But she raced against time. She needed to be home before her mother. She had to get his scent off her body, his invisible hand prints off her scorching skin. Her mother would be able to tell, her mother would know.
What was it that kept her going back for more? It was the feeling she got, seeing him go crazy by the touch of her hand. He needed her to feel that way, and only she could make him feel that way. He was the key to her self esteem; in a time when such a thing was so difficult to obtain. He kept her mind off the fact that the one she truly loved did not love her back. But when she left him, panting on the bed, the reality would return. She was unwanted by the only one who mattered.
Her heart began to thud rapidly in her chest as the same silver Mercedez Benz stood idle in the driveway. Her mother was home. She heaved a great breath, her lips swollen from his kisses, her cheeks rosy from the cold. She didn't have a jacket on, just a thin, white, button down to shield her from the air. But nothing could shield her from her mother. Her mother would know. That's what she feared most.
Trembling fingers worked the key into the lock and twisted it, opening the front door. The same trembling hand gripped the knob once again and shut the door. A glow from the living room, but not the blazing blaring light from the television. Voices... there were voices...
Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she treaded down the hallway in slow motion, books clutched to her chest. She peered into the living room, taken by surprise.
Her mother hadn't been drinking, as she usually would have been by this time. In fact, her mother sat in her work clothes on the couch, one of her black pumps off and that leg crossed over her other, her hand massaging her sore foot. Her dark hair was still twisted back in a tight bun, a few wisps hanging free. She looked very alert, conversing with someone on the opposite side of the room. She looked up.
"Ahh, here she is now." Tatianna smiled.
Jeanine's curiosity began to rise. She took a step further into the doorway and was shocked to see Dave sitting on the other couch with a big smile on his face.
"Hey Jen." he greeted warmly.
"Hey Dave." she sighed. "What're you doing here?"
"I was here to see you... but then I got to talking your mom's ear off..." he joked lightly.
"Oh you did nothing of the sort Dave. It was wonderful talking to you." Tatianna contradicted with a wholesome laugh.
"How... how long have you been here?" Jen asked, attempting to ruffle her messy hair into place. It had grown longer, almost to her shoulders by then, and she had had it back in a ponytail that was now a messy mass on top of her head.
"Just a few minutes. You weren't here. I was going to come back later, or tomorrow, or something, but your mom said that your tutoring sessions in math always ran late and you'd be back any minute." he replied, standing up and hoisting a large suit bag over his shoulder. "We went suit shopping today... for the dance? And I wanted to see your dress... to make sure we were at least a bit coordinated." he laughed slightly.
"Um..." Jeanine trailed off. She wondered how she was going to get out of this one.
"You kiddies go ahead." Tatianna smirked, heading for the mini bar. "I'll be down here if you need me."
Jeanine panicked when she saw her mother take out the usual bottle of vodka. She knew what happened when her mother drank, and she didn't want Dave to have to see that.
"Come on Dave." she rushed, grasping his wrist and yanking him up the steps with his suit-bag from a fancy department store in hand.
Always being one rich in loquacity, Dave instantly began to chat as the two hurried up the steps. "It took me like two seconds to pick the suit. I hope you like it. I liked it the second I saw it." he jabbered on.
She rushed him into her room where the scent of lavender hung lightly in the air. She had redone the space that she was allowed to call her own, creating a motif of pale blue's and purples and whites with yellow moons and stars painted on her ceiling. The air in the room was slightly cool, but Dave was wearing a long sleeved shirt and didn't notice. He set his bag down on the bed covered with purple and white sheets.
Jeanine loomed on the other side of the room, not wanting to get too close to him.
"You okay?" he asked, cocking his head to get a look at her.
She nodded, though it hurt her. She wanted him so badly... it was this throbbing pain in her chest that felt a bit like heartburn. Why couldn't love just be easy?
"You sure?" he pressed, stepping closer. Dave had always been one for physical affection. He was quick to give someone an embrace or even a hand on their shoulder to show he cared. However, she shied away from his advances. "Jen..." he started to say.
"Let's see your suit!" she exclaimed, seeming a bit too chipper.
"Jeanine." he said firmly, his hand jetting out to touch her arm.
"Dave..." she matched his tone, looking him in the eye and pleading for him to drop the subject.
"Did something happen?" he asked. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
I love you. she thought softly. I love you! she screamed in her head, the emotion sweeping her over with it's winds of over a hundred and fifty miles an hour. I love you! she sobbed, not realizing real tears were actually coming from her deep brown eyes.
