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GRIFF
They should have had Lauren at the torture sites. A man would give up his mother in under ten minutes of a shampoo from her. It takes all of my training, my decade of experience, and every ounce of my willpower not to pop a woody while lying in that stupid chair.
I still have to adjust myself when she tells me to get up and follow her to her station. Initially I think it's a good thing I'm behind her as we exit the quiet room and make our way down another carpeted hallway, but my eyes zero in on her ass perfectly swaying from one side to another. Her apple cheeks are well defined by her tight black jeans.
I force my gaze to the ceiling and pray for my balls. Being around Lauren is hazardous to my health. The room where the actual hair cutting takes place is bright and open. There aren’t many safety risks. I’ve got the nylon cape thing around my neck that goes over my lap so my physical reaction to Lauren isn’t so noticeable. I allow myself to relax. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself a little pleasure in life. Before I know it, she’s tapping my shoulder. My eyes pop open and meet hers in the mirror. She smiles wryly.
“You’re done. You nodded off there, but don’t worry. Everything is straight.”
The hell? I’ve never fallen asleep on the job, not even after marching through the desert for a week straight. This woman is dangerous. I jump to my feet as soon as she's done dusting off the cape with some small brush.
"Wait. I have to take the cape off.”
I grab the neck and start to pull.
“I’ll do it for you.”
Her voice sounds odd. I catch a glimpse of her face in the mirror. I hurt her feelings. Shit. I drag a hand down my face and dip lower so she can reach the snaps at the back.
“Do you not like the haircut?” she asks quietly. “I can redo it.”
I glance toward the mirror. A vague memory of her stating she was going to trim it close to the sides and leave it a little longer in the back and on the top. It's… not bad. I look better than I usually do.
“Yeah, it's nice. Where do I pay?”
“This way.” She walks me through a couple doors and back to the lobby. “Mr. Harris is done,” she announces. Her voice has a tone of finality to it, as if she’s telling everyone I’m next for the slaughter.
I try to check out her expression, but it's closed down. Maybe she didn't believe that I liked the haircut.
“I really like my hair,” I repeat.
“Good,” she says but there’s no light in her eyes. “Thank you for coming today.”
She’s so formal. Is this for the benefit of her coworkers? Or is she mad at me for falling asleep?
“Would you like to make an appointment in three to four weeks?” chirps the front desk Wednesday Addams look-alike.
Can I take another torture session with Lauren? How can I not?
“Yeah. Three weeks is good.” The Academy closes for a month after this round of testing, so I don’t have to check my calendar for a free date. “Any time is good.”
“Lauren’s available at three.”
“That works.”
Lauren makes a choking sound. The clerk and I ignore her. The clerk writes down something on the back of an appointment card and hands it over to me. I slip it into my pocket.
My watch says it’s close to eleven. “Want to grab some lunch?”
"Me?" Lauren points to herself in surprise.
"You."
"I can't. I have an appointment. I'm actually booked up all day."
"Actually, your next appointment cancelled so you have thirty minutes free," Wednesday chirps. I like Wednesday. My favorite day of the week.
I flash her a brief smile and then direct my attention to Lauren. "Let's go."
