“Is your wild streak showing again? I can let go if you want me to. If we had time, I’d turn you around and lick that sweet ass until you were screaming for God again. Is that what you want?”
He shakes his head, but his eyes are all black with gold edges. Part of him loves the idea.
“I don’t want to share you,” I whisper in his ear, my hand still over his mouth as I stroke him faster. “Those screams are for me. I’m the first and last one to make you come. Always.”
Miller whimpers and I feel my climax closing in.
“Don’t let them hear you,” I warn, releasing my grip and dropping to my knees to take him in my mouth.
“Fuck,” Miller cries. Then he slaps his own hand over his mouth as I swallow him down my throat.
Love you. Love you. I’m keeping my mouth busy so I won’t shout it. Won’t spill my guts in a storage closet at a bar.
Don’t you know, Millie? I’m not going anywhere.
He grips my head as he comes, his shouts muted by his fist.
One more stroke of my cock is all it takes for me to join him, then I press my head against his hips as I recover.
“Wild streak,” I say, kissing his thigh before I get to my feet. “A delicious, salty wild streak.”
I lick my lips and he flushes, tugging up his pants as he looks around the small closet. “You’re a bad influence.”
“I don’t know. I’m not the one who keeps suggesting public places to get off in.”
He whacks my back as I open the door to check out the hallway.
“All clear,” I say, smiling. As I step out, my phone starts to buzz in my pocket. “Huh.”
“I bet it’s Royal trying to triangulate our location. Or his brother, the advice columnist.”
It would have to be. Other than the people in this pub, no one else calls me unless it’s about work or there’s some kind of emergency. “Hold that thought.”
I pull out my phone and swipe the screen, then stare blankly at the caller ID. “This has been the weirdest week,” I mutter.
Miller reaches for my hand and tilts the phone so he can see the screen. “Oh.”
Right?
For the first time in five years, my father is calling.
In hindsight, I should have let it go to voicemail.
Chapter Nine
Not That Kind Of Happy Ending
Miller
“Are you sure you’re ready for such a big commitment?” Phoebe asks, looking worried. “People shouldn’t make decisions like this in the heat of the moment. Britney Spears is the perfect example.”
For the first time in days, I’m fighting a smile. I think I finally managed to shock the stylists. Three of them are staring at me as if I walked in off the street and requested a penis piercing. Phoebe, the little blonde I asked for a haircut, just looks at me like she’s not sure whether I’m in my right mind.
Not that boring anymore, am I?
“This isn’t a heat-of-the-moment decision. I’ve been working here for three years now. It’s about time I indulged myself, don’t you think?”
Nothing but crickets.
“Get it? Indulgence?”
I thought it was funny, but they’re all still looking at me like stylish guppies with their mouths hanging open.
“I’m free now. I’ll do it.” Betty, the redhead I’ve always had pegged as the ringleader, finally closes her mouth and walks up to me, gently nudging her blonde friend out of the way.
She lifts her arms to run her fingers through my hair with a familiarity I wasn’t expecting. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on this for a while now. You don’t dye it at all? No highlights? This is natural?”
I’d nod if she didn’t have such a vice-like grip on my head. “People have always assumed I couldn’t make up my mind when it came to hair dye, but I swear it’s all mine.”
She laughs. It’s genuine too, which is surreal. Damn it, do I have to stop calling them Mean Girls?
“Come into my parlor.” Said the spider to the fly.
She pats the back of her barber chair. “I’ll give that hobo nest a style worthy of those gorgeous colors.”
Thank God, the world is still round and she’s still a little catty, or this would definitely feel like a trap.
I sit down and she swoops a cape over me, snapping it around my neck. It’s tight. I thought these were one size fits all. “I have an hour until my next appointment.”
“In an hour, you won’t be able to recognize yourself.”
I think she missed the boat on that because it’s already happened.
Has it only been a week and a half since Brendan showed up drunk at the pub? So many things have changed since then.
I hear the slightly ominous sounds of snipping near my ear and the hum of conversation as the other stylists go back to their appointments. Then my personal inquisition begins. “It’s a guy, isn’t it? Why you’re finally getting this done? I hope it’s not to impress him. I always say if a man doesn’t like me exactly as I am, he can go suck a lemon.”