles played on her lips. “Yeah. I got it,” she said.

  “In that case, let’s get back to giving you the best haircut in the world,” Stasia said with extra cheer.

  My phone buzzed in my lap, and I glanced at the screen.

  Stef: Told you your sister was a gigantic waste of DNA.

  I sighed and tossed him a glare, then typed.

  Me: I’m first in line for face punching when she turns up.

  Stef: Good girl. Also, I added a bikini wax to your mani-pedi.

  Me: Mean! Why?

  Stef: Growly Tattoo Guy deserves to get laid after that speech. Also, Jer is fifty shades of gorgeous.

  “Agree on both counts,” Jeremiah said from where he was reading over my shoulder.

  Stef laughed while I turned six shades of scarlet.

  “What are you agreeing to?” Knox demanded.

  I clutched my phone to my chest and spun myself around to face the mirror. “Nothing. No one is agreeing to anything,” I said sharply.

  “Face is burning up, Daisy,” Knox observed.

  I considered crawling under my cape like a turtle and hiding there for the rest of my life. But then Jeremiah put his magic hands in my hair and did something lovely to my scalp, and I began to relax against my will.

  Everyone went back to other conversations while I snuck surreptitious glances in Knox’s direction.

  Not only had the man just given a little girl a hero, he also appeared to be a competent barber. I’d never considered haircuts sexy until this moment as Knox, arm muscles flexing, trimmed and shaped his client’s thick, dark hair.

  Lots of mundane things were sexy when Knox Morgan was doing them.

  “Ready for the razor?” he asked gruffly.

  “You know it,” the man mumbled from under the hot towel on his face.

  I watched in fascination as Knox got to work with a straight razor and a sweet-smelling shaving cream on his friend’s face.

  It felt
more relaxing than all those pressure washing videos I’d binged while planning the wedding. Straight clean lines leaving behind nothing but smooth shine.

  “You really should think about it,” Jeremiah whispered as he liberated a curling iron from a tool organizer.

  “Think about what?”

  He caught my eye in the mirror and tilted his head in Knox’s direction.

  “Hard pass.”

  “Self-care maintenance,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Some women get manicures. Some get massages or go for therapy. Some hit the gym or their favorite bottle of Shiraz. But the best self-care maintenance, in my opinion, is regular, earth-shattering orgasms.”

  This time I felt even the tips of my ears go pink.

  “I just ran away from a groom and a wedding. I think my tank is topped off for a while,” I whispered.

  Jeremiah deftly worked his way through my hair with the barrel of the iron. “Suit yourself. But don’t you dare waste this style.”

  With a flourish, he whipped the cape from me and pointed at my reflection.

  “Holy sh—crap.” I leaned in, shoving my fingers into the touchable chin-length bob. My dark brown hair now had russet highlights and curled in what I liked to call “sex waves.”

  Stef let out a wolf whistle. “Damn, Nomi.”

  I’d spent two years growing my hair out for the perfect wedding updo because Warner liked long hair. Two years planning a wedding that didn’t happen. Two years wasted, when I could have looked like this. Confident. Stylish. Sexy as hell. Even my eyes looked brighter, my smile bigger.

  Warner Dennison III was officially done taking things from me.

  “What do you think, Aunt Naomi?” Waylay asked. She stepped in front of me. Her blonde hair was cut short with a sweep of sleek bangs over one eye. A subtle blue teased through from the bottom layers.

  “You look like you’re sixteen,” I groaned.

  Waylay gave her hair an experimental toss. “I like it.”

  “I love it,” I assured her.

  “And with a sassy new cut, we’ll be able to coax some length out of your hair if you want to grow it long again,” Stasia told her.

  She tucked a strand behind her ear and looked at me. “Maybe short hair isn’t so bad after all.”

  “Stasia, Jeremiah, you’re miracle workers,” Stef said, pulling cash out of his wallet and pressing it into their hands.

  “Thank you,” I said, offering first Stasia and then Jeremiah a hug. Knox’s eyes met mine in the mirror over Jeremiah’s shoulder. I released him and looked away. “Seriously. This was amazing.”

  “Where are we going now?” Waylay wanted to know, still staring at herself in the mirror with that tiny smile on her lips.

  “Nails,” Stef said. “Your aunt’s hands look like talons.”

  I felt the weight of cool blue-gray eyes on me and looked up. Knox watched me with an unreadable expression. I couldn’t tell if he was smoldering or pissed off. “See ya around, boss.”

  I carried the weight of his attention with me as I strutted for the door.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I hope you’re having the best time on your cruise! I can’t believe three weeks is almost up.

  Things here are good. I have some news for you. Actually, it’s really Tina’s news. Okay. Here goes. Tina has a daughter. Which means you have a granddaughter. Her name is Waylay. She’s eleven years old and I’m watching her for Tina for a while.

  She’s really great.

  Call me when you get home and I’ll tell you the whole story. Maybe Waylay and I can drive up for a weekend so you can meet her.

  Love,

  Naomi

  NINETEEN

  HIGH STAKES

  Naomi

  “Well, look who just strutted her fabulous ass in here,” Fi called from the corner of Honky Tonk’s bar where she was keying the night’s specials into the system.

  I held out my arms and did a slow turn.

  Who knew a haircut could make me feel ten years younger and a thousand times sassier? Not to mention the short denim skirt Stef had talked me into.

