Loved Either Way, page 2
“Yeah, and almost late,” Delaney added, not hiding her annoyance. “It’s half my fault, but partly Bexley’s, too. I polished off what I had left of wine, fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until my last alarm.”
Gracen’s light laugh filtered through the speakers. “Let me guess, Bexley didn’t wake up, either?”
“I didn’t even see her before my head hit the pillow last night. She was out somewhere. I dragged her out of bed as I was heading out the door. Who even knows if she made her first class?”
Gracen laughed again.
Delaney didn’t excuse Bexley’s weekend behavior, but she didn’t step in to stop it. Friends. Drinking. Being young. Even if the girl wasn’t of legal age yet to get in the bars, she managed it. Alongside her friends, too.
She let her cousin live if only because now was the perfect time for Bexley to do so. It often meant she didn’t see her younger cousin on the weekends because throughout the week, her nose was stuck in books. She had one year left on her nursing degree before the real world would come and knock Bexley on her ass.
Like it did for everyone.
“She’s lucky you’re around to keep her on track,” Gracen said. “So, who’s doing that for you?”
Great.
Someone else had to jump on that train again. Nobody had time for that.
Delaney liked it better when no one had a clue about her problems, or the sad state of her life. As lonely as it currently happened to be. “Listen,” she said to Gracen, “I’ve got two minutes to get inside the salon before Linda calls someone to fill my chair.”
A lie.
She was on time, in the lot, and visible to her boss through the salon’s windows below the glowing sign showcasing the business. Styled Cuts - Unisex.
Classy, really.
The job was a step down from the salon she had once owned alongside Gracen, but the three-hundred dollar a month chair rental couldn’t be beat, she had four twelve-hour slots a week with her name on it and then a four day stretch of off time to do with what she wanted. The owner switched out stylists on the four day rotation to get double her bang out of the chairs, but Delaney didn’t mind because it worked for her.
She made good money, could pay her monthly rental in a day’s work with the right clients, and didn’t have to think too hard to do it. She didn’t have to invest emotional energy into something someone might take from her one day, and she didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with a salon like it was a business anymore.
Not after everything …
Thankfully, Gracen didn’t call Delaney on her bullshit. Apparently, all she really wanted to do was check in on her friend. Like she did on many other mornings.
“Call me for anything, okay?” Gracen asked before Delaney ended the call.
“Yeah, you know I will.”
“Yeah,” her friend echoed, “I guess.”
What she didn’t say that was still clear between them both?
But you don’t.
Not anymore.
Luckily—if only for the moment because Delaney didn’t want to deal with her feelings—she didn’t have the time to think about her inability to be the best friend Gracen needed and deserved. As soon as she ended the call with Gracen, she found a text waiting from her boss.
Whenever you’re done in the parking lot, there’s a client in your chair. You’re welcome. He’s cute.
Fucking perfect.
Just what she needed.
Chapter 2
The man she found waiting in her chair was cute. At least, Linda could pick a good-looking face out of the crowd. The guy, with shoulders broader than the barber chair he sat in, preoccupied himself with whatever was in his hands—his phone, maybe?— and his dark-haired head remained down while he waited. He didn’t notice Delaney enter the salon, despite the bell chiming overhead at her entrance or the woman at the back manning the cash register behind the reception counter pointing his way.
As if Delaney didn’t know what chair hers was.
She gave Linda a half-hearted thumbs up on her way past the desk to hang her coat and bag up in the rear hallway with the rest of the employee belongings.
“That’s new, huh?” her boss asked, pointing at her own nose but looking at Delaney’s.
“Yeah, I thought I’d try something.”
Linda grinned big. “It’s cute.”
“Thanks.”
“Jean wanted to take him,” the woman explained on Delaney’s way by again, “but she’s already got somebody in her chair for the next forty-five minutes, so today is your day, Delaney. Mr. Dalton said he didn’t have that kind of time this morning, and you didn’t have anyone booked in your first hour, right?”
“It’s fine. I’ve got him.”
“I’d get him, too, if I didn’t have arthritis in my damn back,” the woman muttered at Delaney’s back.
Or it sure sounded like that’s what she said. Really, Linda just didn’t like to cut hair.
It never failed to amaze Delaney the way women could go completely stupid in the face of a handsome man. It didn’t make much sense to her—maybe because she wasn’t one to let her physical attraction do the thinking and talking for her. The way a person’s body felt shouldn’t determine what their head or heart had to say about someone. Good-looking people—men included—were everywhere. She wouldn’t look like a bumbling fool just because she had to talk to somebody who looked good, either.
“Mr. Dalton?” Delaney asked, coming up behind the man in her chair.
He had a good view of her, and how she barely stood taller than the top of his head, when he glanced up into the reflection of the mirror. His wide, friendly smile showed off straight, white teeth and welcomed her closer so she could distinguish the dark browns of his eyes from the pupils that zeroed in on her.
“How does Lucas sound?” he returned.
Delaney grinned. “I can call you Lucas.”
He made the calls.
