“Not really. And being in a suit at the beach should be against the law.”

“Destination wedding? Those drive me crazy. My friend Nikki got married in Punta Cana six months ago, and she invited me. Who has money to go to Mexico at the last minute?”

He grunted, and she gathered he didn’t want to say anything disloyal about his friend.

“She used to have her head on straight, until she started dating a rich guy. It really changed her. Now she’s a typical rich, stuck-up asshole.”

He opened his mouth then shut it and nodded stiffly. “Yeah. I’ve met my share of those.”

Smiling, she turned the clippers on and started his haircut. Since he probably couldn’t hear her over the noise, they fell into silence as she worked. A while later, she stopped then turned the chair toward the mirror.

“What do you think about the length? Is it short enough?”

He barely glanced at it before he said, “It’s fine. I trust you to make me look good.”

As if he needed her help with that. But his brush-off gave her pause. “I know you don’t care as much, but what would the bride think?”

His brows rose and he gave a longer look. “As long as it’s even, I think she’ll be happy.” He shifted in his seat as if ready to dash for the door.

“Hold up, there, cowboy. Not done yet. I still have to even out the front and sides.” She switched to the smaller clippers then circled around to his front. “Stay still and—”

“What’s this?” With a smirk, he pointed to the small tattoo she hid under a thick bangle bracelet. “You a kinkster?”

So he knew the symbol. Most people thought the tattoo was just a pretty filigree design, which was how she’d planned it. It was a very subtle nod to BDSM.

“None of your business.”

“Relax,” he said quietly, interest in his eyes. “I am too. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

She flipped her hair. “I’m not. You just caught me off guard.”

An awkward silence hovered over them. She wasn’t in the habit of apologizing or acting ashamed for who she was, but some people didn’t understand BDSM. They thought it was about abuse or sexual perversion—not about emotional connection and, for her, just plain fun.

“Are you in the scene around here?” Ambrose said, breaking the tension.

“A little.” She was glad the salon was empty. Having this conversation all hushed in front of nosy coworkers would have spelled trouble. People got fired for less. “I go to The Catacombs once in a while. You?”

“I haven’t gone in a long time. I don’t remember seeing you.”

“I’m not very memorable.” She chuckled like it was a joke, but it fell flat. Maybe because there was truth there.

“No.” He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her face. “I would’ve remembered you.”

She squirmed under his gaze. He was a definitely a Dom. Was he single? Could he handle her? If it was just about size, he could definitely manhandle her plus-size figure easily, but did he have the mental stamina to keep up with her? Most Doms didn’t like brats, but tough shit, because that’s who she was, and she’d sworn back when she broke things off with Scott she’d never change for a man. Or a woman.

Trying to ignore him and do her job, she turned on the small clippers and leaned down to even out the front of his hair on his forehead. The buzz was quiet enough to talk now, but she wasn’t sure what to say. This whole conversation, here at work, was throwing her off her game. Kink talk happened in the bedroom or the club, not in the salon.

“Do you know Banner?” he asked.

When his head wobbled, she held it still with her free hand.

He kept talking anyway. “He used to play there. Before he settled down with his Kate. That’s who’s getting married the day after tomorrow.”

“No, I don’t think I know him.” She finished the front then moved to the side to work around his ears.

“What about Konstantin?”

That rang a bell. Images popped up of a playboy with dark eyes, a Russian accent, and a girl under each arm. She chuckled. “I’ve heard of him.”

He smiled. “He’s my other best friend.”

“Cool. So we must travel in the same circles. Weird we’ve never met.”

“Yeah. Weird.”

How could she ask if he was single without sounding desperate? Rejection stung like a bitch, and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that this early in the morning.

“So, who are you bringing to the wedding? Do you have a date?” Fuck. She could’ve kicked herself. Way to not sound desperate.

“No. I’m single at the moment.”

“Me too.” Fuck again! Why had she said that? It wasn’t like he’d asked. God, she was usually smoother than this. He was messing with her head.

“I was thinking of heading to The Catacombs tonight, actually,” she ventured. Maybe she could still salvage this. “To see if I can find someone to play with. It’s been a long time.”

“Really?” His brow quirked.

“Yeah. I’m hoping there’ll be some new people. I’ve played with almost everyone and scared all the usuals away. Poor little things.”

“You haven’t played with me.” Their gazes met in her mirror, and the blatant dare in his made her bite her lip.

She paused, then smirked. “I doubt you could handle me.”

Chuckling, he shifted in the chair. “Well, that’s a challenge if I ever heard one. Are you a switch?”

“I’m a brat.” It sounded like a warning. Maybe it was one. She was tired of too-serious Doms trying to crush her spirit and turn her into something she wasn’t. And she was tired of the newbies letting her walk all over them then storming away all butthurt when she wouldn’t cooperate.

“I enjoy brats.”

She snorted. “That’s what they all say. They change their minds when you tell them they should use their pretty mouths for things other than lectures.”

He barked a laugh. “You’ve actually said that?”

She answered with a cocky smirk.

“You might be a sorry little girl if you get too much of what you’re asking for.”

Oh fuck. A rush of heat pooled in her pussy, making her knees almost buckle. She pictured it—spread out on a bed, legs wide, Ambrose between them, making her scream for mercy.

She realized she’d frozen with her clippers in midair, staring at their reflection. After setting the clippers down, she cleared her throat. “You don’t believe in playing nice?”

“I can when I want to. But there are times when I don’t want to be nice. Are you the kind of sub who needs a mean Dom to make you into a good girl?”

“I’m the kind of girl who likes a Dom to have a sense of humor.”

He arched a brow.

Reluctantly, she added, “And to sometimes . . . convince me to be good. Once in a while. When the mood strikes me.” She gave him a sidelong glance.

“Cocky little thing,” he muttered, shifting in his seat again.

She wondered what he kept having to shift down there. But he wasn’t rolling his eyes or sighing at her teasing. Maybe he wasn’t like the others. She wished there was a tactful, smooth way to ask if he wanted to play.

“You’re going tonight?” he asked, rubbing his clean-shaven chin.

She nodded.

“Maybe I’ll go too. We could talk more. If you want.”

A small, giddy smile pushed through her mask of confidence. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She realized she sounded like a parrot and gave her head a shake. Way to look like a smitten idiot. “I mean, I’m done. What do you think?”

“Sweet.” He turned his head this way and that, but he was looking at her, not his hair.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked while she unclipped the cape.

“Twenty-five.”

He fiddled with his wallet while she brushed off his neck. Frowning, he looked up at her. “Do you have change?”

“Not much. It’s early still.”

“Okay.” He handed her two twenties.

“Oh. Umm.”

“Just keep it.”

“No, I can’t. It’s too much.”

He waved his hand. “Buy me a drink tonight and we’ll call it even.”