Chapter Sixteen

The Intimacy of Dyeing Hair

Rafe

"Howdy, neighbour," he drawled, eyes gleaming with amusement as he took me in from head to toe.

Nev fell silent, before I heard him choke. "Holy shit, is that him ?"

I lunged for my phone, smacking my chest into the edge of the island and fumbling to hang up the call. Then I whipped the bag off my head, cringing as hunks of slimy, bleach-slick hair flopped into my face.

Ewen crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder on the doorframe, a big paper bag dangling from one hand. His crooked grin grew wider. "What did your friend just call me?"

Fuck.

Heat flooded my face as I rubbed my sore chest, my brain not working well enough to form words. It didn't help that he was wearing grey sweats and a cropped T-shirt that looked like it might have been Tasselled Tussler merch. There were nipple tassels printed on it. And his abs were just… there. On display. Chiselled and quite frankly ridiculous.

Eventually, I managed to croak, "Why are you in my yard?"

He shrugged lightly. "You didn't answer the door, and I wanted to check on you. Just came around the side."

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Never better."

He looked me up and down again, then nodded solemnly. "Looks like it."

"I'm bleaching my hair," I said defensively.

"I can see that." He looked at the towel and supplies still laid out on the floor. "What colour you going for this time?"

"Uh…" Why was he here? Why were we talking about my hair? Why did he have to be wearing a crop top and grey sweats? "Pink."

He looked back at me and grinned. "Nice. You look pretty with pink hair."

Here we fucking go . He'd been here thirty seconds and the teasing remarks had already begun. And thanks to my drunken stupidity last night, I had provided him with an endless supply of new material.

"Shut up," I grumbled, scrunching the plastic bag in my hands and ending up with bleach all over them. My legs a little shaky, I walked over to the trashcan and stuffed it inside as he chuckled.

"Brought you some food." I looked over while washing my hands to see him take a single step inside and hold up the paper bag. "Figured you might want something with lots of fat and salt."

My belly was still a little shaky, but it tightened with hunger as I eyed the bag, reminding me that all I'd really eaten over the last twenty-four hours was some toast and tortilla chips.

No wonder I'd gotten so wasted last night.

The shots with Frank and Beans and the bachelor party probably hadn't helped either.

And all that champagne.

Drying my hands, I turned and watched with alarm as Ewen sauntered over to the island and started pulling food out of the bag. Enough for two people.

"I have to wash my hair," I blurted, my palms starting to sweat at the thought of having to sit and eat with him.

There was no way in hell he wasn't going to take the absolute piss out of me for what happened last night if he stayed.

I couldn't handle it. I was too fragile right now.

He laughed, setting down a stack of napkins. "First time I've had that excuse used on me."

I flushed. "I—Because of the bleach. Hot roots."

Ewen shot me a big grin. "We don't want hot roots, do we? Go wash your hair, handsome. I'll wait."

I hesitated, then sighed in defeat and shuffled toward the hall. I knew Ewen well enough to know he wasn't going to relent. He never relented. Looked like he was staying to eat.

Fuck.

Fuck everything. Fucking… fuck.

"Don't call me that," I remembered to say before leaving the kitchen, and I heard Ewen chuckle.

"Sure thing, kitten."

Letting out a silent groan of despair, knowing my torture was just beginning, I dragged my feet up the stairs and into the bathroom. My hoodie was ruined from the bleach, so I left it crumpled on the floor. After shivering under cool water for a few minutes to rinse out my hair, I dried off quickly and pulled my pyjama pants back on, as well as a clean T-shirt.

I didn't know how to feel as I apprehensively padded back downstairs. Dan Ewen was in my house. He was in the same building as the mattress he knew I'd humped thinking about him.

I took a deep, fortifying breath and walked into the kitchen, then froze when I realised it was empty. The takeout bag was still on the counter, but the wrapped food packages were gone. My gut kind of… sank.

Had he left?

And taken the food with him?

"In here," he called from the living room. My nostrils flared as I stalked over to the door and saw him lounging on the couch, his thighs splayed wide and arms draped along the back. The food was laid out on the coffee table in front of him.

Well, he'd just made himself right at fucking home, hadn't he?

"I don't usually eat in here," I said snippily as I stomped over to the couch, though a hint of guilt flared in my belly. Seeing as he had, for some reason, brought me food.

