Page 42 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

“That’s all you wanted?” I ask Poppy, wanting her to have whatever she wants.

“It’s all I can have. The director doesn’t want bright colors, and long or artificial nails get in my way.”

“Gotcha.”

“All done. Melena will be over in just a few minutes to do your hair.”

“Melena?” Poppy asks, intrigue in her voice. “The owner?”

“Exactly her,” the woman appears, smiling at both of us. “I apologize for Bristol. She’s new here, and her methods are…assertive.”

“No problem.” I nod, knowing she will literally not be a problem again.

Poppy’s eyes narrow at me in the mirror. “What did you do?” she mouths.

I just smile and wink while Melena takes Poppy’s long hair in her hands. “So, what are we thinking today?”

“Anything she wants.”

“Except blond.” Poppy smirks at me, stealing another piece of something because instead of making a big deal out of something she could tell was serious, she’s making jokes.

“I would never turn your hair blond,” Melena tells her as she combs through the long, fiery strands. “This is the stuff people pay me hundreds of dollars to create. Is it natural?”

“Every strand.”

“It’s truly beautiful. I’ve never seen so many natural shades of red on one person before.”

She’s right. It is beautiful. Even pulled back, her fiery hair full of coppers, cinnamons, and gingers was the first thing I noticed about her after her eyes.

“What about cut? Looking to go shorter?”

“I wish I could,” Poppy huffs, looking annoyed as she shakes her head. “It’s too hard to pull back like I need to without a gallon of pins and products unless it’s long. Maybe a couple of inches off the length and some layers to bring the curls and waves back to life?”

“I agree. Now let’s get you washed.” She looks across the room, calling someone. “Bring Mr. Davis a chair.” She turns her attention to me. “It seems our young man is struggling to tear himself away from the pretty girl.”

I don’t think I’ve blushed a day in my life. But suddenly I am dropping my head with a smile while my cheeks flame.

It’s safe to say my unhealthy obsession with Poppy has developed into an unhealthy attachment. Just as any addiction would. It’s hard not to want to cling to the thing that makes everything that hurts disappear.

And the last half hour just increased all of it because a month ago, my reaction to the mental images of the past made me volatile. Facing it would’ve made me homicidal. I walked out without laying a finger on her.

Some guy around my age brings over a bright orange upholstered chair, winking at me as he walks away.

I chuckle when I see Poppy’s face. She is quite intrigued that I’m attracted to guys.

She looks at me with raised brows, and I shake my head.

“Nope,” I mouth because it’s not happening.

Maybe one day we can find someone and play, but today, the thought of anyone else touching her makes me want to rip off dicks.

She huffs, rolling her eyes as Melena gets to work. I retrieve my phone, pretending to check emails, though I’m listening to every word they’re saying.

“Honey,” Melena says quietly, assuming I’m not listening, “that boy is a walking red flag. He looks at you like you’re the cure for cancer.” More like my personal demons, but she’s not wrong.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Uh oh. Something tells me it’s too late. You already have hearts in your eyes. Just don’t lose yourself. You don’t need a man to be happy.”

And the ability to resist the urge not to look up and see Poppy’s reaction is real. And I fail, but only lifting my eyes just enough to see her shake her head.

“I don’t have hearts,” she chuckles, and my heart sinks.

Because I’m a bitch boy now? What the fuck? Besides, I can’t expect her to feel some type of way so soon, right?

Even if I’ve already lost my goddamn mind and turned into an obsessed psychopath to rival my brother.

“But there’s also nothing wrong with wanting the red flag bad boy, right?

And I mean the bad boy—not the bad guy.” My ears perk up, waiting with bated breath to hear where she’s going with this.

“A bad boy with the attitude and swagger, doesn’t always say a lot, but knows how to handle himself.

He’s usually hot-headed and jealous as hell, but he will do anything and everything to keep the girl safe.

To make her feel cherished. He has issues and flaws and couldn’t be further from perfect, but he will burn the world down just to see her smile.

The world tells us we have to be independent, never taking a man’s money, be strong, refusing their help to prove we don’t need them, be content with being alone, shouting from the rooftops that we don’t need men to be happy.

But at the end of the day, what does it all get you?

I’m twenty-one years old, and I already know I can take care of myself.

I can be happy without anyone else. But there’s nothing wrong with letting someone else take care of me, either.

It doesn’t mean I need him. It means I want him. ”

A smile threatens my lips.

Choke it back, asshole. Doesn’t mean she’s talking about you.

“Okay, then.” Melena sounds a little startled by Poppy’s response. Speechless, maybe. Then spins Poppy around and gets to work.

I continue to listen to the chatter of typical girl talk, pretending I’m not, learning about the girl I can’t get out of my head without her realizing it. She probably assumes I’m not paying attention. Most guys wouldn’t. The me of two weeks ago wouldn’t have.

I wonder if obsession runs in the family. Graham is anal as fuck, with a massive case of OCD not many notice. His stapler always on the left, his screen on the right. Three knocks before entering. Sanitizer before everything. Control in every corner of his life.

But the way he is with Casey. He knew her daily routine years before he returned to town. If she hadn’t been so slick, he would’ve known her diet, too. Any time she had a break in that pattern, he called me, demanding to know what she was doing as if I were her keeper.

Now that I think about it, it doesn’t seem that crazy.

The one tidbit I catch is that Poppy doesn’t want to be a dancer. She never admits it, but more than once, I catch her mumbling about no other options and obligations.

Her phone ringing brings the session to a pause as she looks at Melena with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” she tells her.

I watch as shock and astonishment race over her features before her face lights with joy and relief.

It doesn’t take much of the one-sided conversation for me to know who she talked to, but I pretend to be just as surprised when she says, “The bank figured out what happened to my money. It was a system glitch, and it’s all back in my account.”

“That’s great,” I tell her.

“They also told me they’re granting an extension on the loan. I have another year to get it paid.”

“That’s fantastic news, Halfpint.” I smile widely to match hers. “We need to celebrate.”

She nods excitedly as Melena gets back to work.

And I’m patting myself on the back for being the slick bastard I am .