ChapterEight
Mark
Iwas enjoying sleeping later than I usually did when I heard the thump, and Layla screamed, “I’m late!”
Getting up, I scratched my belly and looked around the spare room I was in. It faced the trees at the back of the house and was a good size, but it was boringly plain.
From what I could remember from my tour the night before, the only rooms she appeared to have even spent a tiny bit of attention on decorating were the living room, kitchen, and her bedroom. Even then, they lacked the unique brand that was Layla Townsend.
Seeing movement in the trees, I waited for my eyes to focus on what it was.
Was that… Was it a rooster? The freaky thing was it was watching me as closely as I was watching him.
Hearing more cursing and thumps coming from Layla, I figured it’d be an act of kindness to make her some coffee and made my way downstairs, wincing when I heard a loud thump that could only have been made by a human body landing on the floor.
I’d just shoved a travel mug under the machine when she rushed in, her pants undone, two different shoes on her feet, and her shirt on backward.
“I don’t have any dry shampoo,” she wailed. “I usually wash my hair at night and last night was the wash night,” she rambled. “I was too tired to do it, though, and now I’ve got gross hair and no dry shampoo.”
I thought through the contents of my toiletries, trying to figure out if I had whatever the dry shampoo was. “I don’t think I’ve ever used it or that I even know what that is, Layla.”
Her hand zoomed around her head like she was showing me what it involved. “It’s this powder in a can that you spray on your hair, and it takes away the grease and buys you more time.”
“Isn’t there something else you can use?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes moved rapidly around the kitchen, and then she began opening and closing cupboards.
Wanting to help, I went to the pantry, hopping over her big-assed rabbit, Skippy, and looked for something powdery.
Seeing two packages, I yelled, “There’s flour in here.”
“All-purpose or self-raising?”
“Both?”
This time when she spoke, it was from right behind me. “Pass me the all-purpose stuff. I don’t want to risk my head foaming if there’s anything in self-raising that’ll do that.”
Passing it over my shoulder, I watched as she went out onto the back porch and shook some onto her hair, then did a ferocious scratching thing and shook her head out over the railing.
“Does that shit work?”
When she lifted her head back, I expected her hair to be a mess, instead, it was just streaked with the flour. “How does it look?”
“Do you have a brush nearby?”
Growling, she stormed past me and dug around in her purse. With a banshee like cry, she pulled out a brush and began pulling it through her hair.
I know that Brett had brought up the color of it last night, but I loved the look on her. It gave her an edge, whereas her regular brunette locks made her look soft. Both looks worked for me, I’d take Layla any way she came, but I couldn’t say I preferred one over the other.
When she was done, her hair was flat around her head and looked worse than when she’d first come down.
“Can you flip it and put some body back in it, maybe?”
Unfortunately, she was so uptight about the prospect of being late that she didn’t realize how close she now was to the counter. When she flipped her head forward, there was a thunk noise as it hit her head, causing her to cry out.
She straightened up as I made my way quickly to her, her hand clasped firmly to her forehead. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”
“Shit, are you okay?” I eyed her hand, wondering if pulling it off would cause her more pain.