"Just let me hold you." he whispered, pulling her into his arms.
She began to sob into his chest wondering why it couldn't always be like this.
I love you...
* * *
The feeling had returned. She felt dirty. But he was her boyfriend; wasn't she supposed to do those things to him and let him do them to her? That was how it worked... wasn't it? Then why was each of his visits followed by a hot shower to wash his hands off of her skin? Why were there feelings of distaste for his unwanted advances kept inside her mind? While his hands made their way over her body, all she could repeat in her head was how much she wanted him to stop. But he was her boyfriend. He had reminded her of that on several occasions. She was tired of hearing is. That was no excuse. She had to talk to someone about this. If she didn't, she had a feeling something bad might happen.
Kelly leaned over on her bed, reaching for her hot-pink cordless phone, sitting in it's cradle on her night table. She paused, staring at it, contemplating whether or not to make the call. Yes. She should. This was the right thing to do. Things were already getting out of hand.
Her fingers went to punch in the familiar digits to Timber's house, knowing she was the correct person to call...
"Kelly!" Warner called from the bottom of the stairs.
She could hear faint strains of her mother scolding her brother for screaming across the house when he had been told to go get his sister.
"Dinner!" Obviously his mother went ignored.
Kelly sighed in defeat, placing the phone back in it's base. The call would have to be made later.
* * *
She watched him carefully from where she was crouched in her inflatable chair. His shadow splayed across the opposite wall, the dim lamp casting a yellow light across his features. He lay oblivious to her vigil, supine on her bed with his long legs stretched straight up towards the ceiling. It had been so long. Too long. She realized she couldn't stay mad at him. He had shown up on her doorstep and won her over.
"Hey Dorkas Ignoramus. You busy?" he asked, leaning against the door jamb.
Her eyes attempted to glare, but softened at his smile.
"Naw. Come on in." she replied, stepping aside.
He brushed past her with a breeze of his sweet Tommy Hilfiger cologne wafting into her nostrils. He paused to lightly brush the sides of her hips; his visits were usually accompanied with an affectionate gesture of some sort. She sighed, wanting to be angry, but all she could feel was the overwhelming nostalgia. All she could remember was the way things were before... the memories of yesterday...
"Timber..." he said again. He must have been calling her name for a minute or so.
She snapped to attention, clearing her throat. "Hmmm?" she asked, running her fingers through her disheveled twist of dark hair.
"What do you wanna do?" he asked again, arching his neck at a strange angle to see her behind him. His brown eyes met hers.
"I dunno." she breathed, slithering out of her chair like a jungle cat. The plastic moaned against her skin below her boxer shorts as she dismounted.
He watched her as she went to the mirror, tearing the elastic from her hair and allowing it to fall over her shoulders. It had grown to her mid back already. The whole time she ran her brush through her thin mane, she watched his reflection.
His face suddenly loosened to a smile. "You asked my brother out." he snickered, the familiar Bob Moffatt charm returning.
"I did not!" she exclaimed in retaliation, arching to face him. "I merely asked for his accompaniment to the dance tomorrow. It's not like we're an item now or anything."
Bob actually appeared to be taking her words into consideration, but soon laughed anyhow. "You asked my brother out." he chuckled.
"Shut up!" she scolded, laughing. He always had the power to make her laugh.
She often felt that she and him had a deeper relationship than met the naked eye. It was as if she could often tell what he was thinking just by looking into his eyes. They could speak through facial expressions, a connection rarely achieved by everyday people. Right now, his eyes expressed his playful mood, but his relief that things were chugging back towards normal. That was all that they had seemed to be striving for lately. Normal. But then she began to wonder that if he could tune into what she was thinking and feeling, did he know how she felt about him?
"Don't hit me!" he pleaded as she advanced towards him with her brush.
She pointedly aimed for his butt, swatting it gently, but hard enough to leave a stinging sensation. Bob grasped her wrists, yanking her towards him. Not being one to have abound amounts of balance, or coordination for that matter, Timber stumbled forward, falling on top of him.
Then there was the expected awkward pause. Their faces inches apart, their eyes locked.
Just kiss him... that's all you have to do... she told herself, her eyes dropping to his poised and moistened lips.
The moment seeped through her fingers like dry sand. His fingers shot to her sides and he began to tickle her vigorously, causing her to squirm and wriggle, giggling maniacally.
