Bonus Kisses - Freya Barker Page 0,40

to switch a few things on the schedule around,” he says when we get in the car, further confirming his insight. “I didn’t realize you knew each other.”

“Most people who grew up here know each other one way or another.”

“Winona has about double the population, but it’s true there too. Anyway, like I said, I’m happy to assign her to one of the others.”

It’s tempting, but I know it would only be a temporary reprieve. I’m bound to bump into more people like Mrs. Myers or even Sheila Mantle, who think they know who I am. I can’t really control that; I’ll simply have to find a way to deal with it.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell Nathan with more confidence than I feel.

I have half an hour before the kids come off the bus, so the moment I get home; I dart upstairs for a quick shower.

I pull a shower cap over my head before I hop under the stream. This is one of the luxuries I most missed while working in the field: water pressure. Sure, we had showers, but often those would be no more than a rainwater cistern, a simple pulley system, and gravity.

Wrapped in a towel, I wipe the condensation from the bathroom mirror, pull off the shower cap, and watch my dreadlocks bounce free. I take a moment to study my reflection. The familiar face starting to show some of the strain of the past months. The olive skin already a shade or two lighter than when I arrived. My eyes land on my dreads.

For some reason, they look out of place, even though they’ve been part of me for many years. A symbol of my independent and adventurous spirit. They were rarely given a second glance until I came home. Here they’re looked at as an oddity, not so much a symbol of independence as one of nonconformity. It sets me apart in a way that almost underlines people’s opinion of me.

I pull open the top drawer of the vanity and pull out a pair of scissors. I only hesitate for a second before I firmly grab one of my dreads and cut half of it off.

“What the fuck?” I jump at Rafe’s bark and promptly drop the scissors that clatter in the sink. “What are you doing?”

He’s standing in the door opening looking murderous. I’m not sure what reaction I thought I’d get, but anger wasn’t it. It’s unexpected.

“Cutting my hair,” I announce much calmer than I feel. With a slightly shaky hand I reach for the scissors.

“Like hell you are.” He’s almost growling as he makes a grab for my wrist, twisting the scissors from my hold with his other hand.

“My hair, my decision.” I lift my chin defiantly.

“Why?” The question is asked in a much softer tone and momentarily throws me. “Taz?” he prompts, “Why would you do that?”

“They don’t fit here,” I finally concede, shrugging my shoulders. “It throws people off.”

“Fuck people.” He takes a step closer and picks a lock off my shoulder, rubbing it between his fingers. I’m suddenly very aware of the fact I’m standing here buck naked but for a flimsy towel. “They suit you. They’re a part of you. Since when do you care what others think?”

Even if I had a response to that, I wouldn’t be able to answer him. Not with his mouth just inches from mine. All I can do is watch his clear blue eyes go dark as the night, when his lips close over mine.

Rafe

She tastes like she looks.

Like spice, sunlight, and pure honey.

My arm wraps around the small of her back, pulling her body into mine. Kissing Taz is like diving in a cool stream after a long, hot day.

Refreshing, free, unbridled, and all-consuming.

Every nerve end is vibrating as her fingers slide into my hair.

Her body suddenly freezes as the sound of a horn penetrates my awareness.

“The bus,” she hisses, as she rips her mouth from mine.

“Shit. The kids.”

“Go.” Taz almost shoves me out of the bathroom, closing the door in my face.

I’m out of breath by the time I reach the waiting school bus and mumble my apologies when the driver shoots me an annoyed look.

“Sorry, guys,” I tell the kids when they come off the bus. Spencer seems happy to see me, but Sofie is not pleased and darts past me, heading up the driveway.

“Mrs. Ryan says we only have seven more days of school.” My son grabs my hand and skips beside me, chattering away.

“Aren’t you