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Just as I reach around to slide my hands up the back of his shirt, hungry to feel his skin, he breaks the kiss and pulls back.
I pout, startled by the chill that covers me by the absence of his body.
“I came over here for more than just to talk to you about all that,” he says, turning around to retrieve the plastic bag he brought with him. As he empties the contents, my brows rise.
“Want to help me dye my hair?” Walker asks, holding up a box of dark green dye.
My instinct is to laugh, thinking he’s joking. But when he doesn’t crack even a smile, I realize he’s serious.
“You want me to dye your hair green?”
“Why the hell not?”
Yes. Why the hell not.
I smile and grab the box from his hand, pulling him toward my bathroom. “Can I ask why green?”
“It’s my favorite color. And thought it would look sick under the stage lights having it match my kit.”
I can picture it now, and honestly, he’s right. It will look cool.
“Is purple your favorite color?” he asks, thumbing a few strands of my hair, the purple ends fading. I need to touch them up in the next city we stop in.
“I guess.” I’ve had the ends a few different colors over time, but purple is the one I’ve always liked the most.
As we step into the small bathroom, I kick the toilet seat down and push Walker onto it. “Since we’re not bleaching your hair, this probably won’t show up much,” I tell him, ripping the box open at the sink and starting to mix the various tubes and bottles together, chucking the directions straight into the trash. I’ve been dyeing my hair for years. I could practically do this with my eyes closed.
“That’s cool. Even if it shows up in certain lights like yours does, I’ll be happy.”
I smile at him in the mirror and see his eyes drift to my ass, which is barely covered by my panties and oversized hoodie. I never bothered to put pants on this morning and didn’t even think twice about it when he came over. I push my hips back a bit and watch his eyes darken, enjoying the way he stares at me with hunger.
Before he can pounce though, I’m slipping on the gloves provided in the kit and shaking the bottle, turning to him. “Hold this.” I hand him my comb. “We’ll need that as we go.”
I step to the side of him and start to pull some of his hair up and over the side of his head, starting at the bottom layer. Squirting the dye against his strands, I use my hands to work the color in section by section, nose tingling with the pungent fumes but falling into the familiar rhythm.
Walker’s fingers alternate between tapping against his legs and tapping against mine, another beat invisible to me but strong to him.
“Wanna hear a secret?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“You bet your ass I do,” he responds, winding his arm around me to give a slap against said ass with a devilish smirk twisting his full lips.
I wipe a streak of green down the side of his cheek in rebuttal before he can duck his head away.
Unbothered as usual, he doesn’t even attempt to wipe it off. That’ll create a nice stain for interviews tomorrow.
I tilt Walker’s head forward so I can begin working the color into the hair close to his nape. “I’m a natural blonde,” I whisper, as if I’m passing along national security information and not the God-given hair color I’ve possessed since birth but have covered up since I was fourteen.
He whips his head up, knocking the bottle from my hand, and it falls with a splatter on the pristine white tile of the hotel bathroom, sending sprinkles of green across everything in its vicinity.
“Walker!” I scold, rushing to grab one of the towels stacked on a chrome rack next to the sink and throwing it at him. “Clean that up.”
He catches it but makes no sign of moving as he just stares at me, assessing me with a studious look.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “I’m just trying to picture you as a blonde…” he trails off, frowning and reaching out to tilt my chin this way and that. “Yeah, can’t see it.” He smiles.
I return his smirk as I bat his arm away and point to the mess still lying at our feet. “Clean it up,” I order again, trying to sound stern but humor licks its way into my tone.