"Don't! No!" she begged. "Stop! Please!!!!" she screamed, trying to escape his grasp on her hips.
The two friends tumbled from the bed, thumping onto the carpet with him now on top of her. She moaned in pain as her head made contact with the floor. Bob looked into her eyes, his own dancing with pure bliss. He realized that no one could make him as happy as his best friend.
"Owy." she whimpered, rubbing the back of her sore head. She paused. "What the fuck?"
"What?" he asked, not able to contain his smirk.
"What's in my hair?!" she demanded, sitting up and examining her long, straight, dark locks.
Bob leaned close to her, peering around to look at the back of her head. He took notice of the glob of hot pink something-or-another lodged in her tresses.
"Don't touch it." he advised.
She sat up, Indian style. "Do you see it? What is it?"
He leaned closer, not really taking notice that he was now straddling her in a sense. Her face grew slightly hot in embarrassment as she realized how close to his crotch her face actually was.
"It's..." he leaned closer yet and sniffed the piece of plastic looking substance, poking at it. "It's... gum?" He sniffed it again. "It's gum."
"Gum?"
"Gum."
"GUM!!?!?!?!"
"Gum."
"DAMNIT!!!!" she exclaimed. "There's gum in my hair!"
"Watermelon flavor." he commented, wrinkling his nose. "Sick."
"I hate watermelon too." she said, momentarily forgetting the matter at hand.
"Grape is the best; if you're going for bubble gum." he avowed.
"Yeah, totally. But watermelon is the worst. Who chews watermelon anyway? And how the fuck did it get in my hair?" she demanded.
"Carmen chews watermelon." Bob stated.
"Sick."
"I know. Not when she kisses me! I hate watermelon."
There was a pause.
"Well get it out!" she exclaimed.
"What out?" he asked.
"The gum Bob. THE GUM!!!!" she screamed frantically.
"Got any peanut butter?" he asked, getting up from the floor.
"Fuck no, not in my hair." she told him. "Because that shit doesn't work and it only gets all nasty."
Bob shrugged. "Then we'll cut it."
"No!"
"Yes." he corrected her. "Unless you want gum to be a permanent part of your hair."
"Fuck, Bob, look at how high up it is! It's going to look so uneven!" she informed him, standing up and looking in the mirror, trying to see the piece.
He studied her head for a moment. "We can.... we can layer it. So then it'll be all short."
"No! To layer it, you'd have to chop like half it off anyway!" Timber whimpered, not willing to part with her locks. "I've grown it for so long!"
"Well it's not like you ever leave it down anyway." Bob reasoned, toying with a few strands. "What's the point?"
Timber pouted, looking at her reflection in the mirror. He stood behind her. She pondered the appearance of the two of them together for a moment; how perfect it did look...
"I'm getting the scissors." he announced, going to the drawer where they were kept.
Timber's brow contorted in a sudden fit of confusion. "How the fuck did I get gum in my hair anyway?" she demanded.
Bob held his hands up in innocence. "It wasn't me!" he clarified.
She shook her head, trying to shake the confusion from her mind. "Whatever." she muttered. "And the day before the dance." she added regretfully, making her chagrin known to all.
He approached her with the utmost care as not to startle her. "This should only take a minute." he announced.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" she asked skeptically, looking back at his reflection.
His shoulders were slumped in a calm and collected fashion. He half shrugged. "Not a clue." he admitted, taking the first strand of her fine hair and snipping off a section of about three inches before she could object. "But I like to cut things." he added, grinning maniacally.
Timber met her own eyes in the mirror. She had the strangest feeling she was doomed.
* * *
"FUCK!!!" Clint cried out, chucking the third tie he had looked at to the ground. "I have nothing to fucking wear!!!" he announced.
Moments after this outburst, a very bored Scott peeked into the room, grinning at what he saw. "Don't mess yourself Clint." he said, knowing this comment would only fuel his brother's frustration.
"Oh bite my ass." Clint snapped.
Scott's smirk only spread over the perfection of his supple lips. "Why?" he asked. "What's up anyway?"
"I can't find a tie to wear!" Clint lamented, slumping down onto his neatly made bed and burying his head in his hands. "Fuck." he added again, just for good measure.
"Hey idiot, you bought a tie today. I remember because we spent twenty fucking minutes trying to select the perfect one." the older brother pointed out, fully entering the room. "Why're you stressing out anyway? Who fucking cares what tie you wear?"
The boy who seemed to be in much turmoil flopped back onto his bed, allowing an airy sigh to escape his lips.
