Page 39 of Made for Wilde

He trusts me. But should he? When all I can think about is how his thighs feel pressing against the sides of my legs?

I start cutting, focusing on the familiar motions to ground myself.

Comb, lift, snip. Comb, lift, snip.

The soft sound of the scissors fills the silence.

"Am I the first real person you've practiced on?" Koda asks, his voice soft beneath the snip of scissors.

I pause mid-cut, my fingers still tangled in his damp hair.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Just curious." His eyes find mine in the reflection of the window, dark and unreadable.

I resume cutting, grateful for something to focus on besides the heat radiating from his body.

"Yes, you're my first human guinea pig. I've only worked on mannequin heads and Sarah so far."

"Brave man," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Or foolish."

I smile back, trying to keep my voice light.

"My professor would probably have a heart attack if she knew I was cutting your hair without supervision."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," Koda says, and there's something in his tone that makes my stomach flip.

I clear my throat.

"So, um, how's your fighter doing? The one who just won the championship?"

"Ben?" Koda shifts slightly, his knee brushing against my thigh. I nearly drop the scissors. "He's good. Young, cocky as hell, but he listens when it matters."

"Must be rewarding," I say, moving to stand in front of him. Our faces are inches apart as I measure the front sections. "Teaching someone, watching them succeed."

"It is." His breath warms my wrist as I work. "Reminds me why I started doing this in the first place."

I'm trying so hard to concentrate on the cut, but all I can think about is how close we are. How his knees bracket my legs. How his eyes follow my every movement.

The guilt and desire war inside me like twin storms, neither giving ground.

Dad would be horrified if he could see us right now. His best friend and his daughter, locked in this strange, electric dance.

But I can't bring myself to step away.

"Were you always into boxing?" I ask, desperate to fill the silence with something besides the sound of my hammering heart. "I remember you and Dad watching fights when I waslittle, but I never knew if that was before or after you started training."

"After," Koda says. "Your dad was the one who got me into it, actually."

I blink in surprise.

"I didn't know that."

Koda chuckles. "There's a lot you don't know about your old man." His voice softens with affection. "He was one hell of a fighter before he threw his shoulder out."

The guilt intensifies.

Here he is, talking about Dad with such loyalty, while I'm fantasizing about what his beard would feel like against my skin.