Free Lengths by Liz Reinhardt, Steph Campbell

sides.
              “Hey, Ryan?” I ask, just as he’s pulling the door open to leave. He glances over his shoulder, but doesn’t turn all the way around to face me. “What’s your favorite beach?”
              “Huntington. They’ve got the hottest—why?” he asks. His brows pinch together, trying to figure out my motives. Why am I trying to learn anything about him now? He looks like he may run scared at the thought of me wanting to actually get to know him.
              “Just wondering. I’d never seen the ocean before today.” I don’t know why I offer this bit of information. Deo seemed so amazed by that fact, maybe I’m hoping to intrigue Ryan, too.
              “No kidding. Weird,” is all that Ryan offers before walking out the door.
     
    The bell above the door jangles as I push through it, and, with that noise, I’m emotionally right there back at Deo’s mom’s house, where she’s holding my hand and dabbing her special oil on it. It’s been a long time since I felt taken care of. It was awkward and somehow, warm-feeling. I could easily see where Deo got his laid back side, but there’s another part to him that I haven’t placed yet. I shake my head. I came here to forget about Deo. Whether Rocko wants me here or not.
              “Hey, kiddo.” Rocko peers over the counter. “I thought I told you not to bother coming in today. Like I said, there’s a whole lot of nothing going on.”
              The place is dead. It doesn’t look like Rocko’s done a single piece of art today. There’s no ink left out, no guns laying around. He hasn’t even bothered to turn on the typically blaring 70s rock.               It’s just quiet. I set my purse down on my desk. I’m staying.
              “I know, but I didn’t have much else to do. I can at least get the deposit together and run to the bank.”
              “What happened with Divo?” he asks.
              I pull my hair back away from my face, like I’m going to put it in a ponytail, before remembering that I hacked all the length off the night before I moved here. I still haven’t gotten used to this blunt bob. Gone are the long waves that I loved. This haircut says I’m fierce.               Unapproachable. At least, that’s how I wanted people to see me.
              I laugh at Rocko’s lame attempt at at joke. “Deo. His name is Deo.”
              Rocko nods and cracks a smile. I’m pretty sure he knew his name.
              “Right. Well, why don’t go kids go enjoy this sunshine? On second thought, why don’t you kids go catch a bite or see a nice movie? I want your guy to stay away from the sun and the water. I don’t want that tat fading before it even has a chance to heal right, and he seems like the type that doesn’t respect the rules.”
              You have no idea.
              “Deo isn’t my guy. We aren’t even friends or anything, Rocko.” I dig through my desk drawer. Mostly as a distraction. Also, because I’m sort of looking for that handkerchief that fell out of Deo’s pocket while he was getting his tat, and that I might have hung on to and stashed in my desk. I pull the small square of fabric out and fight the urge to smell it.  That’s probably freaky grounds for a restraining order.
              Rocko pulls his funky tortoiseshell eyeglasses down on his nose so that he’s peering at me over the tops of them. “Listen kid, these glasses are purely a fashion statement. I’m not blind. I know what I saw the other night.”
              “What are you talking about?” I recoil, the handkerchief clear evidence of my guilty moping.
              “The way you were looking at him, like you wanted him to be looking at