Finishing with the brush, he sets it down on the bed and gathers my hair together. I nearly choke when he begins braiding it. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?” I ask. I’m tempted to twist around like a dog chasing its tail, just so I can witness this. “Ruby taught me,” he answers quietly. “There was a young girl that I rescued a few years ago, and she wouldn’t let anyone else touch her but me at first. She loved braids in her hair, so I learned how to do them for her. Got pretty fucking good at it, too.”
