A/N:Charlaine Harris owns all of her characters. Evil genius that she is, she has created the Sookieverse for our pleasure.
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Chapter 3.
"You smell delicious, Sookie."
Eric had mumbled these words into my hair. It sent a shiver up my spine. He was a little too familiar for someone I'd just met. Didn't he know our famed Southern hospitality was extended to strangers just for the sake of appearances? The two of us had a very long way to go before I'd move him from the hairdresser category to friend. Sex would definitely be involved, so he'd never qualify.
"Eric, ermm, Irick, let go, now?" It came out a question, unfortunately.
"My error. Sorry, chica. The scents in our new salon-exclusive shampoo affect me that way. "
Oh, I got it now. He was pushing product. A little more dramatic than most, but more entertaining, too. I'd probably buy some. Wondering if Will could be counted on to act so uninhibited around me once he smelled me, I decided to buy a bottle before I left.
Back on a more even keel now, I could afford to be solicitous again. "So, Irick, phone call work out and all?" I also wanted to assess his temper, just a little. Those scissors should be certified as a lethal weapon, in my opinion.
"Yes, love, all's good." A small pause. "You do smell fine, you know. Just your natural scent." He winked at me, his sugar plum fairy persona back in place. .
I chose that moment to bend over to grab my purse, searching for my cherry lip gloss. In doing so, grace personified, I knocked off a container full of implements sitting too close to the edge of the counter. Cursing, I tried to catch it and instead ended up slicing my hand on a sharp razoring tool. "Fuck!" I yelled and then felt a blush forming. 'Fuck again', but this time said silently, just for me.
I fell to my knees, scrambling around to collect what looked like maybe thirty or forty means of tweaking one's hair. They weren't the pick-up sticks I'd supposed. But before I'd mastered the trick of re-arranging them, I felt Irick effortlessly lift me off the floor and return me to the chair. He knelt down and gathered them in one controlled gesture, his massive paws working to his advantage.
I started to apologize when I noticed a round brush had rolled under the furthest edge of the cabinet at the corner of the space. I pointed, and he slid gracefully on his knees, bending over to reach beneath the bottom shelf to retrieve it. When he did so, his hair moved as well, parting down the middle and falling forward. I could see just a faint glimpse of his black roots at his exposed nape. He bleached his hair. I immediately guessed Pam did it for him. It had looked so natural, I would never have guessed.
"Sookie, you are some trouble, you know, girl?" Standing again, he reached for my sliced up hand. I saw that his hand, so much larger than mine, seemed to tremble for an instant.
Nope, must have been a trick of the light. Mood lighting, I'd noticed earlier. Not the stark fluorescents found in most salons.
He held my hand very carefully. He inclined his head to look more closely at the cut, now beginning to bleed a little more freely. In an unexpected move, he brought my hand to his face, and inhaled deeply over the broken skin.
I felt sure he was about to say something, something really interesting and unusual, when Pam was suddenly in the same space with us. She jerked my hand from Irick's grasp, covered it with her own, and pushed forcibly back against his chest.
What weird shit was this? I thought, now a little concerned by the odd turn of events and Pam's even stranger reaction. Was I in some sort of danger?
"Eric, take a break. I'll entertain Sookie while you gather antiseptic and a bandage for her hand. Go, now." She stepped between us then and I caught her foot kicking him in the ankle area.
Irick? Hadn't she just called him Eric?
Whatever his name was, he kept his eyes on the floor as he moved away from us, leaving to gather the items she'd requested.
We both watched him go, then I swung back to stare at Pammi. Was it my imagination or did her features look slightly less sharp? Probably just the chemicals used in my treatment blurring my vision. I made to speak, when I felt a very large yawn steal the words from my brain and I gave in to it.
