Wild in the Windy City Volume 3: New Year's Eve Edition, page 25
“I hate you.” It isn’t the first time he’s pranked me. In fact, we’ve had some pretty fun prank wars over the last year since we first met.
He shakes his head as his laughing subsides, and I move to turn away from him. He stops me when he wraps his big palm around my waist and draws me into him.
“No you don’t,” he says softly, his lips inches from mine.
My eyes fall to them just like they always do. We may have been together for a while now, but my heart still flutters for him like we’re just at the start of something.
Except there is no fluttering right now because the blue hair is still in my periphery. I move a little closer to him, the moment between us heating as I lead him right into my feminine trap. “Kane?” I say, my voice nearly a moan. It’s not like I don’t know how to seduce this guy after all this time.
He runs a knuckle down my cheek and pulls me tighter against him so his pelvis lines up with mine. “Yeah, baby?”
I move my mouth a few centimeters closer to his until we’re only a breath away from kissing. “You’re not getting near these lips until you wash that shit out of your hair.” I back away, and I catch the look of pure lust on his face before it morphs into a glare as he realizes he just got played.
Kane
“You know, for a guy who prides himself on being the most level-headed one out of our little crew, that was sure a bone-headed move.”
I roll my eyes at Dax, the lead singer of our band, and then take another swig directly from the bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter between us. “Thanks, man. That’s real helpful.” My eyes return to the mirror. Sierra is going to kill me.
“Explain one more time how this happened.” He ends the sentence with a verbal question mark.
“It’s a grocery store hair dye. I placed my grocery order on my app. I never thought to look at the box to see if it was permanent. I just assumed the idiot who picked out my groceries for me would get the right one.”
“So you’re meeting Sierra’s parents for the first time tomorrow—”
“—Her rich, incredibly pretentious parents who want their daughter to date a doctor—” I interrupt.
“Right. You’re meeting these rich, incredibly pretentious parents tomorrow as a guy in a band with blue hair?”
I nod as I try to accept my fate, the wet, blue strands hanging in my face. “That about sums it up.”
“There’s only one answer here, man,” Dax says.
I glance over at him.
“Dye it back.” He says it dismissively, as if this stupid prank gone totally wrong isn’t the worst thing that’s happened in the last year.
I throw my hands up in the air. If only it were that fucking easy. “I don’t have time. We go on stage in two hours, and my flight leaves at six in the morning. How am I supposed to impress Sierra’s parents like this?” I take another sip of Jack despite my words that we go on stage in two hours. I’ve played drunk before, and I’m not even there yet. I’m getting closer, though.
Dax starts laughing, and I pin him with a glare. He holds both hands up to appease me, but it doesn’t work. “Flatter the mother. Get the father to laugh and then get him to respect you. That’s all you need to impress parents.”
I’m not sure why I’m listening to Dax. It’s not like he’s ever had a serious enough girlfriend to meet her parents.
He reaches into the drawer of the bathroom we share. Our other roommate, Brody, is still entertaining some girl from last night, but I have no doubt that he’ll have someone new in his bed tonight. He and Dax are the same that way, but that wasn’t ever something I wanted out of life—especially not after I met Sierra. But now, this. I’m slightly terrified the blue hair upon meeting her mom and dad will be a huge deal-breaker for her.
“How am I supposed to get the dad to respect me when I have blue fucking hair?”
Dax holds up what he scored from the drawer: a pair of scissors. “Cut it.”
I stare at him in horror. “Cut it?”
He nods. “Seems like it might be your only option, man.”
I turn from him back toward the mirror. I’ve had shoulder-length hair for as long as I can remember. It’s my signature, a staple of my identity. I often joke that it’s my superpower. Without it, what if I can’t play bass the same way? What if I feel like a different person? What if I look like a different person?
What if I am a different person?
What if Sierra doesn’t want me anymore?
I pinpoint that as the root of my issue. I tend to be a fairly logical guy, so I know cutting my hair won’t really make me a different person. But what if Sierra is attracted to me just the way I am, and what if she doesn’t like my new look?
Besides, will cutting my hair even get all the blue out? It’s a fresh dye job, all the way down to the roots. Unless I shave it completely, it’s still going to be blue.
But a guy with short blue hair is bound to make a better impression than a guy with long blue hair.
Right?
I grab the scissors from Dax’s hand, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Are you really gonna do this?”
I stare at myself in the mirror. It’s just hair.
But Sierra?
She’s more than just a girl.
I know how important it is to her that this meeting goes well, and so I do the only thing I can think of that’ll save this meeting.
I grab a chunk of my blue hair, line up the scissors, and start to press the two blades together.
I’ve barely made it through a single strand of hair when Dax yells, “Wait!” That little blue strand falls to the sink, a dark streak against the white cultured marble.
I jolt at his exclamation. “What?” I ask, lowering the scissors.
“There has to be some other solution. I’m sure we know someone who can come over to fix this.”
I shrug. “I don’t know any hairstylists.”
