The most erotic touch a man can experience is that of a woman digging her nails into his scalp and giving a little tug. —Gabe H., Wes M., and all men… everywhere.
Gabe
So the whole ignore Saylor for a few days and try to get her out of my head thing? Didn’t go as planned.
I dreamt of her.
I dreamt of her music.
Her kiss.
Her stupid laugh.
It was aggravating to say the least — especially when I was supposed to be focused on making sure my dad didn’t pop up at the Home again.
Things had been quiet. Too quiet. Even Wes was a bit concerned. He helped me hire the best private investigator money could buy. And still nothing.
We had no leads. It was like — he just disappeared. Which made me almost as nervous as if he was snooping around.
When I called my mom, she said he simply left and said he had something to do. Granted, she was used to his escapades. He was pretty unstable most the time but she still loved him — would do anything for him. I wasn’t sure what made me feel sicker — the fact that my dad’s number one desire in life was to bring me to my knees — or that my mom was still capable of loving someone who wanted to destroy her flesh and blood.
Saylor started combing out my hair, and I literally had to hold onto the countertop so I didn’t slam her against the nearest wall, plunge my tongue down her throat, and beg her to kiss me back.
And I would beg.
I would plead.
Damn, it had been forever since I’d felt so attracted to a girl — the all-consuming feeling was starting to grate on my nerves.
“I’ve been practicing every day,” Saylor said quietly, her fingers parting my hair as cold liquid made its’ way onto my roots.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmm.” She started rubbing the dye in, then moved to another spot on the back of my head. “I think you’d be proud of me.”
“I’m sure.”
“I want you to watch.”
Holy shit, I almost choked before answering. “Yeah, I would love to.” No seriously… I would love nothing more.
Maybe I could.
Maybe my dad really was gone.
Maybe being with Saylor was possible.
Yeah. I was starting to throw myself tiny crumbs from the table in hopes that one day I could have the full meal. Yet I knew as much as anyone that by the time I made it to the buffet, the food would be gone — as if it was a mirage in the first place.
Saylor moved from my side and stood in front of me, her legs almost straddling mine as she leaned over and started dying the hair in the front.
I stared straight ahead, at her hips.
And groaned.
“Did I hurt you?” Her hands briefly left my head.
“No.” I coughed. “Sorry.”