“Rebecca was being a bitch, and I didn’t want to hear any of the nasty shit she was saying. Dad, they’re my pizzas,” Bishop said.

“And seeing as I pay you to do nothing, they’re now mine. Rebecca was being a bitch? There’s a surprise.” His voice dripped sarcasm.

“Back to the hair. Why aren’t you getting a professional to do it?” she asked. Opening up the box, she took a slice as Preacher went for his second.

“You do know someone would love the chance to off him right. To run a knife across his neck and drain the life from him,” Bishop said.

“Colorful.”

“That’s what I am, darlin’, all about the colorful.”

“Why have you started calling me darlin’ all of a sudden?”

“I’m trying it out.” She finished her slice as Bishop grabbed two boxes. “Why don’t you get Robin to cut your hair? She’s done mine a few times, and you’ve never noticed it wasn’t professionally done.”

“You’ve cut his hair?”

Bishop had left them alone, and she wanted to kill him.

“He kept doing that flicky thing with his head as if it was in his eyes. It drove me crazy, and I didn’t think I had much choice. Do his hair or lose my sanity.”

“Fair play.” Preacher ate another slice. “You want to give it a try? Unless I’ve pissed you off at some point and you’re really not interested in being nice to me.”

She chuckled. “Are you asking me if I want to slit your throat?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have any sudden urges to do that, so I think we’re safe.”

Preacher sat down and held out the scissors for her to take. Her hand shook a little, but she took the offered scissors with a smile.

“Okay. You do know I’m not good at this, right?”

“So long as you still make me look like a man.”

“Don’t you have a razor where you could shave it all off?”

“Not going to happen.” Preacher bit into his slice of pizza. “Do your worst.”

Her heart was racing. She had no desire to slit his throat, but what if he wanted to do that to her by the end of the haircut?

She’d cut Bishop’s a few times because he refused to go to the hairdressers. She knew the only reason he didn’t want to go was because he’d slept with two of the women there and not called them back.

Grabbing a comb, she ran it over his hair, stalling.

It felt nice. Silky, even, which she didn’t expect.

She took her time making the first cut, afraid of fucking it up and getting it wrong.

Once the first cut was done though, she figured that was the worst that could happen.

“So, what kind of shit does your mom say to you?” Preacher asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual mom stuff.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“You haven’t had a mom?”

“I’ve had a mom, but not one who was any good.”