No One Like You (8 page)

“Working with them is fine. However, next time Halo and Landon show up, don’t answer the door. They’re aimless until spring training starts. They can’t camp out on my porch.”

He scratched his jaw, felt the stubble. “I’m headed to Theodore’s Barber Shop for my shave and a haircut.”

He could tell by the immediate change in her expression that something was wrong. It was.

“Oh, no . . .” she murmured. Her face was pale. Her eyes were wide. She clutched her hands before her. The work gloves slipped through her fingers.

Atlas picked one up, shook it, and held it in his mouth. Ry snagged it from him before he could gnaw a hole in the leather. He then picked up those on the ground.

“I didn’t make your appointment,” Beth confessed. “Halo and Landon showed up, and time got away from me. I’m so sorry.”

He could live without a haircut. What about the dinner reservation? “The Pier House?” he inquired, already knowing the answer. The look on her face said it all.

“I can try for a table now,” she offered. “The manager knows you. He might squeeze you in.”

She spun around, had taken two steps, when he reached out and stopped her. His hand fully curved her upper arm, and her soft skin teased his callused palm. His knuckles brushed the outer swell of her breast. His thumb came in contact with her nipple. Once again.

Rylan swore beneath his breath. What was with his hand and her breast? He seemed out to touch her every chance he got. That wasn’t his intention. It was embarrassing. Yet he was slow in removing his hand. Noticeably slow.

Beth was in profile to him, and her unmanageable curls shadowed one eye. Her cheek and nose were sunburned. The shade trees had not protected her from the heat of the day. Her lips were parted. Her breathing was uneven. The pulse point at the base of her throat beat too fast. He made her nervous. Awkwardly so.

He released her then. Eased back. “Forget the reservation. There are lots of restaurants on the boardwalk. I’ll find somewhere else to take Ava.” He paused. “Did you call her?” He hoped so.

Beth nodded. “Ava accepted your date, but I never got back to her on time or place.”

“Okay, I’ll handle it from here.”

“I’m really sorry, Rylan.”

“You’ve already apologized.”

“I can do better.”
Please don’t fire me
.

He heard the worry in her voice. He had no intention of letting her go. Atlas and crew liked her. A mistake was a mistake. Halo and Landon had shown up and taken over her day. He couldn’t fault her for their distraction.

All in all, he had to admit that the yard looked amazing. The trees were trimmed back and the grass was perfectly cut. Only the train topiary had derailed. Otherwise the guys had done a decent job.

He glanced down at Beth’s socks and read the positive message for the second time that day. “I think I can?”

“I know I can.”

“I have no doubt.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief. “I can give you that shave and a haircut.”

He was reluctant. “There’s an art to the barber shop shave. How many men have you shaved?”

“One.”

“One besides me or one including me?”

“I gave my father his morning shave when he was bedridden. Cardiac arrhythmia.” Her sigh was heavy. “I had sixty-three shaves to my credit before he passed away.”

“I won’t need a box of Kleenex to stanch bleeding?” He attempted to lighten the moment.

“Maybe a styptic pencil.”

“Let’s get through the shave; then I’ll see about the haircut.” One thing at a time.

She was agreeable. “I’ll collect the lawn equipment while you call Ava and get your shaving kit. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“I’ll help you first.” There was no reason for her to clean up by herself. His teammates had left out the mower and tools.

“You can fight off the bats,” she said, a quirky smile lifting one corner of her mouth. She was teasing him.

His own grin came easily. “Beware of red eyes.”

One sweep of the yard was all it took to gather the items.

Rylan pushed the mower just inside the door. Beth set the tools on the closest shelf. Atlas stuck his head inside, sniffed the air. It was musty, and the Dane sneezed. A big old sneeze that sprayed Beth. Her cutoffs were once again wet.

They crossed the yard together. Atlas beat them to the back door. Beth waited in the kitchen while he took the stairs two at a time to get his shaving kit. He gave Ava a quick call from the upper landing. They set a time for him to pick her up. She promised an evening to remember. He anticipated seeing her.