Plus, it was a total lie. I ate in here all the time.

But I was trying to mentally prepare myself for the teasing and smirks and snide remarks I knew were coming, and my best method of defence against Ewen was snarking back. The fact that a part of me felt horribly vulnerable after what had happened was making my ire rise even faster than normal.

"Thought you'd want to be comfortable," Ewen said easily, unperturbed by my dickishness, "but we can go back into the kitchen if you want."

"It's fine," I muttered, flopping down onto the other end of the couch and immediately pulling my legs up to hunch in on myself.

I was stiff. Unbearably tense, just anticipating what he might say, and I didn't know if he noticed. After an awkward pause, he leaned forward to grab the food.

"Got you a burger," he said, and my mouth watered as he handed me the squishy foil-wrapped sandwich and a big carton of fries.

I cleared my throat, set the burger down on my lap, and awkwardly said, "Thanks."

"My pleasure." He picked up his own foil parcel and sat back. He'd already discarded the buns from his burger, and found myself staring as he bit into the slab of meat.

He glanced over, so I quickly looked down and shoved some fries into my mouth. They were salty and a little greasy and still hot, and I wanted to curl up into a ball and not move for a week straight as I started wolfing them down.

"So," he began cheerfully, and I tensed because I could hear the sly smile in his voice. "Have fun last night?"

My heart gave a heavy thud as panic streaked through me.

"Don't remember," I said quickly, then bit into a fry.

He chuckled. "You don't remember?"

"No." I set down the carton and unwrapped my burger with slightly trembling fingers. "Don't remember any of it."

There was an agonising pause before he huffed in amusement. "Sure. Okay."

Heat rushed to my cheeks, making me light-headed. I took a huge bite of my burger so I wouldn't be able to answer any other questions.

He knew I was lying.

"So I guess you don't remember leaving this in my car…" He shifted to reach into his pants pocket—where I'd already noticed a rather large lump—and pulled out a crumpled baseball cap with a pair of tits on the brim.

And, goddamnit, the words Boob Inspector on the back. I hadn't seen that last night.

He grinned over at me, and I tensed even more. If he tried to put that thing on my head, I was going to smush my burger into his stupid cocky face.

He didn't. Just smoothed out the crumpled cap and dropped it on the couch cushion between us. "Figured you might want it back. You looked good in it, handsome."

My face went hot. "Shut up. It—One of the bachelor party guys put it on me."

He nodded and took a bite of burger, voice light when he commented around his mouthful, "So you do remember some of last night."

Fuck.

"No," I blurted. "Nothing else. Just… seeing the hat made me remember. The bachelor party, I mean. Just the bachelor party. That's it."

"Uh-huh."

I suppressed a strangled groan. Why was he here? What was this? We both knew I was lying. He knew I remembered. Was he just waiting for the perfect moment, maybe once I'd let my guard down a little, to inform me that I was a sad, desperate loser?

I don't need to be informed of that, asshole, I thought viciously, tearing off a piece of burger and chewing angrily. I'm already aware.

"Hair looks pretty good." Ewen nodded at my head. "Should probably get some toner on there before you dye it though. It's a little brassy."

I paused mid-chew to stare at him blankly.

"While it's still damp," he added in what I assumed was meant to be a helpful tone.

I swallowed my mouthful, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm aware. Thanks. Been bleaching my hair for years."

"'Kay." He shrugged, then leaned over to steal one of my fries, which for some stupid reason made my belly clench.

Flustered, I nodded at his half-eaten, bunless burger patty and said, "Assumed you didn't eat carbs, seeing as you're taking the buns off your burgers."

"Sure I do. On training days. But I'm not training today." He grinned at me and ate another stolen fry. "I trust you not to tell Hogbody that I indulged, handsome."

I tensed and stayed silent, watching as he polished off his first burger then sat forward to reach for two more foil-wrapped sandwiches on the coffee table. My teeth sank into my lower lip as I ran my gaze over him, the burger I was clutching forgotten.

Below the cropped hem of his tee, I could see smooth, tanned skin. The dip of his spine. The twin dimples at the base of it. Then my gaze settled on the curve of his ass.

It didn't look like he was wearing any underwear beneath those sweats.