Embarrassed again, I started to apologize when another yawn immediately kicked in. Smiling, Pammi suggested I lie down on a couch in Irick's office until he returned and she could bandage up my cut. I slid off the chair and meekly followed her into the adjacent room, yawning uncontrollably now, my legs feeling uncharacteristically heavy. I sank onto the couch, and rolled to my side. It was the last thing I remembered doing.
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When I yawned again, I felt something very soft brush my face. It was a large gauze bandage wrapped around my hand, completely encasing it. I sat up with a start of surprise and then moaned, holding my head. I was in my bedroom. The sun appeared to be setting, judging by the window that looked into the side yard where the azalea bushes were in full flower.
This was completely disconcerting. I'd gone from resting on a couch in Irick's office to waking up in my own bed, hours later? Was I alone in the house? And more importantly, what had happened to my hair? I tore off the gauze from my hand, searching squeamishly for the cut. Whatever they'd used had worked; there was only a faint red line indicating the morning's injury. I'd always healed quickly, but this was very fast. I'd ask them later what it was when I returned. I was pleased to see that my nails were now a pale frosted shade.
I was too unsteady to move as quickly to the mirror as I wished, but I still made it into my bathroom. Hitting the switch, I was relieved to see that my hair was perfect. The color was unchanged from this morning, and the shaping done by Irick, I guessed, framed my cheeks and emphasized my eyes. He was a Master. Pulling out the waistband of my pajama bottoms (what?), I saw that my skin was smooth and hair-free all the way down. I felt the tops of my thighs. Yes! My legs had been waxed as well.
Was it possible I'd just been so sleepy I'd passed out when I got home and didn't remember slipping into my pajamas?
It seemed plausible, except I never wore these pajamas anymore. They were too tight and worn at the seams. I'd had them sitting on my dresser because I was going to tear them up to use as dust rags when I cleaned this weekend.
Before I could begin to question events too closely, I felt a strong urge to forget about it and get ready for my evening. I was going to find Will tonight and have him moaning in despair over losing me. I found I'd laid out the clothing already. It wasn't my usual pairing for an evening out; in fact I'd only worn the skirt once because it was way too short. I couldn't bend over or I'd flash the room. Stackhouse women had never needed to advertise and I wasn't breaking with tradition.
The blouse was a sheer sleeveless top, patterned with alternating wide and narrow horizontal white-on-white stripes. It was new and I'd forgotten I bought it on sale just before I left Shreveport. Paired with the too-short pale lilac tulle skirt, I barely recognized myself. The La Perla lingerie, laid on top of the skirt, was an extravagance from last year. I'd purchased the set with an unexpected Belk's bonus. It was deeply discounted at the time, and had been something I'd been saving for my wedding night with Sam that never came. I donned it now in defiance of my habit of frugality, always putting my life on hold. It molded my breasts, cupping them better than any lover I'd had to date. Not that I'd had a lot.
The lacy v-shaped sheer panties would not show under the skirt, but I'd need to be careful just the same. And a garter belt and sheer hose? Had I been knocked senseless before ending up in my too-tight pajamas? But tonight, just for a whim, I decided to go with it. The silver strapless heels would be difficult to walk in, but the three clubs I'd be searching for Will were all on the same street in the Peachtree district, so I'd be fine if I didn't need to run.
Taking one last look in the mirror to gauge my new look, I was stunned at the transformation brought about by the champagne blond shade and expert cut. For the last year, I'd been wearing dark jewel tones, the shapes more comfortable than sexy, to accent my former blue-black hair. Now, I looked like the negative image of my former self with maybe a little Christina Aguilera on top. Shrugging, I strung a rope of Granmere's pearls around my neck, sad once more. She would have loved seeing me look like this, dressed to go out. Too bad I didn't have a man waiting for me tonight.
No, I corrected myself, Will was waiting for me. He just didn't know it.
