Free Groomzilla by Tere Michaels Page A

parties surrounding it—engagement, shower brunch, rehearsal dinner,” Owen rattled off. “The casual suits will be for the actual planning.”
    “We already had their engagement party. A booze cruise to nowhere.”
    Owen winced, then shook his head.
    “I wore jeans and a sweater,” Daniel added dryly, his smile blooming back into place. “And Converse sneakers.”
    Lips pursed, Owen laid his hand over his heart. “Ouch.” And delighted in Daniel tipping his head back and laughing.

Chapter Eleven
     
     
    THIS HAD to be a dream.
    Of all the things “reality show wedding” had activated in his mind, a surprise makeover had not been on the table. He figured he’d have to dress nicely and use hair product, but not this. Never this. Never tipped back over the sink, having his hair washed by a chatty man whose left fist was approximately the size of Daniel’s skull.
    Those giant hands massaged his scalp through a storm of lemon-and-honey-scented shampoo, sending Daniel into spasms of joy.
    Were they going to bring him up to Ander’s level? Or just pretty enough to make it into the shot?
    “So you’re going to cut my hair?” Daniel interrupted, ending Lucias’s chattering one-way discussion of a club called Diablo in the Village.
    “Yes, we are,” Lucias said, artificially white teeth gleaming in his smile. “You have great hair, but, honey, it’s got no shape, no plan, and it’s doing nothing but lying there looking bored.” He winked as he used the sprayer to rinse Daniel’s hair. “Sort of like my last date.”
    “Nothing crazy,” Daniel said nervously, loud enough to be heard over the water.
    Lucias winked again.
    An actual barber chair sat just outside the bathroom, next to rolling tables of hair-care tools laid out on white towels. Lucias walked him to the chair, one meaty paw securing the towel to Daniel’s head, the other at his back. It didn’t feel like Owen’s—a fact that made Daniel seek out the other man before being maneuvered into the chair.
    Owen had lost his overcoat and was now sprawled in the chair by the window, posed like a model under the beam of light. He’d pushed up his sleeves, leaving his forearms to flex as he stretched his arms over his head.
    Good God.
    “Looks like a fucking model,” he muttered under his breath, only to be startled by Lucias’s booming laugh behind him.
    “In another life, he sure as hell was.”
    Daniel’s ears perked up. “Seriously?”
    “Seriously. Imagine that at seventeen.” Lucias met Daniel’s eyes in the oval mirror. “Let’s take a moment, shall we?”
    “Damn.” Daniel whistled.
    “Google him. I’d recommend a box of tissues and some sports drinks to rehydrate you when you’re done.”
    Daniel’s eyes went wide.
    Owen Grainger, teenage male model? Did this guy fall out of a dirty romance novel or something?
    “Let’s make you prettier,” Lucias announced, arms stretching out, scissors in one hand and a comb in the other. “Gonna highlight those features, pluck a few hairs, and dazzle everyone in the room.” The waggle of eyebrows he shared with Daniel clearly indicated one of those people.
    Lucias went to work with his scissors, his bulk blocking Daniel’s view, bits of hair flying past Daniel’s vision. Too much? How much hair did he have to sacrifice for television-worthy beauty?
    “I’m giving you some products to use,” Lucias said, leaning back to take in his work. “I want you to swear you’ll use the moisturizer—I have feelings about crow’s-feet on guys under thirty.”
    Ouch. “I forgot to use sunscreen. For like, twenty years.”
    Lucias’s round face morphed into a painful rictus. “Oh, sweetie, no, no. Even olive complexions need care. Not just us hot blonds.”
    Daniel’s eyebrow rose with a mind all its own.
    “It’s natural,” Lucias said before going back to snipping at Daniel’s hair. “And don’t sass the man with sharp objects.”
    “Mmm, I’m just glad we aren’t having this