Normally, I’d use clippers to do most of the cutting, but in my anxious rush to get outside, I hadn’t grabbed an extension cord. And I wouldn’t be ruining the moment with another trip inside. Scissors it was.
I worked in silence, starting at the back of his head, losing myself in the act of making even cuts, despite the energy humming between us. His eyes weren’t watching me back there. My fingers worked deftly, eventually losing their tremor. The rain picked up, saturating my dress and doing who knows what to my hair, adding to the reckless mood that settled over the evening.
Using the back of my hand, I wiped the trails of water from the side of my face. My hair had been long and silky at the rodeo, but I could feel the water slowly curling the edges. But I couldn’t bring myself to move faster, enjoying the feel of my fingers in his hair without him watching. I grew bolder in this strange element of time and space, where I convinced myself that I had the confidence to take liberties, enjoying the way he seemed to slowly melt into my touch, his head tilting forward, letting the water run off the tips of his hair.
He sat up straighter when I finally felt brave enough to move in front of him. He lifted his head, though his eyes remained closed, like he was anticipating this moment and needed to protect himself. He wasn’t ready for a relationship.
That was what he was going to tell me.
He might like me, but he wasn’t ready. I could see it all now.
His jaw clenched as I stepped forward between his legs for closer access. All I knew was that when I stopped cutting, stopped moving, he would break my heart.
So I kept cutting.
I took my time gathering his hair into my fingers—pulling, tugging, swooping, grazing his skin each time. He sucked in a breath through his nose. Finally, he reached up and grasped my hand, pulling it down.
“I know what you’re doing, Tuck.” He tried to keep his voice light, but his body was rigid, and his gaze kept drifting upward to my hair.
Our faces were so close.
“Why’d you give me your hat tonight, Jake?” I whispered.
Suddenly, I needed to know. The state of limbo was a terrible state to live in. I wanted to act and react. I wanted to push the boundaries and to challenge all thewhat-ifsbetween us. I wanted to be brave. I wanted, just once, to see what it felt like to have Jake’s undivided attention.
“Your hair’s curly,” he said, ignoring my question but swallowing hard as he took me in.
I lifted a hand to my head to check the damage. It was bad. A combination of wet and natural frizz had already taken its toll. Dropping the scissors onto the grass, I took a step back, intent on using the hair tie on my wrist to put the beast away, when Jake held out a hand and stopped me.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Putting my hair up. I?—“
But the words stalled on my lips as his finger reached out, tugging gently on a curl.
“Don’t.”
I froze, waiting. All summer, I’d been working to slowly re-invent myself. Smoothing out some of my rough edges. I liked the progress I’d made over the past few months—clothes I feltgood in, a little blush and makeup, but my hair had been the biggest outward change. The change that everything else hinged on. Nobody noticed the little things when untamed red curls were taking over their view. Just like the untamed wild thing that used to grace the streets of Eugene.
But now, with the way he was looking at me, I wondered if I’d had it all wrong.
“Why’d you give me your hat?” I asked again.
He blinked, but before he could speak, I spoke again, overcome with things I wanted to say to him. Things I never thought I could say. Things I never thought he’d want to hear me say. But I had to know. And now seemed as good a time as ever.
“Are you on the table, Jake?”
Still, he said nothing, probably because he could sense I was just getting started.
“Are you? Because if you are, that changes things.” I waved an arm between us. “This changes things. So, I’m going to need you to be very clear, because all summer long, you were basically telling me how much youweren’ton the table. How you wouldneverbe on the table. How you were just my coach. And all of your lessons were crap, by the way. I didn’t learn anything. You’ve friend-zoned me your whole life, and I’m still as confused as ever. I’m supposed to be moving in three days. So what do I do with all of this?—”
“I’m on the table.”
Suddenly, Jake was standing in my space. His voice stopped my onslaught. My ramblings. I waited for him to say he was joking, but there was nothing but fire in his eyes as his hand shot out, gripping the fabric of my dress and pulling me to him. I went willingly as his warm brown eyes roamed over my face and his hands found my hips, moving me that last inch closer.
“I’ve been pretty much camped out on this damn table all summer long.”
I scoffed. “Liar. You?—”