"It's not like you have a date or anything." Scott snickered. "I mean, Timber... but she's... Timber."
Clint's brown eyes met the blue ones that belonged to his eldest sibling. "Scott... you aren't helping at all." he informed the other boy who had taken a seat on the corner of the bed.
"Why?" Scott asked suspiciously. "What's the problem?"
Clint growled in annoyance, covering his already red face with a pillow. "Nevermind!" he wailed, his tone muffled by the cotton fabric of the pillowcase.
Scott paused for a moment, on to something. He suddenly jumped up, stabbing a finger in the air, upon figuring out what was tormenting his brother so. "You like her!" he screamed, pointing the same finger in his brother's face.
"Go away Scott!" Clint whined, still using the pillow as a shield from the world.
"You want to look good for her! Because you like her!!" the older boy continued to accuse, climbing on the bed with new enthusiasm. "You like her!!!" he cried out. "Ooooh, this is goooooood." he crooned, realizing what control he now had over his brother. His eyes became two sadistic slits in his head. "I'm going to tell everybody!"
"No!" Clint shouted, abandoning his refuge and sitting up straight to restrain Scott from leaving the room. "Don't you dare! You don't tell a soul! Not Timber, not Dave, not Jen, not Angela, not Kelly, especially not Kelly, and especially not Bob!"
Scott held a taunting smile, not bothering to attempt to release himself from his brother's grasp on his shoulders. His blue eyes whirled wildly, he had always loved a good piece of gossip.
"I always knew you liked her. I mean, it's kinda obvious." he grinned. "That time we got drunk and went skinny dipping... You were kissing her like for a year! I mean, how stupid do you think I am? I always had a feeling. How long have you liked her anyway?" the blue eyed boy rambled on.
Clint settled back on his legs which were tucked beneath his butt. "It's not like I'm in love with her Scott." he clarified. "I just... I dunno. I think she's really cool. And cute too. I've always thought that."
"You wanna fuck her." Scott teased, laughing heartily.
"Shut up Scott! Get out of my room!" Clint ordered, pushing his brother off his bed. Scott landed on the floor with a thud, but continued to laugh.
"You wanna fuck her!" he chuckled. "You like her ass! Oh, and her boobies too. You just want to get on her and make her scream your name..." he continued in a lewd fashion.
Clint covered his ears with his hands. "Shut the fuck up Scott! You are so crass sometimes!" he chided.
Scott, in his fit of laughter, managed to get up on his feet. "This is good. This is genuinely, absolutely, inevitably gooood. Hot DAMN. You'd better be nice to me Clint or I will totally use this against you!" he threatened.
"Oh, like that scares me." Clint snapped sarcastically in an undertone.
Scott ceased his jovial banter and glared sideways at Clint, leery of his intentions. "What do you mean by that?" he asked suspiciously.
"Let's just say I've got some shit I can use against your dumb ass, so I suggest you shut the fuck up." the younger boy said triumphantly.
"Yeah right." Scott mumbled, heading for the door. "Like I'm afraid of my little brother..." he scoffed. "And wear that silver tie. It looks awesome with your suit."
* * *
It was pitch black by the time Dave started home form Jeanine's house. She never did tell him what was on her mind, but he consoled her none the less. It was then that he realized how much he valued her as a friend. Though his heart belonged to Angela, pure and simple, he still had to admit that he was slightly attracted to Jeanine. Besides Timber, Jeanine was probably his closest female friend. Thinking back on all the things they had been through, he decided that he cared very much about her and it broke his heart into two pieces to see her crying. She seemed to be lachramose quite often lately.
Angela. That was another subject. As the cold night air nipped at his exposed cheeks and nose, his mind wandered back to it's base, it's core; Angela. He never seemed to be able to stop thinking about her. What was it that made him fall in the first place? Why Angela? Why his older brother's girlfriend? Why did he have to fall for his older bother, whom he rarely got along with's girlfriend? What a fine imbroglio he had managed to get himself into.
But the situation paled greatly in comparison to the main mission at hand. The nagging on his heart each time he saw her. It had been months now. He had to tell her that he loved her. He and his brothers would be leaving soon to go on a cruise over the holidays. He was determined to tell her. He knew his heart wouldn't withstand the pain much longer. Every time he saw her with Scott, it only hurt more. To know that his brother had the one thing he felt as if he couldn't live without. Every smile she passed his way was so... vacuous. She had no idea how he felt. She had no idea that the smiles he returned were full of longing, desire, hope... If she only knew.
