Page 8 of Hexed, Vexed, & Undersexed

"Mm, then I'm excited to see what you can do," Preston counters. The sexy grin he's wearing grows before he continues, "If you want to follow me, I'll take you to the salon."

Wait. . . did I say that out loud?

Well, shit-sticks. I just need to pull up my big witch panties and own it now.

"You got it, Preston."

I toss my own wink his way before crossing the aisle to my car.

Huh, guess your girl’s still got it, power or not.

Either that or my ovaries are really stepping up their game in desperation. Normally, I’m not such a flirt, but something about Preston makes my cauldron heat up.

Thankfully, traffic is relatively light and I’m able to keep up with my coach's vehicle easily. Fifteen minutes of jamming to my favorite music later, I pull into a parking spot at the salon the network has picked out. There isn't much talking as the hairdresser gets me situated and ready for whatever she has planned.

Wash, rinse, repeat, and whatnot,right?

Preston and the stylist talk briefly, whispering back and forth, no doubt about what they're going to do with my hair. It’s too quiet for me to hear over the noise of hair dryers and talking from other clients and hairdressers; so, I sit and wait.

Very impatiently.

"All right, Evanora. Sissy here is going to do yourpurplehighlights," Preston reveals after another little while of me tapping my thigh in a poor attempt to stay still.

"Yay—but you know I could have done it myself probably,” I comment.

Sissy harrumphs.

“Good lord, if I had a nickel for every time a woman has said that and a dime for every time they actually did, I would be a millionaire,” she moans, and I laugh. “Luckily, I make a lot of money correcting their errors. But you, dear, aren’t going down that route. We’ll just do it right.”

“Ay, ay, captain,” I agree with a mock salute. “I will leave the streaking to the professionals.”

Preston’s face blanks at this.

“What?” I question.

“Just thinking about you professionally streaking. . .”

I quickly look down so as not to throw myself at him in a sexual offering.

I will not ask to stroke his broomstick in public,I chant in my head.

Instead, I think about my purple highlights and this small victory in the war with the network’s vision for my on-screen persona. I do a little dance in my seat, happy I’m able to get this one thing amidst the rest of the bullshit that I'm sure I'll have to deal with.

Preston pulls up a spare chair and sits to the left of the mirror, much to my surprise. I had thought he’d take off for this portion. He must have seen me staring because he flashes me another panty-melting smile.

"You really want to sit here this whole time?" I finally ask, unable to keep it contained.

What can I say, curiosity killed the black cat. . .

"I'm finding myself enjoying your company."

The heat lacing his voice isn't lost on me. My cheeks burn slightly, turning pink in a soft blush.

. . .and satisfaction brought it right back, purring and all.

"Is there anything you have questions on?" he prompts.

Yes—are you single?