Standing by my wardrobe taking in all that was me in the mirror on the back of the door, not just my shoes, my dress and my hair but also my smoky makeup, I wasn’t so sure.
Yes, it was elegant, classic and stylish. It was also sexy as all frak and I wondered not only what Chace’s Mom would think of me but also Chace.
Especially the hair.
He told me flat out he loved my hair but he didn’t have to say that. He was always finding reasons to touch it, tuck it behind my ear, move it over my shoulder, run his fingers through it. It wasn’t like it was no longer there. It was just that it was… different.
There was a knock at my door, I jumped and whirled toward it, my brows drawing together.
Chace never knocked since he had a key.
I looked at the thin, graceful, gold watch on my wrist that my parents gave me when I graduated from college and saw that Chace was early.
Then I went to the door, flipped the deadbolt and pulled it open, asking, “Did you forget your key?”
My eyes went up, up, up and I found myself staring at Chace’s best friend, Deck.
I had met Deck, once, at the hospital when Malachi was brought in.
Therefore, I was in no state to appreciate all that was him.
Now that there was no drama at hand I had the opportunity to appreciate all that was him and we’ll just say there was much to appreciate in quantity and quality.
“Babe,” his deep, rumbling voice tumbled down at me, “before you open the door, you should ask who’s there.”
I blinked.
His eyes moved from my hair to my coral painted toes back up to my hair.
Then he muttered, “Fuck.”
“Uh…” I muttered back.
His eyes did a head to toe to head again and he repeated, “Fuck.”
So I repeated, “Uh…”
He seemed to jolt himself out of his stupor and his hazel eyes came to me.
“Got a minute?”
Actually, at my calculations I had twelve but that didn’t mean I was fired up to have my boyfriend’s seriously hot guy best friend in my house for a surprise visit.
“Sure,” I told him and stepped back.
He moved in, all of him, all his height, his muscled bulk and his mess of seriously longish, thick, dark hair. He didn’t need a haircut two weeks ago. He needed it two months ago. It curled and flipped around his ears and down to the collar of his jeans shirt, a heavy hank of it resting on his forehead falling past his eye.
I’d had the not frequent, but also not rare, always happy occasion to reach out and tug at Chace’s curls and those occasions had included when he was in his truck beside me, on the couch beside me and in bed beside me. When I gave into this whim, it bought me one of three responses. Chace’s lips would tip up but he’d otherwise ignore it (driving). He’d turn to me and smile (on the couch). Or he’d turn into me and kiss me hard (bed).
Deck’s hair made your fingers itch not only to tug at those curls and flips but also to run through it.
Repeatedly.
And take your time.
I licked my lips as he closed the door and I moved toward the kitchen asking, “Would you like a beer?”
“No, my boy’s gonna be here in a few so not gonna take that time, Faye.”