Then there was the issue of what the consequences of him confessing his love to her would be. Where would they go from there? He knew he couldn't dwell in the fantasy that she would leave Scott for him, he wouldn't let her do something like that. No matter how bad times got on the home front, Scott would always be his brother and brotherhood was more important that anything. And so he was left with this misery. This intense, burning, aching misery. He would have to quell it somehow before it was too late. When the moment came, he would be ready. He wouldn't let it pass him by.
* * *
"Keep your eyes on my head Dick-Shit. I swear... if I end up with uneven hair, I will chop off your dick and pummel you with it." Timber threatened as Bob neared the end of her impromtu haircut.
"Relax Dork." he told her. "It's fine. I've cut your Barbies' hair off enough to know how to make layers. I'm, not a mongoloid or anything." he defended himself.
"Are you sure about that mongoloid thing?" she teased.
He gave her a wry smirk.
"You set yourself up for that one." she informed him.
"Never taunt the person who's got scissors near your head." he suggested, snipping off a few more random pieces. "I think I'm doing a damned good job anyway.
The two were in her bathroom; Timber sitting on a stool and Bob behind her. He had her facing the wall so she couldn't see what havoc he was wreaking on her head as wisps of her beloved hair fluttered to the cold tile.
"Done." he announced, going around to her front and examining the job he had done. "Whoa.... if that album thing doesn't work out... I can always become a hairdresser." he complimented himself.
"However, that would require I drastic change in lifestyle." she smirked. "Can I look?" she asked.
"No! We have to rinse it out first, Timber. Don't you know anything about cutting hair?" he asked matter of factly.
"And you do?" she demanded, poking him in the ribs.
"A witty one are we." he chastized, going to the bathtub and opening the tap. Water seemed to thunder out, quite a loud noise with the acoustics of the bathroom.
Timber began to sweep her discarded hair up into a pile and dropped the pile into her waste basket.
"Come on." Bob told her, waving her towards him.
She eyed him for a moment before going to him by the bathtub. He guided her to lean over the edge as he detached the shower-head from it's hook and pulled the switch for the shower to come on. She kneeled down as he stood above her, a leg on either side of her body. Yet again, she seemed to be in very compromising proximity to his crotch.
As the warm water ran over her head, she sighed in contentment, enjoying the relaxing and blissful massage. She vaguely took notice to him pouring a loch of shampoo into his palm, but nothing compared to the feeling of his fingers working it into her scalp.
So gentle and caressing were his fingers, stroking her head with the utmost care. Her breathing slowed as she sailed beyond the gates of euphoria into a hypnotic state. Just the gentle movement caused her to drift, her eyes limply hanging half shut. Strands of his soulful voice wafted into her ears as he began to sing softly, massaging her head in the rhythm.
"There was a decorated general with a heart of gold, that liked an end to all the stories he told. Of past battles won and lost and legends of old... a seasoned veteran in his own time." he hummed, more than sung.
She grinned at the memories connected with that song, opening her eyes slightly to catch a glimpse of him, but only seeing his hand as he shampooed her head.
"On the battlefield he gained respect for fame, with many metals of bravery and stripes to his name. He grew a beard as soon as he could to cover the scars on his face, and always urged his men on."
The thick scent of strawberries began to permeate the room, as did Bob's heavenly voice.
"But on the eve of a great battle with the infantry and dream, the old general tossed in his sleep... And he awoke from that night to tell what he had seen, and walked slowly out of his tent."
She re-closed her eyes, listening to the sound of him pouring more shampoo into his palm. His hands quickly returned to her head, rubbing her scalp in rhythm.
"All the men held tall with their chests in the air, with their courage in their thought and the fire in the stare, well it was a grey morning and they all wondered how they would fair, till the old general told them to go home. He said: 'I have seen the others and I have discovered that this fight is not worth fighting. And I've seen their mothers, and I will no other to follow me where I am going. So... take a shower and shine your shoes. You got no time to loose; you are young men you must be living. Take a shower and shine your shoes. You've got no time to loose. You are young men you must be living. Go now, you are forgiven.'"
She couldn't tell what was better, the feeling of a full scalp massage by his wondrous fingers, the sound of his saintly voice in her ears, or the feeling that things might finally be back to where they were in the very beginning.
