But those brows. Mine grew in nicely, but I had to keep on top of plucking or get them threaded, as well as filling them in and shaping them with a pencil and tinted eyebrow gel. Theirs were just immaculate and arched naturally. I hated them both on principal because of it.
That’s when a sad reality hit me. I had this hotness wrapped around me, lying in bed next to me, who helped me in the shower, washed and helped me with my hair, did things that I’d never even expect my dads to do for me—and he’d never seen me at my best. I usually never left my home without mascara and my brows done. It was one of my must do’s. Well, unless I was going to the gym to do my self-defense classes, or I guess if I was sick and getting hit by a truck.
“Fuck, my life sucks.”
I was full of self-pity over a really stupid detail, but it mattered to me all the same.
Every woman wants a man who wants her for herself and accepts her faults. We don’t want them only to want us when we’re fully dressed up so that we have to live like that every day for the rest of our lives. Girls need time off to walk around with no makeup on and their hair looking a mess, just saying.
But we also want that period, where they love us enough for us to be comfortable at home, with our hair a mess and no make up on, to come with time.
Me? I’d never done that in front of Jackson. He’d seen me exhausted and sweaty after the gym, dying of the flu and hit by a truck, recovering in hospital, and every-which-bad-way since.
“I’m such a freaking loser,” I whispered the words so quietly they wouldn’t have woken him up, but Jackson’s arm tightened around my waist all the same.
Finally, expelling a sad breath full of self-pity, I turned my head to look at his eyebrows and hair, expecting to see a male version of the hell I went through—
“You lucky motherfucker!”
I didn’t mean to screech it or say it in such an uncouth way, but come the hell on.
There’s me lamenting the fact I looked like roadkill that’d been run over constantly for three months, and his hair was hardly out of place, and his brows were just there.
This close to him, I could even see some stray hairs, meaning they were definitely naturally that awesome.
The door opened just as Jackson woke up, frowning at me in the same way Marcus was as he leaned against the wall.
“Fuck’s sake, don’t either of you ever have a bad hair day? What do you do, borrow Ken’s wig?”
Marcus’s eyebrows shot up at the question. “Who’s Ken?”
“The doll who dated Barbie.”
A smug grin grew on his mouth at the comparison, drawing my attention to the scruff on his chin and leading me to compare it to his brother’s.
Yup, pretty much matchy-matchy on that, too.
“Well, you’re more than welcome to check I’ve got a real di—”
“Fuck. Off!” Jackson snapped, his head lifting to glare in his brother’s direction. “What are you doing in here?”
“Heard this one yell, and thought she was replaying another movie in her head.” I blushed when he nodded at me, realizing I’d likely entertained everyone last night. “I didn’t want to miss out on another round of Sasha-style entertainment.”
I was cursed.
“Why haven’t you run for the hills yet?” I asked Jackson, not even joking slightly, and glancing at him to see he had his eyes shut again and was smiling.
“I was born into crazy, so I’m immune to it.”
Admittedly, from what I could remember of his family and the stories I’d heard since, this wasn’t exactly a lie. But there was only so much someone could take.
Deciding not to press the matter and worsen my case—if it could get any worse—I glared back at Marcus. “Men don’t get how easy they have it.”
“Because I have Ken's hair?” he asked, his fabulous brows lifting.
“Have you seen my hair? The only way to have it even remotely manageable is to keep it long and spend what amounts to the price of a kidney on the black market on products every year. I can’t even buy shampoo from the drugstore or supermarket, I have to buy it online from a beauty place because I need specific stuff. And my eyebrows.” I pointed at them unnecessarily.
“I’m dark-haired, so I’m lucky they at least show up, but if I didn’t pluck them or get them groomed—” both men started laughing at the use of the word, but I ignored them “—I’d look weird. But that’s just not enough for my eyebrows. No, I have to pencil in areas and then brush through a tinted gel so they look even half as awesome as yours do.”