And something is very, very different about him.

“Whoa!” I gasp. “You cut your hair.”

He lifts his chin, seeming distracted at first, but that look disappears when he meets my gaze. He holds up his phone. “My PA is trying to reach me on a Saturday morning. I hope it’s not another Commando bulge fiasco.”

I barely hear him, because I’m still gobsmacked by his new style. “What did you do?”

He lifts a hand and runs it through the short, sandy-colored strands. “I asked the hair and makeup lady to give me a quick cut. Not so floofy now, huh?”

“No . . .” I’m kind of in awe of his shorter style, and how monumentally sexy he is no matter what. “It’ll be harder to hold onto now. Harder to tug on.” Although I’m willing to try right fucking now.

“I suppose it would.” He licks his lips. And I’m a hundred percent certain that we’re both having exactly the same thought. If he dropped to his knees and loosened my towel, we could test the tuggability of his new short hair.

But I still want to know why he trimmed it this morning. “Why did you cut it?”

“Yeah, about that,” he says, taking his time, looking just shy of sheepish as his eyes pin mine. “I did it for you.”

My heart flutters. Fucking flutters. I no longer care about tuggability. “You did it for me?” I repeat because I can’t quite believe it.

“I thought you might . . .” He doesn’t have to finish for me to know what he’s saying?like it better.

I swallow roughly, trying to find words to describe what I’m feeling. You’re superhot by default, and now with that short hair, you look like . . . the guy I want to try with. Nerves thrum through me, but I shove them all the fuck aside, since I feel more certain than I did before.

“Mark? What do you think?” he asks for the second time.

Right. I haven’t answered him. “Why don’t I show you?”

I close the distance and rope my hands through that short hair. Jesus. That feels so good, his soft hair in my fingers. And he did it for me. I can barely handle how much I want a chance with Asher in New York. And I show him how very much I like all his looks as I tug on those strands no problem at all, and bring his lips to mine.

We kiss slowly at first. Deep and wet and full of promise. But it doesn’t stay slow for long.

In seconds, we heat up, our bodies slamming together. Our kiss turns urgent, and I swear we’re both saying the same thing with our lips.

Let’s do this.

Let’s try.

Maybe that’s wishful thinking, but he cut his hair?his famous hair?for me.

All because I said it was floofy in a drunk text.

I might be smiling ridiculously as we consume each other.

When I break the kiss, we’re both panting, chests rising and falling. “Now it’s swoopy. You . . . with your swoopy hair and your stupid lips,” I say, gripping the neck of his shirt, since I just don’t want to let go.

“You with your made-up words,” he says, and his grin is full of his big charm once more, and all for me.

This haircut is like a sign falling from the sky, telling me to go for it. I don’t even know what to say, but I don’t care. I’ll wing it for once in my life.

I part my lips to speak, but his phone chimes again.

His gaze jerks toward the device.

“Go. Check,” I say, since I’m feeling all kinds of magnanimous this morning.

He grabs the phone from the bed and scans the screen. I look out the window at the blue sky and the ocean, taking a few seconds to try to string the right words together.

When our gazes crash together again, his eyes are intense. Because we’re out of time. In so many ways. But maybe we don’t have to be if I just say what I want?what I hope he wants too.

Dropping the phone, he comes to me, wraps his hands around my hips like he did at the club on the night we ignited.

And like I did that night, I’ll go after what I want. Ask for it.

But he’s faster, jumping in with a barren whisper. “Mark, I have to shower. And get dressed. Your sister doesn’t need me to be late for the pictures.”

“Right,” I say quickly, taking the timeout. “Of course you do. Go on.”

He stares at me a moment longer. For a second, I think I’m about to get one more kiss. “Give me ten,” he says. “I’m crap at tying a bow tie. I might need some assistance.”

“A posh fucker like you?” I gasp playfully. “Thought you would have been born in one.”

Tags: Lauren Blakely The Best Men Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net