“Great. So, you’re the lucky one, then?” he asked.
Delaney arched one eyebrow. “The lucky one?”
“Cutting this mop.”
He gestured to the top of his head where his short crew-cut had grown out just enough to be noticeable. Of course, a bit of pomade could style his hair nicely even at the slightly longer length, but the cut of his blazer and the tightness of the red tie’s knot hanging down from his throat told Delaney he probably didn’t have the personality type to let his hair grow out much at all.
“It doesn’t look anything like a mop, honestly.” She smiled, stepping closer with a hand raised toward his hair. “May I?”
The man waved again. “Go to it.”
She quickly realized he hadn’t been playing with his phone when he sat the small item that had taken up his attention during her arrival to the top of the workstation’s glossy black counter. Her hand flew up to toy with the bottom end of a plain gold cross that hung from a chain around her neck, but as she had become aware that the cross charm became a thing she used to self-soothe, she forced her suddenly trembling hand back down to her sides.
Now wasn’t the time.
Certainly not for the shakes.
The pocket-sized Bible with gold foil lettering on the leatherbound cover almost seemed to mock Delaney from the corner of her eye. She hadn’t seen one like that in years, but she hadn’t opened her own in many more. Not that her lack of study meant she couldn’t recite the damn thing from almost start to finish when hours every night of her childhood had been dedicated to Bible study. Her siblings and cousins had even liked to quiz one another, so they kept a competitive edge in quizzing during Sunday school.
Delaney forced herself to put the Bible out of her mind, so she could do her damn job. Teasing the longer bit of length on the top of Lucas’ head, between her fingers she met his dark gaze in the mirror once again. “Are you just looking to trim it back up?”
“Nothing too scary,” he agreed, winking.
The wink made Delaney glance away to fret with the chair as if she might pump it up higher. Not a chance with the height of him sitting there. She had to do something else, though. She could deal with a man who was attractive, but charm was a different kind of beast, altogether. Men with charm they knew how to use, on the other hand, could make a better woman’s morals waiver at the best of times.
Just not hers.
Usually.
“And no fade,” he added as she placed the leather satchel filled with her sterilized tools onto the workstation. “I don’t need another reason to feel like my head is going to explode. I have enough as it is.”
Okay.
No clippers, then.
“Somebody doesn’t like fades?” she asked, digging through the bag to pull out the items she wanted to use. A comb. Scissors. Thinning shears. She found they helped for people who didn’t immediately like the way the hair laid on their head after a cut. Sometimes, a quick run through with the shears turned someone’s outlook around. “Your wife, maybe?”
Lucas made no apologies about lifting his bare hand for her to see. No ring glinted under the salon lights, but a fancy watch with a recognizable name stamped into the face did.
“No wife.” He smiled tightly while she reached for the clean cape and rolled towel on the shelving unit beside her station. “I just don’t think the fades are for me. Also, I’ve already washed it this morning. Trying to save some time here, you know?”
She didn’t believe that for a second. His excuse about the fade—not so much the wife. She took him at face value in that regard; he’d not cared one bit or barely gave a thought about flashing a bare finger.
He had strong shoulders and a thick neck corded with muscles. Good for high fades. It might give him a more military appearance, however, and some people didn’t prefer that.
Delaney opted not to push it. “Can we take the blazer off? The cape will be more comfortable.”
“Sure.”
He didn’t hesitate to stand and shrug off the navy-blue blazer that hadn’t been buttoned. She had the opportunity to properly admire the way his back and trunk-like arms filled out the dress shirt as he shifted the waistline of his pants at the belt before sitting back down in the chair, blazer folded in his lap.
Delaney wasn’t the only person who noticed, apparently.
Dual, feminine ohs echoed from across the salon. Both she and Lucas turned at the sudden noise to find Linda had left her perch behind the desk to lean against the workstation of another stylist behind Delaney. How she hadn’t noticed the change happening in the reflection of the mirror was another matter she didn’t give much thought to.
She wasn’t distracted.
Just doing her job.
The stylist at her back quickly turned the client in her chair back around to face her own station and mirror while Linda barely suppressed a smile at being noticed.
Delaney tried to play it all off. “Sorry about that. You’d think they never met a man with a nice smile before.”
Lucas chuckled, and scratched at the underside of his clean-shaven, prominent jaw. The cleft in his squared chin became more pronounced when he laughed, but it was the shift in his gaze that said he was more uncomfortable than he let any of them know. It took a hell of a lot of control to keep his discomfort hidden.
“No worries, it’s fine,” he assured.
It wasn’t. Professionalism counted for a lot in her business. As much as someone didn’t come into a hair salon or barber shop looking to get judged, they also didn’t expect to be gawked at and fawned over. All people wanted, for the most part, was a fucking hair cut. She could, however, focus them back where they needed to be.
“Let’s get you trimmed up,” she said, whipping out the cape to open it up.
Lucas smiled at her reflection; his gaze seemingly unseeing the background of the salon around them in the mirror. “Sounds good to me … It’s Delaney, right?”
