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Unfortunately she does catch the scowl it morphs into, before she looks back,stepsback and gives my appearance a double take.

“Are youblonde?”

Oh God, no. Please no.

I cover the strip where I imagine my roots showing with the palm of my hand.

“You see nothing,” I tell her.

“Wow. I pegged you as more of a ginger.”

Not that it would be a bad thing, but I feel like the words are meant to be offensive. I’m pale, sure. I have freckles that pop out in the summertime. I see why someone could think that.

“You. See. Nothing,” I repeat slowly.

She gives me the most teenage look, the kind that sayssuuuuuuuure.

This is a tragedy. This is the worst thing. I’ve been so distracted that I forgot to touch up my hair. I haven’t forgotten in years. Kara has really invaded a little too much of my brain.

“You,” I say accusingly, when she shows up at my front door.

Kara just rolls her eyes, like my anger is nothing but an inconvenience.

It’s not even real anger to be fair, but I don’t appreciate her reaction either way.

“What did I do now?”

“My roots!” I swing the door open wide, and walk away. “I’ve never gone this long without touching up my roots.”

When I hear the sound of her following behind me, I let out a fake sob. She doesn’t bother asking how she’s responsible, but she probably knows.

“No one can see me like this.”

“But I can?” She sounds pleased about it, but she’d probably hate that I realized.

“You forced your way in, there wasn’t much I could do.”

I look up to watch her roll her eyes again and I smile.

“Sure I did.” One of her hands lifts to pull at my curls, probably inspecting the too-bright blonde roots at the base of them. I want to pull away and hide. It should be illegal for this gorgeous woman to look upon such a mess. “Do you want some help?”

I think my heart actually skips a beat at the question.

“You want to help?”

“Don’t freak out or anything. It’s just that I do my own roots all the time, so I know how. It’s kind of fun.”

I want to kiss her. I think about how she’d react if I did, and I decide it’s worth it anyway. I throw my arms around the back of her neck and pull her in for a kiss before she can argue.

Except, instead of pulling away, like I imagined she would, she presses into me. Her hands land on my hips. For a few blissful seconds, it’s as if she doesn’t hate acting like my girlfriend as much as she would like me to think she does.

I’m the one to pull back first, and I look up at her with all the surprise and excitement I feel.

And I could fucking melt to the floor when all she does is stare into me, full lips glistening.

I already struggle with having a filter most days, but thatlook.

“I think I–” She interrupts my sentence with a shake of her head, and then presses her lips to mine again.