Page 40 of Layla

“Uh huh,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m so sure.”

He watches me for a moment before raising his eyes. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are we dying your hair or what?”

I bark out a laugh. “We? You want to help?”

John shrugs. “Sure.”

“You want to help me dye my hair.”

His laughing eyes don’t leave mine. “Why not?”

God, could this night be any weirder? I shake my head, standing, and John flips the movie off. “I’m going to assume you’ve never done this before.”

He laughs. “You would assume correctly.”

“Well, it can be kind of messy.” I look at his snowy white shirt, every bit as starched and wrinkle free as it always is. “You might want to change that.”

He looks down and then back up at me. When his eyes meet mine, I somehow know that he’s thinking the same thing that I am—what it would be like if he took it off.

“Well,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m wearing an undershirt.”

I watch, transfixed, as his fingers go to his buttons, methodically flicking them open one by one. I’m reminded of the way he had unbuttoned his cuffs on the bus that night, how efficient and precise his motions had seemed. How strangely attractive I found that.

Once his shirt is unbuttoned, he slips it from his shoulders and I’m left staring at his broad chest, covered only in thin white cotton. Holy muscles, Batman. I knew that John was built but this is just…man. This is justlethal. I thank the universe that his undershirt is a t-shirt and not one of those tank top ones. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to contain myself if there was even one more inch of bare skin showing.

“You okay there, Layla?” He asks, voice filled with humor. I realize that I’ve been staring at his chest and drag my gaze up to his face. His mouth is twitching, eyes flashing. He knows exactly what I’ve been thinking, and the bastard is laughing at me.

I could blush or stammer, generally act embarrassed. But that’s not my style. So instead I grin at him, batting my eyelashes. “You can’t blame a girl for looking.”

He barks out a laugh, surprised I admitted it, and I push past him into the bathroom where several boxes of hair dye are lined up on the counter.

“Okay, so the first thing,” I say, picking up one of the boxes, “is that I can’t decide what color I want to go with.”

“What are the options?” he leans over my shoulder to look at the boxes and he’s so close to me like this. Too close. How is it that I seem to fit in front of him so perfectly? His chin comes right to my shoulder, his body behind me providing the ideal place to rest my head if I just leaned back a little.

Instead I bend forward, pretending to examine the boxes more closely. “I was thinking either purple streaks or maybe go all blue.”

“Not blue streaks?”

I shake my head. “This shade of blue is so bold. If I’m going to do it, I’m really going for it. All the way.”

“That sounds like you,” he murmurs. “Bold all the way.” At the softness of his voice, I look up into the mirror to see his face turned down, his eyes on my hair. He lifts one strand, rubbing it between his fingers. The breath hitches in my chest. He’s soclose.

“I vote purple streaks,” he finally says, and I shoot him a surprised glance. From the way he’d just talked, I figured he was favoring blue.

“Why?”

He shrugs a little, looking up so our eyes meet in the mirror. “I like this,” he says softly, and I realize that the strand of hair he’s holding is not one of the pink locks but rather my natural blond. “I don’t think I want it all covered up.”

If any other guy had ever tried to tell me what he wanted me to do with my hair, I probably would have slapped him. But I don’t feel like slapping John or yelling at him or even rolling my eyes and being snarky. In fact, I’m having a hard time breathing evenly right now, with my hair between his fingers and his body so close to mine.

“Okay,” I murmur. Our gazes are locked in the mirror and my mouth is painfully dry. I clear my throat. “I mean, I haven’t done purple in a while.”

He stares at me a moment longer before dropping my hair and taking a step back. He nods and I can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily. “Sounds good.” He swallows again. “So, what do we do first?”