Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I held his gaze in the mirror for a moment, mumbling a barely coherent thank-you as I wriggled out of the chair and pulled my wallet from my pocket. I added a large tip to the total, then held out my hand. He stared at it for a moment before sliding his palm against mine.
What commenced had to be the longest, most intense handshake of my life. It wasn’t sexual or flirtatious by any means. More like…an understanding or a newly forged friendship. Don’t get me wrong, I found him exceedingly handsome and if I knew anything about the art of seduction, I might have given it a try. But I was well aware of my limitations. I was a smart man but a terrible flirt.
So I played it safe.
“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Thank you for the haircut and conversation. It was…very nice.”
Noah’s lips curled at one side, and I could have sworn he blushed as he released my hand. “You’re welcome. It was nice to meet you too, Professor.”
“Good luck with your mermen,” I pointed at his chest. “I think you have the right idea. Anatomic correctness may be overrated…but don’t quote me.”
He threw his head back and laughed. And gosh, it was a lovely sound—sweet, melodic, and unfettered.
“Thanks. And good luck with the wedding.”
I nodded as I stepped out of his cubicle area. “It’s a couple of months away.”
“Be sure to get another haircut before then,” he advised with a grin.
“I will. Um…do you have a card? For future reference.” Oh, God. Why was I still here? Why was I still talking?
Noah’s eyes lit with easy humor. “Are you asking for my number?”
“Oh! No, no, no.” I blinked wildly and swiped my palms on my khakis. “O-kay, technically, I am, but…in a professional sense. I have friends…with hair.”
More twinkling. “You do?”
“Yes, they need their hair cut on occasion, so…if you happen to have multiple business cards on hand, I could pass a few out.” I cleared my throat and stepped backward.
“To friends with hair?”
“Yes.”
This would be an ideal time for my dormant superhero powers to make themselves known. Preternatural speed or an invisibility cloak…I wasn’t picky.
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that,” he replied kindly.
I slinked farther onto the open path he shared with the next stylist, digging into my pocket for my keys with one hand and adjusting my glasses with the other. I was ready to make a mad dash for the door just as Noah plucked a few cards from a shelf and handed them over.
I reversed course to take the business cards from him and immediately collided against his chest and—
Boom!
The cards exploded between us, fluttering to the floor like confetti.
“Oh, shoot! I’m sorry.”
I crouched to gather the scattered cards, but in my haste to get my right hand out of my pocket, I knocked my glasses with my left, dislodging the loose lens.
It hit the tile with an ominous ping.
This was bad. Calamitous.
I hadn’t been kidding when I’d told Noah they weren’t a fashion accessory. I couldn’t see a thing without them. Everything was a blur. I let out an undignified panicky whimper as I dropped to my knees, groping half blindly at the hair-strewn area around his chair.
Noah joined me immediately. He kneeled beside me, his arm grazing mine as he pushed clumps of hair out of the way. “I think I see it. No, I’ll get the broom. There’s too much hair in the way.”
“Broom?” I grabbed his wrist, squeezing my right eye shut to get a better look at him. “That might scratch the lens or—”
“I’ll be careful. Hang tight.”
I continued my search, glancing up again when he returned, wielding a smallish broom with efficient short strokes. “Anything yet?”
“No, but it couldn’t have gone far and—” Ping. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes.” I squinted harder as I sifted through the hair piled up near Noah’s Doc Martens. I felt the smooth leather, rough laces, and…then my hand was on his ankle. His bare ankle. “Gah! Sorry about that.”
He stepped sideways, probably to avoid my ankle-fetishy paws and—
Crack.
“Oh. Shit.”
3
NOAH
Oh, no. Please don’t let that be what I think it was.
I gingerly lifted my boot and gulped as I bent to rescue the two distinctly separate pieces of what had once been the right lens on my new client’s glasses. Shoot me now.
I gnawed on my lower lip as I fit the pieces together and braved a glance at the adorable geek rocking the shell of eyewear with the craziest MacGyver job I’d ever witnessed. The crooked, scuffed-up frames were held together by an insane amount of tape and possibly, dark magic. They were ridiculous in so many ways—too small, hopelessly outdated, and utterly lacking in style. And they were broken.
Because…I’d stepped on them.
But maybe they’d deserved to be stepped on for aiding and abetting the concealment of an extraordinarily handsome man. It was a damn crime to hide all that yumminess. No kidding. The professor was gorgeous. Seriously drop-dead, movie-star, dreamy-time, spank-bank material gorge. Under that thick mop of hair, those terrible glasses, and tragic wardrobe choices was a male model in disguise.