No One Like You by Kate Angell

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,