Just a reminder: the completed version of this story is on Inkitt now. Just click the link in my bio to read it without having to wait for updates on wattpad. :) Enjoy!

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I watch Jamie's face slip from neutral to sickened within seconds. As I've come to realize with him, he's crap at hiding his emotions. There's clearly something bothering him, but I don't ask. Instead, I wait it out, hoping that he'll come clean about whatever is bothering him. But he doesn't.

If I hadn't caught on to the fact that something was wrong before, then the stiff, sloppy way in which he applies the vaseline would have been a dead giveaway. I can't tell if he's pissed or distracted, but either way, he's ignoring me.

He starts applying the hair dye, and I close my eyes as his fingers weave themselves into my hair. Goosebumps explode down my arms and I shiver, a bubble of laughter leaving my lips.

"That feels too good," I tell him, my eyes still closed. "I've always loved having people play with my hair. It feels like you're tickling my brain cells and I love it."

He chuckles beside me, his breath fanning my ear and causing another wave of goosebumps to take a ride along the skin of my neck and down my spine. He's so close that it's almost suffocating. Even though he's no longer off limits, I don't dare act on my desires to question him about the tension that's suddenly sprung up between us.

"Done," he announces, and I open my eyes to find him already standing at the sink as he removes his gloves. He doesn't look at me for several seconds and I'm a breath away from asking him what the heck is wrong when he plops down on the edge of the bathtub and rests his forearms on his knees.

"How long do we have to wait?" he asks, his crystal blue gaze boring into mine.

"You've got about another fifteen minutes," I tell him after checking the time on my phone. "I can't wait to see how goofy you look with pink hair."

"Hah!" he laughs. "You'll be drooling all over my pink-haired sexy self."

"Riiight," I drawl. Truth is, he could have puke-tinted hair while sporting a greasy comb-over and I'd probably still find him sexy. How pathetic is that? Oh, my poor, silly heart.

When the time comes, Jamie rinses out his own hair and then starts blow drying it while I rinse out mine. We've promised not to look in the mirror until we've both finished, and that time has finally come. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, eyes closed, we count to three.

"One, two, three," we say in unison, and then peer open our eyes.

"Holy crap!" I cry, the sound muffled behind my hands.

When I realize that Jamie is silent beside me, I turn to face him. His eyes are wide as he takes in his new appearance and I can't tell if he's horrified or pleasantly surprised until the edge of his lip begins to tilt up into a confident smirk.

"Not bad," he says, combing his fingers through his new look. "I like what you did with the pink tips."

I want to respond, but instead, I just take him in. I'm not gonna lie. He looks good. Ridiculously good. Like, no man should ever look this appealing with pink hair, but Jamie looks real good. Something about the color gives him a whole new level of confidence, and goodness gracious if it doesn't have my toes curling with the need to run my fingers through it.

"Dang," I mumble, reaching up and playing with the pink-tipped strands. Guess I didn't have the strength to deny my hands what they truly wanted. "You look hot."

Jamie's smile slips from his face like a bottle crashing to the floor. His eyes jump to mine, his expression unreadable as he scours my face for something. And then, just as quickly, he pulls a smile back into place.

"Told ya," he teases.

I roll my eyes at him but my refusal to acknowledge that he won has him lifting his hands in the hair and swaying his hips in a mildly seductive dance as he sings, "I'm sexy and you know it." He's being goofy, but there's a raspy, deep quality to his voice that has my insides shrinking and my chest aching to have his husky vocals whispered directly against my ear.

I pull my thoughts away from such actions, knowing that I'm only torturing myself by having such thoughts. Jamie's made himself adamantly clear about where his feelings for me lie and he's done nothing to hint at a change of heart.

"So you're not even going to comment on my hair?" I ask, propping my hands on my hips in playful irritation.

Jamie stops dancing long enough to send me a perplexed look and then sighs. "Lynn," he chastises. "I've already told you that you're beautiful. Changing your hair color isn't going to change that." And then his lips tilt into a playful grin. "But, not gonna lie, platinum is just not your color."

My shoulders droop. I could tell myself to focus on the compliment, but negatives have a tendency of sticking better than praise. So, instead, I stare into the mirror at my new reflection and pout.

"You're right," I agree with reluctance. "I look like a Barbie who forgot she was Asian." I start to chuckle at the sight before me. "And we should have left the eyebrows alone." I flick my hair dramatically and pop a hip out as I turn to Jamie. "I'm albino barbie," I state, my words sharp and theatrical like those flirty girly-girls you see in movies.

His eyes crinkle at the sides as he holds back a laugh, but it busts through his lips anyway. I swear I even hear him snort as he wraps one arm around his torso and cackles into his opposite fist.

