Dead Sexy

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A dark, sexy, erotic image rushed at her and brought a burst of heat to her cheeks. Her nipples tingled. Her thighs ached. Her foot faltered on the gas and she found herself stuck at a red light.

Three hours and counting…

6

IT WAS ALMOST noon by the time Nikki pulled open the swinging glass door and walked into To Dye For.

As was typical on any given Saturday, every seat was filled. From the cutting stations to the shampoo chairs, to the half dozen hair dryers that lined the far wall.

Nikki drew a deep breath and gave an apologetic smile as she bypassed the small reception area and one very unhappy client.

Jean MacGregor was an older woman with lots of wrinkles, dyed brown hair and sparkling silver eye shadow. A coral pantsuit hugged her overweight rump and sizable breasts. A pair of gold cat’s-eye glasses hung from a chain around her neck. She smelled of expensive perfume and way too many cigarettes.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. MacGregor. I lost my keys and then I had a flat tire and then a button fell off my blouse and…” The excuses tumbled out, one after the other, until Jean waved her silent.

“At least you’re here now. That man simply can’t get my hair to curl the way you do.”

That man referred to Charlie Kendall, Nikki’s top stylist and best friend, currently teasing up a storm at a nearby station. With great taste, pretty-boy good looks and a footwear wardrobe that would make Carrie from Sex and the City jealous, he smacked of gay.

In reality, he was simply the one and only metrosexual in Skull Creek. He had a wife named Darlene, a mortgage and a Chihuahua named Lulu.

“The last time he did me, he used a flatiron and sent me to a city council luncheon with my hair completely straight.”

“Sounds trendy.”

“I looked like my granddaughter’s Mrs. Potato Head.” She shook her head. “I’m a big woman, dear. I need big hair to balance out the package.”

“Just let me get set up and I’ll be right with you.” Nikki paused at the reception desk, where a familiar denim-clad butt bobbed behind the Formica counter. “Hey, Dill. What’s the problem now?”

The butt morphed into a tall man with sandy blond hair and black-framed glasses. Dillon Cash. Known the world over as Dill thanks to the green pickle suit he’d worn in the kindergarten health pageant. He was now owner and operator of the town’s only computer store, located directly across the street from Nikki’s salon. While she’d inherited the nice label, Dill had geek tattooed on his forehead.

“Oh, hey, Nikki.” He shoved his thick glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, his pale green eyes barely visible behind the quarter-inch-thick lenses. “I didn’t see you.”

“I just came in. What’s going on?”

“Charlie called this morning.Your hard drive is acting up. I can fix it, but I’ll have to take it back to the store with me.”

“How long?” The last time she’d had computer problems, Dill had confiscated her machine for two weeks and she’d been forced to manually schedule several weeks worth of appointments.

“This afternoon.”

“Really?” Hope blossomed. Maybe her day wasn’t going to hell in a handbasket after all.

He grinned. “Just consider it an early wedding present.”

Before the words could register, she heard Charlie’s shriek. “Oh, my God. She’s here, everyone. She’s here!”

“Who?” Nikki turned and glanced behind her as Charlie abandoned his station and rushed toward her, his arms open wide.

He caught her and gave her a delicate smack on the cheek. “To think the ladies’ bingo squad actually placed bets that you butter your bread on the wrong side.”

Charlie had his long blond hair pulled back into a chic ponytail. He wore a clingy black button-up polyester shirt, à la Tim McGraw, tight faded jeans and a polished pair of what the local cowboys referred to as roach killers. His boots were pointy and shiny with just enough heel to add two inches to his petite five-foot-four frame.

“Why, those old biddies wouldn’t know a lesbian if she up and smacked them on their polyester-covered asses.” He stepped back, his gaze dropping to the white blouse Nikki had pulled on when she’d stopped off at her house. His smile widened. “Try getting dressed with the lights on next time, honey. Your fiancé will love it.”

Nikki glanced down and saw the uneven shirttails and the lone button she’d missed. From the corner of her eye she saw Dillon’s ears fire a bright shade of crimson before he turned back to her hard drive and started unhooking wires at the speed of light.

“I was in a hurry,” she blurted. Frantically she plucked open the last three buttons and slid them into their designated holes. “I overslept and—” Her words died as her gaze collided with Charlie’s and reality hit. “Fiancé? Did you just say fiancé?”

Charlie nodded. “Mr. Tall, Dark and Do Me from the motel. I’d be majorly offended that you didn’t kiss and tell since I am your closest friend, but I’m too relieved. Not that I thought you were a lesbian. It’s just…let’s face it, sugar, you’ve had rotten luck with men.” He shrugged and turned.

Nikki headed for her station while Charlie picked up his comb and started teasing the brown hair in front of him. “Which leads me to believe,” he went on, “that you attract these losers on a more subconscious level because a) you just don’t want to be successful at love or b) you’re definitely climbing into bed from the opposite side.”

“Couldn’t it be a and b?” The question came from the twenty-something brunette buffing nails in the far corner. Familiar green eyes peered over the top of a pair of conservative wire frames.

Cheryl Anne was sweet, bubbly and extremely spoiled. She was also Dillon’s kid sister, and therefore, a bit on the geeky side, thanks to DNA. In an effort to shed the big G image, she’d chosen cosmetology rather than pre-law. A choice that hadn’t upset her parents in the least because it meant that she could continue to live at home; they’d been heartbroken when Dill had up and moved to his own place at the tender age of twenty-seven. Their father—a local justice of the peace—routinely brought Cheryl Anne lunch and gassed up the sixty-thousand-dollar BMW he’d given her when she’d received her nail license. Their mother stopped by daily to offer the use of her credit cards or bring a round of lattes.

“Maybe she’s subconsciously hooking up with losers because she really wants to hook up with a woman,” Cheryl Anne went on.

Charlie wagged a comb at her. “That’s what I said.”

“No, you didn’t.” Buff, buff. “You said a or b. Not a or b, or a and b.”

“That’s right.” The brown football helmet sitting in Charlie’s chair blew at a teased piece of bang that had fallen into her eyes. “You just said or.”

“I meant or or and.” Charlie picked up a section of hair and worked the comb through it. “It’s a figure of speech. It can go either way.” He shot Cheryl Anne a glare. “Stop making a fuss. You’re taking away from Nikki’s special moment.”

“Congratulations,” echoed down the row of women perched under the dryers.

“We’re so happy for you.” Cheryl Anne paused midbuff and beamed at Nikki. “I have this totally hot nail kit especially for brides. You have to let me try it out. It has rhinestone appliqués.”

“I’m definitely doing your hair,” Charlie chimed in. “I’m thinking an updo with pearls—”

“Wait,” Nikki cut in, her mind racing. Married? She wasn’t getting married. Of all the ridiculous notions—

“You’re right,” Charlie cut into the denial that raced through her head. “Pearls are so precocious. You’re definitely more a rhinestone girl.”

“I love rhinestones,” Cheryl Anne piped in.

“Me, too,” the brown football helmet added.

“I’m not getting married,” Nikki blurted. “That’s crazy.”

“Of course it is. You just got engaged. You probably haven’t even set a date. You haven’t, have you?” Before Nikki could tell him that she wasn’t getting married now—or ever, with the way her luck was running—he rushed on. “While I can understand that he might have just asked you and you haven’t really had time to tell everyone, I know with absolute, positive certainty that you wouldn’t set a date without telling your best friend. It was bad enough hearing about the engagement from Janice Simcox, who heard it from Rochelle Pryor, who heard it from her brother Mitchell Davis, who heard it from Eldin—”