He went on to grab a bath towel to drape over his shoulders and returned to the kitchen in minutes. He drew a retro stool near the sink. Sat down. Then laid his Edwin Jagger shaving kit on the counter. The double-edge safety razor, aloe vera shaving cream, and sandalwood aftershave had been a gift from Dune. A welcome back to town.

His dogs settled around him. So close, he wasn’t sure Beth could squeeze in to shave him.

Somehow she managed. She stood beside him at the sink and dampened a dish towel. “Can you tilt your head back, just a little?”

He had good balance and made the adjustment.

She went on to gently place the cloth beneath his nose and under his chin. “Too hot?” she asked, concerned.

Steam rose like a sauna. He didn’t complain. “I’m fine.” His voice was muffled beneath the towel. He closed his eyes as the heat penetrated his skin, softening his whiskers. The warmth felt surprisingly good.

She removed the cloth after several minutes. Moistened it once again. Wringing it out, she primed his skin for a smooth shave, repeating the process four times.

He heard the slide of her socks and the slight shift of the dogs as she stepped back so he could relax. He liked the fact she wasn’t a woman who hovered or made small talk. He was comfortable with silence. He was half asleep when she removed the final cloth.

His thoughts drifted to his Uncle Theodore. Old-fashioned shaves were his specialty. He mixed his homemade lather in a porcelain bowl, applied it with a badger-hair shaving brush, and then scraped off the stubble with a stainless steel straight-edge. Theodore had a steady hand and immense patience.

“Do you shave once or twice a day?” she asked him.

“Twice most days.” He had a heavy beard.

“My dad enjoyed a facial massage,” she said reflectively. “He had little to look forward to at the end of his life. I took extra time with his shave.” Her touch was warm and gentle; her application focused. She pressed her fingertips to his temple and massaged slow circles between his hairline and eyebrows. After tracing the inner corners of his eyes and the side of his nose, she moved to his earlobes and the rims of his ears.

Ry appreciated the same attention. His ears were sensitive. He held back a moan.

She next stroked his cheeks and chin. He grew so relaxed, his jaw went slack. The gentle slide of her thumbs down his neck was soothing.

He peeked at her when she leaned across him and snagged the tube of shaving cream. He side-glanced down on his dogs. Atlas followed Beth’s every move. The four had tightly trapped her between the counter and his stool.

She pressed fully against him.

Her breast brushed his shoulder.

His elbow nudged her abdomen.

Her hip touched his thigh. All warm and womanly.

He forced himself to sit still and not shift—which took a concentrated effort. He reminded himself that she wasn’t his type. That wouldn’t change.

Beth was a little shaky, Rylan noticed, when she squeezed a small amount of shaving cream onto her palm and then slowly rubbed her hands together. He again shut his eyes, letting her know that he trusted her.

She applied the shaving cream up and down his face and neck. The aloe vera scent was clean and refreshing. His face was soon covered with thick, creamy lather.

He heard her turn on the tap at the sink, then listened as she rinsed off her hands and picked up his razor. She used the fingers on her non-shaving hand to pull his skin taut near his sideburns. He inwardly tensed, and hoped it wasn’t outwardly noticeable.

Beth wasn’t fooled. “I promise not to take off an ear,” she whispered. There was humor in her voice.

He couldn’t help but smile. The movement of his mouth had him tasting shaving cream. The gentle brush of her thumb along his lower lip removed the excess lather. There was an inexplicable intimacy to her touch. Electric seconds of awareness passed between them. His palms prickled. He clasped his hands over his groin, making sure his zipper was covered. He avoided tenting.

He sat perfectly still with her first downward slide of the razor. He was impressed. Beth knew what she was doing.

She used long, light strokes, rather than pressing down into the skin. Her method was as good as his uncle’s. She shaved over the same area twice, rinsing the blade with warm water between strokes. She gave him an incredible shave.

Afterward, she stood between his legs, her bare outer thighs rubbing his inner khakis. Heat sparked. His thigh muscles flexed. He shifted on the stool. Tried to appear nonchalant. It was difficult to remain indifferent.