  The man set the gold standard for being a best friend. While waiting for me to prance out of the dressing room in my new skirt, Stef had been on a conference call with his “people,” arranging to have my stuff packed and my house on Long Island put on the market.

  Tonight he was staying with Waylay, and I wasn’t sure who was more excited about their plans to binge-watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

  “You like the hair, Fi?” I asked, giving my head a shake to make the curls bounce.

  “Love it. My brother’s a damn genius with hair. Speaking of Jer, is your Stef single and if so can we play matchmaker?”

  “Why? Did Jeremiah say anything about Stef?” I demanded.

  “He only casually mentioned that your friend was the hottest gay man to strut into Knockemout in a decade.”

  I squealed. “Stef asked me if Jeremiah was seeing anyone!”

  “Oh, it’s so on,” Fi announced, pulling the lollipop out of her mouth. “By the way, I’ve got good news for you.”

  I grinned as I stowed my purse behind the bar. “Did Idris Elba come to his senses and offer to whisk you away to a private island?”

  She grinned wickedly. “Not quite that good. But you’ve got a party in the private room starting at nine. High rollers.”

  I perked up. “High rollers?”

  Fi jerked her head toward the hallway. “Poker game. Hush-hush. Half a dozen big spenders who feel like throwing away six figures on cards.”

  “Six figures?” I blinked. “Is this legal?” I whispered the question despite the fact that we were alone in the empty bar.

  The lollipop returned to her mouth. “Weeeell, let’s just say if Chief Morgan wanders his fine ass in here tonight, he doesn’t get in that room.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. As someone who was supposed to be looking good in the eyes of the court, I probably shouldn’t be lying to law enforcement about anything.

  But I’d cross that bridge when I had to tonight. Feeling happy, I swung into the kitchen to get set up for the busy night.

  The extent of my professional poker knowledge was entirely based on the snippets of games I’d seen on TV while changing channels. I was pretty sure the players on TV looked nothing like the ones crowded around the round table in Honky Tonk’s secret back room.

  Beneath his turquoise polo shirt, the British-accented Ian had muscles that looked like he bench pressed cars all day. He had dark skin, short-cropped hair, and the kind of smile that made a woman’s knees go weak. He was wearing a wedding ring with a whole lot of diamonds.

  On Ian’s right was Tanner. He had reddish-blond hair that looked like a woman’s fingers had just left it. He wore the D.C. commuter uniform of expensive, fitted trousers, rolled-up shirt sleeves, and a loosened tie. No wedding ring, and he’d made certain I’d noticed with every top-shelf scotch I brought him. He fidgeted constantly and jumped every time the door opened.

  On Tanner’s right was a man the rest referred to as Grim, though I doubted his parents had actually named him that. He looked like he’d walked right off the pages of a silver fox motorcycle club romance novel. Tattoos crisscrossed every inch of visible skin. He kept his sunglasses and scowl firmly in place as he lounged in his chair, sticking to club sodas.

  Next to Grim was Winona, the only woman at the table. She was tall, built, Black, and wore pink metallic eyeshadow that complemented the accents on her figure-hugging denim romper. Her hair was big and bold, just like her laugh, which she was sharing with the man next to her.

  “Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,” she said. “When are you gonna learn not to bluff me?”

  Lucian was the kind of handsome that made women wonder if he’d made some pact with the devil. Dark hair. Dark, smoldery eyes. Dark suit. He gave off hints of power, wealth, and secrets like a cologne.

  He’d arrived later than everyone else,
shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves as if he had all the time in the world. He took his bourbon neat and didn’t try to look down my shirt when I served it.

  “Maybe when you stop distracting me with your wit and beauty,” he teased.

  “Please,” Winona scoffed, elegantly stacking her winnings with long red fingernails.

  I was in the middle of trying to figure out how much one chip was worth and topping off the pitcher of ice water in the corner when the door burst open.

  Tanner and I both jumped.

  Knox strode into the room, looking annoyingly sexy as always. “You son of a bitch,” he said.

  Everyone held their breath. Everyone, that is, except for Lucian, who continued to deal the next hand, unruffled by the interruption. “I was wondering how long it would take word to travel,” he said blandly. He set the deck down and came to his feet.

  For a second, I was sure they were going to launch themselves at each other like stags fighting for supremacy in a nature documentary…or, you know, actual nature.

  Instead, Knox’s scowl melted and was replaced with the kind of grin that made me feel as warm and gooey inside as a chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven.

  Note to self: Make chocolate chip cookies.

  The two men shook hands and exchanged back slaps that would have put me in a chiropractor’s office.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Knox asked, less aggressively this time.

  “Currently losing to Winona and thinking about ordering another drink.”

  “I’ll get it. Anyone else want another round?” I squeaked.

  Knox’s gaze fell on me. His grin vanished so quickly I wondered if he’d sprained a facial muscle. He took a leisurely, scowly tour of my appearance from hair to feet, disapproval snapping off of him like electricity.

  “Naomi, outside. Now,” he growled.

  “Seriously? What’s your problem this time, Viking?”

  “There a problem?” Grim asked, his voice low and dangerous.

  “None of your concern.” Knox’s voice had dropped into sub-zero temperatures.

  “Go ahead and bring everyone a round, Naomi,” Ian suggested, his eyes on Knox.