You really shouldn’t have prettied yourself up just for me,” Griffin says with a laugh as he saunters over to me.
Catching my reflection in the storefront window next to me, I realize I still have foils in my hair and they are sticking up in every direction. Not to mention the splendid cape that’s draped around my body making it look like I’m a member of McFadden’s Anti-Martian army.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
“Why are you here?” I mutter through clenched teeth as I stand up as straight as I can and pretend like the fact that I’m out on the sidewalk looking like an ass in front of this man doesn’t bother me in the least.
“I heard the news on my police scanner. Figured I’d stop by and commend you on catching our criminal. But I’m assuming by the pissed-off look on your face that he got away,” he mocks.
“McFadden is not our criminal. He’s my criminal. I already told you I don’t need your help. He caught me by surprise, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting him to show up at a salon in broad daylight.”
If he doesn’t stop smirking at me, I’m going to rip this stupid cape off, wrap it around his neck, and choke the life out of him.
“Since when do you go to salons? I thought you wouldn’t be caught dead in one of these places,” he questions. I can see him pressing down hard on his lips, his eyes glancing to my hair and then quickly back to my eyes.
“I don’t go to these places. I have friends who go to these places and drag me here against my will. And it’s just highlights, nothing drastically life changing. Golden blonde highlights that will bring out the gold specks in my eyes.”
Overshare much, Kennedy?
“You don’t need highlights for that. Your eyes are gorgeous enough all on their own,” he says softly as he looks into said gorgeous eyes.
Holy hell, is it hot out here or is it just me? And what the devil is he playing at, flirting with me like this? Yes, I said flirting and I realize how outrageous that sounds. Griffin Crawford is fucking flirting with me. I’ve known him long enough to know when he’s turning on the charm. I’ve seen him charm the underwear right off a stranger in two point three seconds just by complimenting her legs. My underwear is staying right where it is, thank you very much.
Before I can tell him exactly what I think about him and his stupid gorgeous-eyes compliment, a police cruiser pulls up to the curb next to us. I thank my lucky stars when I see my cousin Ward get out and come around to stand next to us.
“Nice hairstyle, Kennedy. Trying to make a phone call to your motherland?” Ward asks with a laugh as he reaches up and flicks one of the foils on my head.
Never mind. I take back my thankfulness.
“Kiss my ass, Ward. I’ve had a bad fucking day.”
I know what you’re saying to yourself right now: this sounds like June Cleaver finally had enough of Beaver and the gang’s shit.
Ward can see by the look on my face that he should leave me alone. I won’t hesitate to put him in a headlock in the middle of the sidewalk. I don’t care if he is wearing his police uniform.
“Griffin, my man! How’ve you been?” Ward asks, turning his attention away from me.
“Can’t complain,” Griffin replies as the two men exchange handshakes and start talking back and forth about Notre Dame’s upcoming season. As teenagers and into early adulthood, we all hung out together: my brothers, my cousins, Griffin, Alex, and me. We were all close in age and we all had the army in common so it naturally made us friends.
The fact that my brothers and my cousins are still friendly with Griffin when he screwed me over pisses me off. They should hate him on principle. If some woman came into my family’s lives and stomped all over their hearts, I would cut that bitch. Where’s the damn loyalty?
“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt this bromance, but we have work to do.” I glare at my cousin.
“I’m sorry, it is impossible to take you seriously right now with all that shit on your head,” Ward says, laughing.
I take a step in his direction, preparing myself for a mind-erasing headlock when Griffin lightly touches my arm.
“Before you kill him, we need to talk,” Griffin tells me.
“We have nothing to talk about. I’m going to go inside and get this crap out of my hair and then I’m going to get to work. You can just get your ass back on that bike and go find someone else to annoy,” I tell him as I turn and fling the door to the salon open angrily.
As soon as I walk inside I’m met by the sounds of wails and barking. Sven is still sitting on the floor in a pile of hair products while Paige attempts to console him, and Mrs. Justin Bieber is losing her shit, barking at anything in her general vicinity and stopping every ten seconds to piss on the floor.