“Between my little black book and Brody’s, we can find someone. Besides, you’ve been drinking. Should you be making decisions like this when you’ve had a quarter bottle of Jack Daniels?”
I stare at myself in the mirror. Maybe her parents will approve of a guy with shorter hair, someone who looks professional. And I am professional. I’m a good guy, and I want them to like me.
But more than that, more than them, in the spur of the moment, I sort of think maybe I need this change, too.
I’ve had long hair for as long as I can remember, and things have been going fine. I have a girl I love, and I’m in a band that’s rising in success. But what if my hair is holding me back in some way?
It’s a dumb thought, but I’m a little drunk and a lot stupid. I pick up the scissors and slice through a chunk before Dax can stop me. “It’ll grow back,” I finally say to answer his question.
He watches in horror as I chop my long strands. It’s still blue, but the shorter I go, the better it looks. I snip and cut, cut and snip, and when I’m done, I study myself in the mirror. It’s certainly a different look. My nose looks a little bigger and my mouth looks a little wider. Or maybe it’s just the Jack fucking with my sensibilities. “You better go get Brody.”
Dax laughs as he studies my hair.
We’re in agreement: it may be too late to stop me from cutting it, but I definitely need a professional to even out the mess I’ve created.
Sierra
I fidget as I wait at O’Hare International Airport for Kane’s plane to land. I’m seated near the baggage claim. I took my mom’s Mercedes-Benz S 560 to the airport, freaked out the entire way that I was going to wreck a car that cost upwards of a hundred grand in Chicago traffic. I hate driving it, but since my dad was golfing with some work associates when I left, it was my only option. Not that my dad’s car would’ve been a better choice.
I haven’t spoken to Kane since he left my house yesterday. He texted me when he boarded his plane this morning, but he didn’t mention anything about the blue hair. I’m anxious to see him—anxious to make sure that blue shit washed out and he looks like the guy I fell in love with. In my heart, I know it’s just hair...but this isn’t him. He isn’t a dye-my-hair-blue-in-the-spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, and I know how important first impressions are. I just want this to go well.
My phone dings with a new text.
Kane: Landed. See you soon.
Me: Waiting by baggage claim.
Kane: I carried on.
Me: We have to go this way to get to my car anyway.
He responds with a thumbs up, and the nerves start to twist in my chest. This is it. All the months of avoidance have led to this moment, and I can’t avoid it anymore.
It’s time to meet my parents.
I mentally calculate how long it’ll take him to get off the plan and walk to where I’m located. It’s a huge airport, and I’ve been here enough times to know about how much time I have. I locate the restroom, stare at myself in the mirror and draw in a few calming breaths, and then head toward the escalator I know he’ll be descending to get to me.
I watch as unfamiliar faces pass me by, lost in a bit of a daze as the nerves continue their crash course through my chest. I’m so lost in a daze, in fact, that when someone I don’t know bumps into me, I startle.
And then I gasp.
It isn’t someone I don’t know.
It’s Kane.
Only...it’s not my Kane, the guy with the silky, longish strands of blond hair.
This Kane has dark hair clipped short and slightly spiked with some kind of gel that I’m certain he’s never used in his life. Under the fluorescent lights of the airport, I can still see a little tint of dark blue.
At least it’s not neon anymore, but it’s definitely still blue.
I stare at him, my jaw hanging open as I try to come up with words. Instead, sputters fall from my lips.
“What...when...uh...what...”
Kane chuckles, and it’s only then I see the hint of nervousness in his own eyes. “Do you like it?” It’s the same familiar, deep voice I know. The same voice that has soothed me and irritated me and held deep conversations late into the night with me for the past six months.
But that voice is now on a completely different person.
Well, it’s the same person...he just doesn’t look like the same person. It’s sort of incredible how much hair has the ability to change someone’s appearance.
“It’s uh...it’s still blue.”
His face falls a little. “I know. I, um, had a little whiskey, and then I tried to cut it all off but it looked like shit. I had someone fix it. She suggested trying to box-dye it black to cover the blue, but it didn’t really work and I didn’t have enough time to keep trying.”
“But why is it still blue?” I realize I haven’t even kissed him hello yet.
He blows out a breath and then hits me with it, his anxiety more apparent now in the way he’s fidgeting with the strap of his duffel bag. “Apparently the blue was permanent, not the wash out one I thought I ordered. We could stop somewhere and try to get it fixed before we go to your parents’ house...”
He trails off when I purse my lips, shake my head, and cross my arms over my chest. “My mother has been preparing the house all morning and my dad’s on his way home from golfing now to be there when you get there. They’re beyond excited to meet you, Kane.”
His brows furrow. “He’s golfing? Isn’t it winter in Chicago?”
“It’s some indoor experience he and his associates go to in the winter so they don’t lose their skills because of the weather.” My tone is clipped.
He nods like he gets it, and then he leans forward for a kiss that isn’t returned. When he backs away, he looks a little hurt. “I get that meeting your parents is a big deal, but I just traveled halfway across the country to be with you. Could you maybe not be so cold?”
I thaw a little because he’s right. Just as I’m about to relent, though, he hits me with more words that only serve to piss me off.