I snagged my keys, stuffed my clutch, and was in the Honda, plugging in my I-pod and relaxing into the leather seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw an animal in the hedge. It was a very tall ancient boxwood hedge that hid from view the unruly yard of the neighbors, proud owners of several pieces of children's gym equipment and three small boys. Looked like they had finally acquired a dog, and a big one, judging by how much the hedge was swaying.
Marvelous. Probably a barker and a jumper. I reminded myself to go speak with them about keeping the dog in their own yard. He was already sniffing about to locate a convenient latrine on my side of the hedge.
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I had limped into the third and final club, O'Hara's Mansion, when I realized I might not find Will tonight after all. Feeling completely dispirited at that thought, I sunk into an empty chair on the edges of the jostling crowd. My feel hurt worse than I could have imagined, and I recalled I had a good hike back to my parked car. I could have found valet parking close, but I'd been sure I'd see Will and he would drive me back to my car.
While Will continued to be a no-show, I'd garnered lots of male attention as I pushed through the crowds of college-age men, many vocal in their admiration. If I hadn't had a mission, I might have been tempted to stop for one or two.
To kill time, I ordered a Coca-cola from a passing waitress. If I stayed in place, maybe Will would eventually pass by. It seemed a good idea as I had no other.
Waiting for my Coke, I turned around to watch the college kids in the center of the room. One couple closest to me was barely bothering to disguise their make-out session in public as any sort of dance. My attention was focused on them when I felt a small brush and heard someone slid into the chair behind me.
Turning back, I looked into a pair of sapphire-blue eyes, so remarkable I knew immediately who this was, even though he appeared to have undergone his own transformation from this morning.
"Irick?" I asked hesitantly, not entirely sure I was right. Maybe he had a brother?
He smiled, but did not answer me. His hair was now a shining long black blade, sliding dangerously forward in a smooth wave over his shoulders. He was clothed in uber-masculine wear, black silk T, matching cuffed slacks paired with a black belt with large silver buckle, and black loafers. Size fourteen? He saw me looking at his feet and twitched his left foot for my benefit. He looked so delicious, I was afraid to move. He had to be a dream. No man looked this good and was unattached in a club on a Friday night in downtown Atlanta.
I watched the muscles ripple in his arms as he stretched them forward to set his hands on either side of my arm chair. My thighs were gripping the surface, it and the quickly fading strength in my legs the only thing keeping me from sliding to the floor in complete surrender. I tried clearing my throat and nearly choked instead.
A smirk quickly appeared and then slid from his face. "Are you alright now?" The tone was amused, but the accent I'd noticed again this morning was still present. He couldn't shake that telltale hint of Northern shores.
"What happened today, Irick? I really don't remember much of anything after I cut myself. Oh, and I just love my haircut. It is perfect."
I stopped. His turn, if he was going to say anything significant. Heck, he could even recite the alphabet. I'd be hanging on every letter.
"Sookie, you can call me Eric." No spelling lesson and I really couldn't tell the difference without it. I let that remark slide. At least he'd confirmed his identity.
"Wow, Eric, you look so different from this morning." And so much more straight, but I kept that thought to myself.
"As do you."
I waited for him to elaborate, but like most men, he wasn't wasting time babbling his thoughts. More fun to make women guess.
"Well, it is odd running into you here. It doesn't seem like the sort of place I'd expect to find you. If you hadn't called me by name, I doubt I would have recognized you." I waited for him to eek out another three-or-four word sentence.
"I followed you."
Bingo. I was so pleased at guessing the word count, it took a bit for the meaning to sink in.
"Oh, you saw me at one of the other clubs. I was looking for a friend who usually comes here on weekends." Shit, I probably should not have told him I was alone tonight. Irick from the Salon was plenty safe. This Eric was someone I'd never met, dark, lovely, and not entirely to be trusted. Although I was prepared to spend more time in his presence.
"Something like that." There he went again with another smirk.
The easy familiarity I'd felt this morning was completely gone from this exchange. I realized he was definitely male and judging by the bulge he wasn't bothering to conceal, he was interested. I hoped I was the only reason for the display.
