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I sat down and shut my eyes.
The bathroom mirror was steamy, so I used my ability to turn the gas to liquid. Condensation rolled down the glass in rivulets.
I stared at the image that remained, trying to adjust. My sideburns kept me from feeling like a plucked chicken, but the lack of hair was going to take some getting used to. I pulled on a pair of worn jeans and went back to the kitchen. Nate had bundled up the remains of my dreads and tied them in a pink ribbon.
The smart-ass presented it to me like it was some kind of bouquet. “I didn’t know if you wanted to have a burial.”
I took a long look at six years’ worth of hair, and then threw it in the trash.
Nate leaned back against the wall, studying the change. “This is pretty serious.”
“It was time for a change.” Time to grow up.
“Why?” He pushed off the wall with one foot and started pacing. “We’ve known each other for how many years? Five, at least? The Dune I know is laidback, dependable. He makes logical, balanced decisions, applies all the facts, weighs the pros and cons. This feels impulsive, and you aren’t impulsive.”
“I’ve been thinking about cutting them off for a while.” That wasn’t a lie. I’d even been letting them grow out, which was the only reason I wasn’t totally bald.
“The hair isn’t the only issue. Something’s up. Is this about getting a girlfriend or some stupid crap like that?”
“No,” I protested, even though my luck with the ladies had been off. The way the Hourglass employees were pairing up reminded me of Noah’s ark. I didn’t want to cruise into the sunset with Nate.
“You started going to the gym a couple of months ago. You just bought new clothes.” He pointed to the bags on the counter.
“Some of my Samoan cousins lean toward the Rock. Others, not as much. I know which way I want to go.” The gym had been about fear of turning fat. “But you’re right. Buying the clothes was intentional.”
“Because?”
“I’m going on a job.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of job requires a dude makeover?”
“It’s not a makeover. It’s an upgrade. I can’t be a kid forever.” I didn’t want to be. “Professionals don’t wear T-shirts that say, ‘Bazinga.’ ”
The front door burst open. The gust of cold air had me covering my head with my hands. When I saw Emerson, I covered my nipples instead.
Because I was a dork.
“Whoa, Nelly!” Emerson stopped so fast Michael almost ran over her. She dropped the grocery bags she held on the kitchen table and stared at me with a frightening kind of glee on her face. “Dune. You’re scary. And hot. Scary hot. Who knew?”
Michael took a step back and fanned himself. “I have the vapors.”
“I like it.” Em approached me the way a cat might approach a still-wriggling puffer fish, from multiple angles and with a cautious eye. “But where’s your shirt?”
“He got some new ones. Because he’s a grown-up.” Nate’s annoying singsongy tone set my teeth on edge.
“Um. Dune?” Em bit her lower lip. “I know what nipples look like.”
I sighed, lowered my hands, and decided I really needed to get out more.
Nate threw me one of the button-ups I’d found on sale at the mall, along with a vest I’d snagged at the thrift shop. I caught them right before they hit me in the face.
The door opened again, allowing another blast of cold air. Ava. She stopped and stared at my head. “Where are your dreads?”
I pointed to the trash can.
“I think I like it.” She walked past me with raised eyebrows and tucked herself into a corner, taking on her usual observer role.
“Okay. Try the bowler on first,” Em urged, picking up a hat and shoving it at me. “This is going to be yummy.”