"But the men stood fast with their guns on their shoulders not knowing what to do with their contradicting orders. The general said he would do his own duty but he would extend it no further; the men could go as they pleased. But not a man moved, their eyes gazed straight ahead. One by one they stepped back and not a word was said. And the old general was left with his own words echoing in his head. He then prepared to fight."
She grinned, figuring that the nostalgic feeling was a combination of all.
"He said: 'I have seen the others and I have discovered, that this fight is not worth fighting..." they both sang, Bob grinning at her accompaniment. "No.... and I've seen their mothers and I will no other to go with me where I'm going. So, take a shower and shine your shoes..." he started the shower again and began to rinse the foaming, white lather from her shortened locks. "... you've got no time to loose. You are young men you must be living. Take a shower and shine your shoes. You've got no time to loose, you are young men you must be living. Go now you are forgiven...."
"I had no idea I knew all those words." the Moffatt boy mentioned with a slightly dazed smile. What he had just shared with her was more than he could contain.
"How could you not?" she smirked softly. "Everyone knows that song." she chuckled.
"Good times." he sighed, tossing a towel over her head, deliberately covering her face.
She sat up, not realizing he was still behind her and backing between his legs. "Oh, sorry." she quickly apologized.
"S'okay." he shrugged, standing up. "I did a damn good job." he grinned.
"Yeah, considering I still have a hair on my head. I wanna see it. I'm going to blow dry." she informed him, searching her cabinet for her blow dryer.
"It probably looks so awesome you won't believe it. I mean... hello? I did it." Bob gushed, sitting down on the closed toilet seat.
Timber shot him a look. "Okay, retard." she said skeptically.
"I mean, the layers are so sweet! I totally should be a hairdresser... no, I mean, stylist." he corrected himself, gesticulating to mock her.
She rolled her eyes, turning on the blow dryer. "Dick-shit." she teased.
"Rim-Jobber." he shot back.
"Ass spelunker."
"Ass spelunker? Ass rammer!"
"Anal assaulter."
"Fart knocker."
"Boner biter."
"Okay, okay, you win." Bob gave in, knowing his friend made a hobby out of sitting around and thinking up insults.
She passed him a smile, continuing to dry her hair while facing him. "I have seen the others..." she crooned. "And I have discovered that this fight is not worth fighting..."
"I think your hair is dry." he announced, seeing the strands now flailing in the intense breeze from the small machine.
Timber felt her head, careful to keep her back to the mirror and preserve her first view until a later time. "Okay." she agreed.
"WAIT!" Bob exclaimed. "Lemme brush it." he said, taking up the brush on the counter and running it through her hair.
She watched the features of his face, so intense in what he was doing. He always seemed so intense about what he did.
"Oh, I forgot." he said softly, still engulfed in his brushing of her hair. "You like it parted on the side."
She breathed a laugh. "It just goes that way, I don't necessarily put it like that." she informed him, realizing yet again, how close they stood. Bob never really grew uncomfortable when close to her. He had always been a physical person, never afraid to get too close to people. All the Moffatt boys seemed that way now that she thought about it. She wondered why that seemed to be so awkward to her.
"Okay." he finally said, setting the brush down and stroking her cheek lightly with his knuckle. "You may look now, but if you don't like it, don't blame me! Blame the vicious bubblicious that claimed the life of your long tresses."
Timber grinned at him before turning around to look into the mirror illuminated by the bright overhead lights. Her first reaction was to scream at how short it now was, the longest layers being at her chin. But she sighed, realizing he had actually done a great job.
"It looks nice." she smiled, daring to touch a section. "Very nice."
"I know." Bob smirked cheekily.
"Thanks Boob. I really like it, despite the fact that it's short. You really salvaged my head." she complimented.
She gazed at her hair a bit longer, examining it from all angles. She wouldn't be able to hold it up, but he had always wanted her to wear her hair down anyway. Now she had an excuse to see him smile one extra time a day; she knew he would notice right away.
"You really did a good job." she repeated. "Maybe you should be a hairdresser..."
"Oh please, stop, you're making me blush." he smirked, looking away from her as his cheeks received a hint of red.
"No Bob, really." she continued. "You should look into the hairdresser thing."
He punched her arm lightly. "You're probably going to go get it re-cut. You hate it."
"I promise I won't Bob. I love it." she swore. "And you should be a hairdresser." she emphasized, leading up to the finale. "You're really good at it."
Marveling at her new appearance, a hint of her familiar, jovial smirk returned.
"I mean, you're gay enough, so it should work out nicely for you."
* * *