"I just ordered a Coke. When she comes back, you could order a drink." I was fishing for how long he was sticking around.
As if guessing the double meaning in my words, he replied, "I'm not staying."
Well, guess I'd resume looking for Will, then. I'd almost forgotten my original purpose in dressing up tonight, my astonishment at seeing Eric completely erasing all thoughts of my former boyfriend's desertion.
"Well then, nice to run into you. Guess I'll see you the next time I come in to have my hair…"
The sounds died in my throat. Eric had stood, and holding out one of those massive paws, said only, "Neither are you." He didn't wait for me to agree. When I didn't move fast enough for him, he took my hand and pulled me gently to my feet. I'd not seen him pull out his wallet, but he dropped a ten dollar bill on the table and firmly under his control, we began moving to the exit. Audible sighs of feminine disappointment seemed to blow like a wind at our backs.
I wasn't really ready to leave off looking for Will, but curious what Eric had planned, allowed him to move me outside to the sidewalk. I saw we were stopped in the valet parking area when a vintage sapphire blue jaguar XKE, custom hood ornament polished to a golden gleam, pulled into the covered drop-off area. As Eric moved forward, I realized this was likely his car. 'How sweet'; it matched his eyes.
My catty reaction reminded me I didn't know him very well. I should be reluctant to crawl into a car with him in a City where I knew only my new co-workers, none of them well-enough to call for help on a Friday night. That left my landlord, who lived in another town and whose phone number was written on a pad of paper in my kitchen. Standing alone at the carpeted entrance as Eric paid the attendant, I felt a new vulnerability. I truly hadn't given too much thought to what it meant to move to a new city and be all alone in the world.
At the same time, my feet were telegraphing the onset of blisters and my car was a long walk in the dark. Eric was a business owner and many people had remarked on my presence at CBGB Salon today. I'd also seen the security cameras in the ceiling and marveled at installing such high tech equipment in a hair salon. Perhaps Irick and Pammi were worried about employee theft.
When it came down to it, though, I didn't get a vote. Eric politely opened the passenger door for me. When I hesitated, still not entirely certain, he gracefully maneuvered me into the car seat, buckled it, and more quickly than should have been possible, was in his seat and starting the engine.
"Forget Will. We need to leave."
How did he know about Will? Oh, right, I'd told Pam my story this morning. So much for client confidentiality. Of course, her license was from the Georgia Board of Cosmetology, not exactly the International Association of Counselors and Therapists.
"Eric, where are we going? I'll need to collect my car. I don't have to work tomorrow…." My voice trailed off again, as I mentally kicked myself for telling him no one would be looking for me at Belks. Was I really afraid of him?
"Sookie. Don't be afraid of me."
Now he was a mind-reader? Or had my expression given me away?
"I won't hurt you."
Good to know.
"Where are we going, then, Eric?" I stopped and swallowed, looking for some measure of calm. "I have to have my car tomorrow."
"A hotel. You'll be safe."
"Safe from what?"
"From others. Others like me, my kind. They have been seeking you."
I was totally confused. What was Eric? At best a Bi hairdresser with a straight alter-ego? How did that make him a 'kind'? Wasn't that sort of a narrow-minded remark, even if he'd been the one to make it?
"No offense, Eric. I have no idea what you just said. I'm a twenty-two year old Belk's saleswoman from Shreveport. No one is seeking me. You must have the wrong girl."
I didn't tell him he was starting to scare me. I was thinking about jumping out at the next stoplight, but the lights all seemed to be green for him. Must be that time of the night when the stoplights switched over.
At that, Eric actually turned his head to look at me. I made the mistake of looking back into his eyes. I started the damn yawning again, and try as I might to fight against it, I twisted in my seat to a more comfortable position and fell asleep.
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A/N:I believe I'd climb into a vintage Jag with Eric.
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