"Okay," I say, examining my reflection with all seriousness. "How do I fix this mess?"

"Blue."

He doesn't even hesitate, which makes me wonder if he'd already thought about it.

"You'd look really good in blue," he repeats, and I find myself startled by the candid honesty behind the statement.

Just when the intensity of his stare grows to the point of me questioning the meaning behind it, he breaks, a smile blooming across his face as he reaches for a lock of my hair. His finger slip through the strands like a knife through butter, the light tugs at the roots sending my scalp into momentary bliss. My eyes are zeroed in on his expression as I struggle to read each line of his face. He's still smiling, but it's lost the glow now. It seems the smile is just frozen there as his thoughts take him away. And then I see it, the narrowing of his eyes as they briefly drop to my mouth.

My breath hitches and Jamie's gaze jumps to meet mine, clearly shocked at being caught examining my kisser. I want so badly to ease the pressure in the moment. I want to throw some kind of joke bomb into the stiff atmosphere between us and shatter the tension—lighten the mood. But I'm suddenly mute. My throat seems incapable of allowing spit down or words up. So I just stand there like a block of dry ice.

"Lynn."

Hearing my name uttered from my mother's lips is just the hammer we need to break us out of our stupor. I jump slightly—hopefully not enough for Jamie to notice—and spin around to face her.

"Oh, Lordie," she mutters from the doorway, her eyes raking over my new appearance.

I brace myself for it. She's going to erupt in a fit of Thai rage as she babbles about how indecent my hair is. She'll ream me for disrespecting the appearance I was born with. For stripping my luscious locks of their natural hue—even though she has no qualms with covering up her natural hue now that she's started to show her age.

But then she laughs.

I stand there like a Praying Mantis, my hands already lifted in a plea for mercy before a single word can leave my lips. But, as my mother's laughter echoes around the small bathroom, my hands slowly grow limp and fall to my sides.

"Please, don't move," she suddenly says and as she darts out of the room, I turn round eyes to Jamie. He's staring back at me with a similar expression. One that says, 'what in tarnation just happened?'

Not a word is uttered between Jamie and I as we swing out gazes from each other and back toward the bathroom door, waiting for my mom's arrival. Seconds later, she comes into view, a cartoonish smile plastered across her face as she breathes heavily.

"Smile," she sings, lifting a disposable camera up and clicking the button.

We wait for the flash, but nothing happens. Pulling the camera away from her face, she exams the boxy contraption. Tapping it a few times, she tries again, but nothing happens.

"Did you wind it?" I ask, brows lifted in humorless wonder.

Her thumb moves to the dial and I hear the unmistakable clicking of the gears as it winds into position.

"Oh," is her simple response and then her smile is back in place. "Ready? Smile!"

I don't smile. I simply stare at my mom like a cat eyeing a ball of limp string—emotionless and not in the slightest bit entertained. But even my own horror at her reaction can't be contained for long. When my brain clicks into gear and I realize that my mom isn't freaking out like I'd expected, I feel my brows begin to lift in amazement.

"You like it?" I ask slowly, scared to break this magical moment with my words.

"What?" she laughs. "No way. It's hideous."

"Oh."

"Please don't change it," she begs, resting a hand on the doorframe to hold up her laughter-weakened body. "I'll even buy you some blue contacts to complete the look."

Guess she thinks I look albino too. Honestly, I think albinoes are freakin' awesome. They're like natural trendsetters and they don't even have to try. But me? No. No way. Once you know that someone's put effort into attempting to look cool—and failing—then the magic is lost. There ain't nothing cool about trying to look cool.

"We were thinking blue," Jamie explains, a smile broadcasting itself across his face.

"Hmmm." My mom lifts a finger to her chin, envisioning me with blue hair and then nods a couple times. "I suppose that might be a little more appropriate. You look like a confused Barbie right now."

"Yeah," I nod. "That's basically what I said."

Yes, my mom and I share a brain. We're practically Siamese twins.

I hear Jamie laughing beside me, but don't bother to acknowledge him as I turn to look at myself again in the mirror.

Two hours later, Jamie and I are lounging on the living room couch—me with blue hair and him with pink—as we watch Shutter, a popular Thai horror movie. I've got my legs sprawled across the length of the couch, forcing Jamie to be squished into the very furthest corner. He hasn't complained yet, nor has he given my feet the stink eye.

By the time the movie comes to an end, I've somehow managed to turn myself completely around so that I can bury my face into Jamie's chest anytime fear threatens to overwhelm me. As much as I love scary movies, I'm a pansy. Whisper 'boo' in my ear and it's very likely I'll have a mini heart attack.

