I lift my hand, cringing at the chewed ends and chipped varnish, and shake hers. Releasing my hand, she sits down in the seat before me, dropping a large bag hanging from her slender shoulder onto the table.
“I didn’t realize I had a stylist,” I reply.
She lets out a laugh and smacks the gum she’s chewing. “Honey, of course you have a stylist. All performers do. With this being your first tour, we’re on a budget, so it’ll just be Ashlee and me. Ashlee is my assistant.”
I feel dumb. I should know this stuff. I’m not exactly new to this world.
“Okay,” I reply.
Then, she just stares at me, eyeing me up and down. I shift in my seat, feeling beyond uncomfortable. I’ve never been appraised like this before.
“You have great skin, doll, and your eyes…”
She leans in close to my face. She’s that close I can smell her minty breath.
“They are so…unusual. You have any Asian heritage, hon?” Her eyes run over my blonde hair and pale skin.
I shake my head. “Not that I know of.”
My mother was Caucasian, and so is Rally. I don’t know much of his ancestry, so I suppose there could be some Asian heritage. But aside from his eyes, he looks Caucasian to me.
Unfortunately, I have Rally’s eyes, even down to the crystal-clear blue color of them. I hate my eyes. I wish I had my mother’s eyes, big and doe-like. My eyes aren’t small, but they are narrow and slant downward, giving them a feline look. It’s not unusual for me to receive comments on my eyes. I’ve been told many times that my eyes are the first thing that people notice about me. Apparently, they’re intriguing.
Personally, I think they look empty and cold.
Kind of like my heart.
“We’ll use some shimmering silver and black liner on your lids with those ocean blue eyes. Shit, honey, they will look stunning! Not that they don’t already. You’re gonna be beating those boys, and girls, off with a stick!” She laughs.
It’s a hearty, warm laugh that kind of endears her to me.
“Not that I imagine you have any problems in the sex department, looking like you do. Are you straight? I’ve always had a great read on people, and you look straight to me. I’m bisexual.” She presses her hand to her chest. “I’ve always liked a bit of variety in my life.” She winks and laughs again.
Okay…
Definitely an information overload.
I can’t believe that I have known this woman for all of about sixty seconds, and I’m already well acquainted with her sexual preferences. I might spend nearly all my time with three oversexed men, but I’m not particularly open to talking or hearing about sex, especially with a virtual stranger, and even more so since I’m no longer having it.
“How do you feel about layers?” Shannon asks.
“Um…what?”
“Layers. In your hair. The bangs definitely work for you, but I think some layers in the back and around your face will look amazing.”
On her feet now, she moves to stand behind me, and her hands are fluffing my hair, pulling it this way and that.
My God, this woman is a whirlwind. I’m getting whiplash from just listening to her.
“Yeah, maybe. Whatever you think.”
“Those new lyrics you’re working on?”
“What?” My eyes hit the table, and I nearly die when I see the piece of paper with Tom’s scripture still sitting there.
I place my hand over the paper. “Uh…no, it’s nothing.”
Apparently, I’m not covering the paper that well.
Shannon leans in over my shoulder and says, “God, that sounds so familiar. Rest in the peace that—”
I scrap the paper up with my hand and shove it into my pocket. My face is burning.
“Lyla, you’re—”
At the sound of Tom’s voice, my head whips around, and I see him standing in the doorway. Then, without warning, Shannon starts shrieking like a fucking banshee, scaring the shit out of me.
“Oh my fucking God!” Shannon’s hands tighten around my hair as she pulls it, causing me to wince. “Tom Carter!”
She drops my hair and runs across the room before launching herself at him. And when I say launching, I mean, her long legs wrap around his waist, and her arms link around his neck. Then, she plants her lips straight on his, kissing him.
I look away. I can feel my face burning with irritation.
Why am I so irritated that she’s kissing him. It’s not like I want to kiss him.
Okay…well, maybe my lips would like to kiss Tom’s, but my brain definitely says no.
I force myself to look back at them, to get over whatever the hell it is I’m feeling, but the sight of her long legs still wrapped around Tom’s waist with her lips melded to his scratches over my skin like pins and needles of jealousy.
Tom breaks the kiss, and his eyes flicker past her and meet mine.
I look away—again.
I can feel myself frowning at the sight of her lip gloss shimmering on his lips. I rub my forehead, easing out the frown lines.
“Shannon Archer,” he says. “Been a long time.”
He knows her. Of course he knows her—and very well by the looks of things.