Thursday 25 September 2014

Great Day... And a My Zombie Boyfriend Teaser!

I'm having a really good day. I had an issue at work, but I managed to figure it out (mostly) on my own and it felt great.

Then I got my hair braided which I desperately wanted so it wouldn't be in my face or on my neck. And the hairdresser was amazing. Hands down the best I've ever had. She realized how "difficult" my hair is while she was washing it (side note--I love having my hair washed at the hairdresser's. So does Kit from My Zombie Boyfriend...see below!). My hair is very fine but dense, making it pretty sheds lesser hair implements! I told her I was growing it out for my sister's wedding and she gave me some very helpful tips to tell the wedding stylist, and she explained why I have a random red streak in my hair. Now it's in a really tight French braid and it's almost like having short hair again and I look more like my mental image of myself!


Here's teaser number two from My Zombie Boyfriend. (Here's teaser number one in case you missed it).

For those just tuning in, My Zombie Boyfriend is my upcoming M/M paranormal romance novel with Torquere Press. It's about Edward, a necromancer/medical student, and Kit, a body he finds and reanimates.

Please note, this is not the finalized version of the story.

“Kit, have you thought about going to a hairdresser just to have your hair washed?” I wasn’t sure if a 
hairdresser would do that, but it seemed like something that would appeal to him.

His eyes gleamed covetously. “What a great idea! We can go together. Which salon do you go to? I’ll book us an appointment right away.” 

At least he was trying to include me. With a sense of impending doom, I told him the truth. “I don’t go to a salon. I cut my hair myself. I have one of those clippers…” I trailed off, watching his horrified expression. It 
was as though I had told him I sometimes ate kittens with Tabasco sauce.

“Not anymore,” he told me, his tone firm and final. “I’ll just make us appointments, shall I?”

I was tempted to reply ‘Yes, dear’.

“Okay,” I said, meekly. My mom is always telling me I’m too passive. I always agree with her, which I suppose sort of proves her point. My father is the same way with her. She has a very forceful personality, 
not unlike Kit, and I don’t want to hear anything about Freud.


My haircut was spectacularly uneventful and left me looking exactly the way I did when I cut it myself, only smelling strange and sixty dollars poorer. I had spent less than that buying my clippers, which promised to give me years of haircuts.

I didn’t let the hairdresser style my hair. I didn’t want Kit to get any expectations about my appearance.

Kit, of course, was another matter entirely. Every hairdresser in the shop came over to admire and fondle his hair. None of them seemed to find it odd that he only wanted a rinse. Especially because Kit was being charged sixty dollars for the privilege of having strangers wash his hair. He flirted harmlessly and equally with all of the staff, male and female.

I scowled into my magazine—there was a National Geographic tucked in with all the hair magazines. 

Somehow Kit’s wash took longer than my cut.

He was glowing when they were finished. They had sculpted his golden locks into a symphony of hair that I would never have been able to reproduce. He looked radiant, and I was glad I had thought of bringing him. 

It was worth every penny.

Of course, then Kit didn’t want to shower at home—at my house. He wanted professionals to wash his hair.  

After some negotiation (for negotiation, read, “I bought him a Wii U as a bribe”), I managed to talk him down to weekly rinses.

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