"Comfy?" Jamie questions, his chest vibrating against my ear with his laughter.

"So comfy," I exaggerate, snuggling in closer and wrapping my arms around his firm torso.

I expect him to stiffen from my bold display of touch but instead, his hand finds my shoulder where he effortlessly shoves me off of him. I tumble to the floor, my bottom making contact first and jostling my entire body with the force.

Glancing up, I find him laughing at the scowl on my face. Forcing my stubborn side to unleash itself, I pull myself up until I'm standing right in front of him. I feel my lips stretching into a malicious grin and then with challenge dancing in my eyes, I plop myself right down onto his lap.

Surprise flickers across his features, his hands springing up as he struggles to find a place to rest them. I expect him to push me to the floor, but to my surprise—and utter delight—his arms wrap around me and he pulls me in for a lung-strangling bear hug. He rocks us back and forth, humming the Barney theme song into my hair while I giggle into his chest.

It's in that moment that I realize how dangerous this position is for me. I've been strong all this time, but it was so much easier to resist Jamie when he acted like he hated me. Now, as he embraces me, laughter trickling from his lips, I can feel my strength leaving me. Affection blossoms in my bosom, an ache to pull him closer and sweep my lips over his for the faintest of tastes.

When he releases me, I find myself unable to reign in my emotions. I'm too vulnerable. I haven't had a chance to come to terms with this sudden lack of control and I'm not sure how to handle it.

Jamie must sense this shift because he suddenly tilts his head down so that his eyes are even with mine. Pushing a strand of hair behind my ear so he has a clear view of my face, he dips his brows in question.

"You okay?" he asks, dropping his arms from around me so that I can easily slide onto the couch beside him.

"Yep." I force my voice to sound chipper and lively and if Jamie notices my poor acting skills, he doesn't let on. Instead, he eyes me quizzically for several heartbeats before nodding slowly. He obviously doesn't buy it, but he's decent enough to let it go.

"So," he says, clearing his throat. "Aside from our fantastically fun-filled afternoon, what have you been up to these days? You enjoying your summer so far?"

After the day we've had, his question somehow feels so formal. Like he's trying to force normalcy between us when it's obvious I'm shaken up about something. I appreciate him for this. I'm grateful for his intuitiveness because there's no way I'm ready to confess this new spark of emotion. It's easy to fall in like with someone from a distance. As you watch them interact with others and you see the goodness radiating off of them as they laugh and joke with their friends. But now that I have a front row seat to Jamie's good side, there's no way I've been able to stay upright. I'm falling again... fast and hard.

My childhood feelings of supposed love are just that: childish. This? This feeling that I'm experiencing right now as I fight myself to stop looking at him is the real deal. I'm in love with Jamie Gallagher and there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that my heart belongs solely to him.

"Um," I find myself muttering, trying to remember what I even did this morning. My memory is nothing to brag about, but with this new emotional realization and my heart hammering away at my ribcage, I can't think straight.

"You don't remember?" Jamie teases, lifting his brows at me.

Tearing my eyes away from his, I turn my focus ahead of me where the credits are still scrolling by on the TV. That's when all the pieces fall back into place.

"Oh," I say, a grin taking over my lips. "I went on a date."

Silence.

Maybe Jamie didn't hear me. I turn to face him, expecting to see him looking at me with a playful glint in his eye, but his face is blank.

He clears his throat. "A date?"

I nod.

"With who?"

"Greg Davies," I answer, feeling oddly like I'm under interrogation.

"You mean Gregory?"

Jamie's tone is unsettling, as if he doesn't approve of my choice in men.

"Yeah," I confirm. "But he likes to be called Greg."

"Oh."

Jamie shifts beside me, dropping his gaze to his hand where he picks at a piece of lint on his jeans.

"Was it fun?" he asks, his expression softening as he turns to face me.

"Yeah," I nod. "It was really fun."

Jamie smiles at me then, a genuine, heartfelt smile and then mutters, "Good. I'm glad," before stretching his arm out along the back of the couch and pulling me into his side. "I don't know him well, but I've heard he's a decent guy."

But I can't bring myself to smile. At first, Jamie's reaction had sparked hope within me. Maybe he was unpleased about me having gone on a date with someone else. Someone other than him. But it seems I was wrong. Jamie's my friend and as my friend, he naturally wants me to be happy.

It's too bad that he doesn't understand just how confusing that concept is. Because, if he truly wanted me to be happy, he'd at least give me a chance.

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Not gonna lie, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. How do you guys feel about it?

What's something that you're dying to see happen before the story finished?