She ran her fingers over his face when she was finished. “Smooth as polished stone. No nicks, cuts, or razor burn.”

He rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. “Nice.” He was pleased.

“Aftershave?” she asked.

Why not draw out the moment?
“Sounds good.”

She took a small amount of aftershave balm in her hands and lightly patted it where she had shaved. The woodsy and balsamic fragrance was subtle. Pleasant.

She surprised him by placing a light kiss on his forehead. That had him opening his eyes. He stared at her. She blushed deeply and was quick to explain, “I always kissed my father on his brow when we wrapped up. It was habit. One I haven’t broken. I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t sorry. Her lips were warm, soft, full. Her kiss had relayed a fondness once shared between father and daughter. “My sister Shaye always drops a kiss on my grandfather Frank’s cheek when she says good-bye. I understand.”

Beth appeared relieved. After washing and drying off her hands, she went on to ask, “What about that haircut now?”

“You said you liked my hair longer.” Why the hell had he said that? He didn’t want her thinking that her opinion mattered to him.

She pursed her lips, momentarily thoughtful. “You have your own look—casual and unkempt, but very cool. You have a date. A light trim wouldn’t hurt.”

“There’s a comb in my shaving kit. You’ll find a small pair of scissors in the drawer left of the sink.”

She retrieved both. Wetting the comb, she ran it through his hair with slow, measured passes, starting at his scalp, running down to the ends.

Having a woman comb his hair felt nice, Ry had to admit. His mother had been the last person to do so when he was a child.

A slight tug on his scalp, and Beth combed upward in the back, then snipped the ends. She continued, taking part of a just-cut section between her fingers so she could use it as a length guide. Finishing the right side, she leaned across him to finish the left. Her breasts were so close, he could’ve rested his chin in her cleavage. Each release of his breath fanned the neckline on her top. He eased back slightly.

She pressed her fingertips near his temple. “You have one strand that won’t lay flat,” she muttered as she clipped near his left eye. The snipping went on and on. Too long. She eventually held up the scissors, scrunched her nose, and sighed. She seemed uneasy. Her eyes were an unsettling gray.

He raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

“How fast does your hair grow?”

“Pretty fast, why?”

“I got carried away with your cowlick.”

“I don’t have a cowlick.”

“Two sections of your hair went in opposite directions.”

“Two?”
She had to be kidding. “You’re standing on my right and cutting left. Your perception’s off.”

“Possibly . . .”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “How bad is it?”

“A comb-over might help.”

Comb-over meant bald spot.

“Don’t look in a mirror.”

Atlas stood and backed up, staring at Ry as if he didn’t recognize him. Rue gave a short bark. The dachshunds made squeaky toy noises.

Crap,
Rylan thought. The shave had gone so well. The trim not so much. Hot date. Bad cut. Maybe Ava wouldn’t notice. He needed to check for himself.

He drew the bath towel from around his neck and shook it over the garbage can under the sink. Significant hair loss, he noted. He caught his reflection in the window above the sink and couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d always brushed his hair back, out of his eyes. Only one side fell back now. The other side was shorn. Short spikes and visible scalp.

Punk. A-symmetrical. Awful
. Rylan wasn’t a vain man. He’d had the occasional bad haircut over the years, but this was the worst to date. He clutched the edge of the sink; dropped his chin to his chest. Breathed deep.

Minutes passed before he turned to Beth. Atlas and Rue flanked her. The dachsies had pushed up to their full height—which wasn’t all that tall. They sensed his irritation and her unease. They wanted to protect her.
From him.

Any other time, he would’ve thrown back his head and laughed out loud. However, he had a date tonight. Presentable was important to him. He didn’t look his best. Not by a long shot.

Tomorrow he would face fans and media at the stadium plaza. Reporters would question “his new look.” His teammates would gain amusement at his expense. Not that he cared. Not much, anyway.

He rubbed the back of his neck and focused on the positive. Beth hadn’t poked his eye with the scissors. Or snipped the tip of his nose.

She still held the scissors and comb. Her throat worked. She had difficulty swallowing. The lady was nervous.