Page 20 of I'm Not His Style
His mouth ticked into a smile, revealing a delicious dimple. I didn’t know dimples could have that descriptor, but since Rhett’s only made me want to eat him up, I thought it was perfectly fitting.
“Technically the tweezing is your job,” he mumbled, looking at his phone.
Point for Rhett. I cleared my throat. “Are we going to discuss the new nickname now, or were you hoping I would forget it?”
Rhett looked up from his phone. He clicked it off and set it on the counter face down. Whoa. I wasn’t sure I liked having his full attention like this. It was unnerving. “It’s not really that much of a leap.”
“Beauty-schooldropout?”
“Fair enough,” Rhett said, running his hand over his stubbled jaw. “I didn’t really think of the dropout part. I just kept picturing you with pink hair.”
He’d been picturing me? Stay cool, Beth. Stay cool. Remember Charlie’s wisdom: no fangirling allowed. “I’ve had pink hair before.”
Rhett’s eyes lit up. “Of course you have, Frenchy.”
My cheeks started to take on the same color we were speaking of, and I set my focus on combing through his silky, dark hair with my fingers. I did this with every client. It was necessary to gauge the hair’s density, coarseness, pliability—but yeah, it was safe to say my testing of the hair strands went on longer than necessary with Rhett. Could you blame me? “Everyone does something weird in hair school. It’s like a rite of passage—or boredom. Both of which are valid reasons for rainbow-hued hair.”
“Would you do pink hair now?”
“No way. Do you know how blonde you have to bleach hair this dark in order for it to hold pink? I’m not ruining the integrity of my hair for that now. I’ve worked too hard to get it this long and healthy.”
“Theintegrityof your hair?”
“Yeah.” I worked pomade into my palms and then ran it through his dry hair until it looked exactly like I wanted it to, then sprayed lightly to help it stay. He was going to need a haircut at some point on this trip, and I hoped that responsibility would fall on me. It was already looking a little too long. Maybe if I suggested it...
“How does hair have integrity?” he asked.
“What I call integrity, you would probably call hair health. My hair is strong and dark, so bleaching it blonde enough to hold pink color would break down the cuticles so much it would become dry and brittle and break off like straw. It can’t get as strong and healthy again, either. Not until I chop off the bleached hair and let it grow back fresh.”
“I see.”
“I love my hair the way it is. I don’t feel the need to be pink right now.”
He looked up into my eyes. “Because of the message that would send?”
“No.” I stepped back and pointed at his chest. “I don’t considerpink haira message. Please tell me you’re not one of those people who thinks everyone with a non-natural color is screaming for attention.”
“Uh...”
I rolled my eyes and moved around the counter to wash the pomade from my hands. “Give me a break.”
“Is it not? They’re basically screaming from their heads, ‘Look at me!’”
I leveled him with a look. “No, it’s not. I mean, I guess it could be for some people. But for most of my clients, it’s just for fun. Or it’s an expression. Do you like the assumption that you’re an actor because you want attention?”
Rhett’s thick, dark eyebrows drew together. “No.”
“Then you shouldn’t assign that same reasoning to someone you know nothing about.”
“You feel strongly about this.”
“I had someone call me out when my hair was purple a few years ago, and they couldn’t have been farther from the truth.”
He hesitated, his fingers curving over his phone and spinning it absently on the counter. “Can I ask you a question without making you angry? Purely out of curiosity.”
Further pursuing this conversation could be enlightening, or it could make me lose respect for the man of my dreams. “Sure.”
“Why doyouchoose crazy colors?”