My dick twitched, so I hurriedly looked away and stuffed my burger into my mouth. Ewen sat back with two bare patties stacked together in the foil, and I watched with mild disgust as he bit down and chewed.

"I don't get how that's any better for you," I said suspiciously. "It's still a tonne of red meat."

He shrugged and said around his mouthful, "S'protein. Doesn't matter where I get it from."

I found my gaze flicking down to his ridiculous abs, and that line of dark blond hair descending from his navel under the waistband of his sweats.

Sweats that he definitely had nothing on underneath. The front view cleared that up instantly.

This was torture in a multitude of ways.

By the time we'd both finished eating, I felt simultaneously more relaxed and a million times more tense. He, thank fuck, hadn't pressed the subject of last night again, but he was still here . In my house. Just… sitting there in his sweats and skimpy shirt. With his stupid abs all visible and his thick thighs spread wide in a domineering pose.

He crumpled up his foil wrapper with a sated sigh and tossed it onto the coffee table, then leaned back and stretched his arms along the back of the couch.

Almost like he was settling in. Getting comfortable.

I, on the other hand, was hunched up and growing fidgety and nervous. Extremely nervous. We no longer had the distraction of food, which increased the chances of him bringing up last night again.

I wondered whether I could will myself to barf that burger right back up if he mentioned it. Just throw up all over him so he never, ever talked to me again.

"Mind if I get a glass of water?" he asked, standing up from the couch and stretching.

His sweatpants slipped down a little. I saw a hint of dark blond pubic hair and whipped my gaze away, then back for a moment, then away again.

Then back for a second time.

"Uh…" He'd asked a question, right? I just couldn't remember what it was.

"I'll get you one too, kitten." He grabbed our trash and sauntered around the couch. "You're still looking a little pale. Well, paler than normal."

"Don't call me that," I said weakly, but he'd already gone into the kitchen.

I looked around helplessly at my living room.

What was happening?

Was he just… here ? Was this it for the rest of the day? He was just going to be in my house? Looking like that? While I still had to remember throwing myself at him the night before?

That was so fucking unfair.

I stood and walked cautiously over to the kitchen door, then watched him in silence as he opened a few cabinets before finally locating the glasses. He'd thrown out all the takeout trash. I noticed, because I hated mess.

Realising that if he turned around, I would once again be cementing my status as lechy peeping Tom by just standing here and staring at him, I took a deep breath and stepped stiltedly into the kitchen.

"Uh, thanks for the food." I gestured at the hair dye stuff on the floor when he looked over his shoulder as he filled the glasses at the sink. "But uh, like you said, I should probably get the toner on…"

He nodded, gulping down water as he turned to face me. "Sure. I'll help."

I laughed awkwardly, assuming he was joking, but it trailed off when he set down the glasses and rounded the island to crouch by the hair products.

"What?" I asked stupidly.

"Got gloves? Ah, here they are." He reached for the box. When he stood a few seconds later, snapping on a pair of black latex gloves, I was still just standing there like an idiot.

My stomach grew jittery when he looked at me, gloved hands on his hips. Why… why was that hot? They were just latex gloves. What was wrong with me? Was I really that horny for him?

Why did it have to be him?

"I'm… fine doing it myself," I said slowly. "Thanks."

"Better if someone else does it though, right?" He crouched again to grab the toner and grinned up at me. "You know I'll do a better job than you, kitten."

I stiffened at that stupid pet name again. I hated how my stomach went all weird every time he said it.

"Uh, no, I don't know that." I gestured at his stupid head of stupid, long, perfectly glossy and healthy, stupid blond hair. "You don't do anything to your hair."

"No, but I used to be a hair stylist."

I gawked at him in shock. "What? Really?"

"Uh-huh." He gestured at the towel he was kneeling beside. "Take a seat, handsome."

Not sure what was going on or why I was going along with it, I found myself slowly sinking onto the towel with my back to him.

"Don't… don't fuck up my hair," I croaked, wetting my lips nervously.

He snorted. "It's toner, kitten. How bad could I fuck up even if I didn't know what I was doing?"

I parted my lips to once again tell him not to call me that, but my breath hitched when I felt strong fingers gently pull my damp hair over my shoulders. They brushed against my neck, and I prayed to fucking god that he didn't notice the way my skin pebbled from the brief touch.

Fuck.

This had been a mistake.