“Besides, you’re a damn adult and if you want to date someone with blue hair, your parents shouldn’t judge you for that.”
“I don’t want to date someone with blue hair!” I explode. “My boyfriend has blond hair! Blond! Not blue!”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he says, holding both hands up in defense. He moves them toward me and rubs my biceps. “I just don’t understand what hold your parents have over you, Sierra. You’re twenty-three. Who cares what they think?”
I heave out a breath of exasperation and tighten my arms across my chest. “For one thing, I’m incredibly close with them. I’m their only child, and this is important to me. And if you don’t understand that, maybe we should just call the whole thing off.”
“Call the whole thing off? Don’t be ridiculous.”
I raise both brows pointedly. “I’m being ridiculous? I’m not the one who mixed up permanent and washable hair dye.”
“Touché.” He laughs. “Look, can we just start over? I’ll explain what happened. Your parents will get a kick out of it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. If he thinks they’ll get a kick out of it, well, he doesn’t know them. What other choice do I have? On the one hand...he’s right. He came all this way, and maybe seeking my parents’ approval of him so hard is a little on the immature side. So what if they hate him and his blue hair? It’ll be fine. We’ll just do holidays separately for the rest of our lives.
“Fine,” I finally say, if only to put our feet in action to get out the door.
But the truth hits me in that very moment.
The reason why I’m so anxious—and adamant, I guess—(all right, maybe even a little bitchy) about my parents liking Kane finally settles over me.
He’s the first guy I’ve ever been in love with.
He’s the first guy I’ve ever brought home who I’ve ever really thought about a future with. I see a wedding on the beach and concerts that aren’t just his (but some that are) and babies with chubby cheeks staring back at me with his eyes and my nose.
I see a life together, and that’s why it’s so important that my parents like him...because he might be their son-in-law someday, and that’s a big deal.
I know we aren’t there yet. We’re young and we’ve only been serious for half a year. But that’s where this all leads at some point, and I want it to lead there with him.
Well, with the Kane I fell for. Maybe not as much with this Smurfed out version of him.
Kane
She cuts the engine and clicks the garage door button before heaving out a sigh. “You ready for this?” she asks.
I shake my head because I’m not. Her anxiety is giving me anxiety, and I’m normally a pretty easygoing kind of guy. “Not without a kiss first.”
She glares at me, but she relents. “Fine.” She leans across the seat for a quick peck then moves to pull away, but I’m quicker than her. I grab the back of her head and hold her in place, kissing her hard on the mouth to remind her why we’re doing this...why I’m meeting her parents in the first place. It’s because we’re in love, and letting each other into all parts of our lives is just the next logical step for us.
“Hey,” I say softly once I pull back. “Relax.” I lean my forehead against hers. “I love you, babe. It’s gonna be fine.”
She draws in a breath and glances up at my hair before she exhales. “I love you, too.”
“I’m sorry about the hair.”
She twists her lips and lets out a little giggle. “And I’m sorry I’ve given you such a hard time about it. My parents will see beyond the blue and love you because you’re an amazing guy.”
I shrug modestly, but nothing makes me happier than hearing that from her.
She gives me one last look. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
I grab my bag and follow her in through a fancy laundry room that looks like it’s right out of one of those home decorating magazines. I wonder briefly if this room ever actually gets used.
My own laundry room in the place I share with Dax and Brody has a shelf filled with a variety of liquid detergents with gummed up caps from pouring in the soap without ever actually cleaning them out. The shelf is also full of dust, but in our defense, MFB has had a busy schedule lately.
In fact, it’s rare that I have a few days off to even get here to meet Sierra’s parents—let alone New Year’s Eve, one of the most lucrative nights of the year for musicians. Dax and Brody had a ski trip planned for months, though, so we purposely didn’t book a gig...which left an opening for me to come to Chicago. I thought it was a horrible idea to skip one of the best music nights of the year, but Dax and Brody insisted. I told Sierra I didn’t care what we did for New Year’s Eve as long as I got to spend it with her, and she decided it was time for me to meet her parents and then take me to some gala.
“We’re home!” she calls out ahead of us, and I run my hand through my hair...or, rather, along the gelled, short strands on top of my head. My nervous habits are going to have to change now that my hair isn’t long anymore.
The clicking of heels on a marble floor beats in time with my heart. They move a little faster, and in return, my heart picks up the pace.
When we enter an expansive white kitchen, a woman who looks like she could be Sierra’s older sister greets us. “You must be Kane,” she says, reaching out her hand to shake mine and closing her other hand warmly around the back of mine. “I’m Sierra’s mother, Christine. So wonderful to meet you.”
I draw in a breath to quell the nerves and speak from the heart. “Nice to meet you as well. Sierra has always spoken so fondly of you.”
“Likewise,” she says, her eyes crinkling with a wide smile. “Can I get you anything?”
I nod toward the pitcher of water on the counter with cucumbers floating around in it. “Water would be great.”
She proceeds to pour three glasses, one for each of us, and I take a sip when she hands me mine.
