They're My Bad Girls. [Sequel To She's My Bad Girl]

4. Hair Cut

“Drugs.”

“Money.”

“Hoes.”

“Hookers.”

“Beer.”

“Drunk.”

“Stupid.”

“Derek.”

“Hey!”

“Hello.”

  Derek glared at me and slumped back on his bed. “Jerk. I’m not stupid!” “You have the IQ of a drug-dealing rich hoe/hooker who likes beer and is drunk.” “Hey.” He pointed at me, his face serious.

                “Don’t talk about my sister that way.” I snorted and raised the brown glass bottle to my lips, tilting it back. “I can talk about your sister all I want. Your mom gave me permission last week after our little meeting.” “Oh, really?”  “Yup. We had sex in your bed.” “Of course you did, man. Too bad my mom lives in California.” “Dang it!”

     He smirked proudly as somebody walked into our cage, room, prison cell. “Derek,” he said, jutting out a hip and putting his hand on it, pouting. I smirked at him and reclined against my mattress. This guy was about five, five, springy black hair falling down into his eyes on one side, his skin about three shades darker than Derek’s was. Pink lip gloss was smeared across his lips, and he kept batting his eyelashes at my cell mate. I snorted into my root beer.

                “Why didn’t you tell me you were planning a food fight this Friday? I would have liked to be invited.” “Uh.” Derek sent me a help me look, but I smirked and dug the picture Jules had given me during my trial out from underneath my pillow. “I didn’t think you needed to be invited, Juan.”

                “Oh, but I always need to be invited by your, Der Der.” I coughed, trying to hold back my laughter, and Derek threw a pillow at me. Juan walked over and sat on Derek’s bed, right next to him, sliding his hand onto Derek’s thigh.

                One thing, Derek has serious space issues. I’m not even allowed within six inches of his bed when he’s on it. So for this guy to be feeling him up while practically being sat on… He was about to have a major breakdown.

                He jumped up and practically fell on top of me trying to get away. “Um. Juan, I don’t think you’ve met my cell mate. Jason McCann. Jase, this is Juan.” I held out my hand and he grasped it softly, giving me a slow smile. “Well. If it ain’t the McCann himself. We all watched you on the news when you were on the run.” He bit his lip and looked at me. “Pretty dang sexy.”

                “I. Erm. My girlfriend’s pregnant!” I blurted. He shrugged and tiled his head to the side while he looked me up and down. “You know… You’d look even sexier with shorter hair.”  “What?” I asked, nervously raking my fingers through my hair, swishing it to the right before flipping it out of my eyes.

                “You would look so much sexier if you cut your hair. You know, trimmed up the sides but kept it a little longer on the top. Yummy.” “Um.” I looked at Derek and he shrugged. “You have been complaining about it getting in your eyes.”  I sent him a death glare as Juan grabbed my arm and tugged me down the hallway into the bathroom.

                “I keep all my hair stuff in here,” he said, sticking my butt in a rolley chair that had magically appeared and putting my head in the sink. “You’re going to look amazing.”

……….

                “Do you like it?” Juan asked eagerly as I examined my hair in the cracked mirror.  I ruffled my fingers through the short new chop, liking the way I could actually see my forehead. “It’s pretty sick,” Derek said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “I’d do you.”