“That’s me.”
He nodded once and settled into the chair with his eyes turned forward. “I’ll remember it. Let’s go.” Then, without any warning, his smile melted into a smirk as he asked, “So, you think I have a nice smile, huh?”
She hadn’t been ready for that comment, or the way his voice dropped with richness when he asked it.
It even made her blush.
Delaney used the cape she swept around his front, and hooked at the nape of his neck, as a buffer of sorts until the heat in her cheeks subsided. Even as she tucked in the folded towel between his tanned skin and the black cape, she did her very best to ignore the way he watched her in the mirror with a knowing grin.
Yep.
He’d definitely caught the blush.
“Are we cutting this hair of yours?” she asked, settling her nerves with a light laugh. “Or not?”
*
Lucas Dalton was a talker.
Real smooth, too.
Over the course of a twenty-minute trim, the man never quieted for more than a handful of seconds. He had a way with words, and conversation, too. It almost felt like sitting down for tea with an old friend as he pulled information from Delaney like ribbons while snips of hair fell in wisps around his shoulders.
Before she’d even dampened his hair with water from a squeeze bottle he had her admitting that she wasn’t from the city, despite living here. His uncanny ability didn’t stop there. The man learned her favorite colors—black and white until she died—her age and birthday, her latest read, and even her feelings about the recent weather. While he also kept the conversation entertaining.
A feat.
He could make her laugh, didn’t prod into personal waters, and knew when to turn a question or comment around on himself if he noticed that it landed the wrong way with Delaney. All in all, he made her comfortable.
She was the one cutting his hair.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
If not for the Rolex on his wrist that she’d noticed earlier, she might have thought he was in management. A suit people would listen to. Didn’t those sorts of people need a litany of communication skills? No manager she knew had the kind of money for a five-to-ten-thousand-dollar watch, though.
The disappointment slipping through Delaney after she’d pulled away the cape, and Lucas stood from the chair to get a better look in the mirror confused her—those twenty minutes flew by before she realized she could have taken a few extra minutes.
At least, he smiled about the cut.
Lucas brushed his palm back and forth over the short crop of his hair, messing it up in much the same way she had done to style it. “It’s perfect, thank you.”
“You sure you don’t want maybe an inch of fade up your neck? It’ll look great, trust me.”
The man only shook his head. “I’ll never hear the end of it until it grows back in, trust me.”
So, it was someone else who didn’t like the look on him. What a damn shame.
“Well, you’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
Lucas turned with his lips stretching wide. “I’m glad I landed in your chair this morning. I should have got this trimmed up before I left, but I definitely couldn’t go back with it looking the way it did.”
Delaney frowned openly. “You looked fine when you came in. You look great now, too.”
She only said it because it was the truth, and his insistence that even a small bit of growth to his short style meant he must look unkempt was plain bullshit.
He shrugged, already slipping on his blazer. “I suppose the two of us will have to agree to disagree. How much do I owe you?”
At the front of the salon, the bell chimed. Delaney waved at the young woman, bundled in a parka with a faux fur trimmed hood, who glanced her way immediately.
Her next client. The one she’d booked a little after the start of her shift so she had enough time to shake off the morning jitters.
Before a walk-in named Lucas filled her chair.
Oh, well.
“Linda can get you paid up,” Delaney told Lucas. “I gotta get the chair ready for my next client.”
“Will do,” he agreed, nodding. “Thanks again, eh?”
Delaney stepped to the side, allowing the man out around the chair. “I’m glad you like it.” Then, she noticed an item he left behind. “Oh, don’t forget your Bible?”
Lucas’ next step hesitated, and he glanced over his shoulder. HIs gaze narrowed at the item dangling from her throat. “Are you a Christian?”
She had to think about it.
The answer was too complicated and would take a conversation they simply didn’t have time for, nor would she share those intimate details of her life with a stranger that wore a nice smile. She could, and did, opt to whittle the truth down.
“I used to be,” she admitted.
“Keep it? Or toss it,” Lucas said just as fast. “I was trying to hold onto something—it’s not working for me.”
Sometimes, that was the harder reality to accept.
Delaney understood.
Preaching had never been her thing despite growing up in an ultra religious, fundamentalist family. She hadn’t been the person who liked getting up in front of the congregation to pass along the Lord’s word. Over time, she figured out that nobody really needed any of the things the person who stood at the pulpit said they did to be a follower of Christ.
“If you’re trying to find a way to talk to God, just talk to Him,” Delaney said. “Nothing in that Bible really gets around to explaining that part, but if it’s what you’re looking for, He listens. Just talk.”
Lucas chewed on his inner, lower lip before muttering, “Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”
She didn’t toss the Bible—even if she had no plans to read it, surely she could find someone who would. It remained on the edge of the workstation as she cleaned up the chair, and her next client took the seat. Lucas was shrugging on his wool jacket near the front, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the women in the salon who couldn’t help themselves but watch the man ready to leave.
“I want to do something … shaggy,” said the girl in Delaney’s chair.
