“Your hair.” He’d actually started to recoil from me before he caught himself and stopped. Ian rolled his eyes. “Really, Crispin? Act your age.” Cat was more succinct. “What the hell, honey?” Bones sat back down, a flash of embarrassment crossing his features. Then they hardened and his aura flared as if arming itself. “Your. Hair.” Each word was an indictment. “Rude,” Cat hissed to him before saying, “I think your lowlights are cool,” in a louder voice to me. “Granted, I’m a Buckeye fan, and blue and gold are Michigan colors, but—” “They’re not a Wolverines tribute, Kitten,”
