The waitress came back to take their orders. Her eyes took in the woman’s hair a second time, and she took less care in hiding her smile. He told the waitress they needed more time.
“Sexhair,” he said, after the waitress left.
“The waitress. She was checking out your sexhair.”
“I have sexhair?” Her expression was a mix of embarrassment and arousal.
“Yeah, it’s all disheveled, like you just got out of bed.”
“I did just get out of bed.”
“It doesn’t just look like it’s been slept on. It looks like it’s been pulled out of shape. Grabbed in a fist. It’s sort of, like, dented on one side.”
“She knows?” asked the woman.
“That we’ve been fucking?”
“She knows. I could see it in her smile.”
The woman’s hands shot up to attempt to fix her hair, though she gave up soon after she started, recognizing the task as hopeless. A loopy grin fell across her face, seeing the lust gather in his eyes.
“Do I look slutty?” she asked.
“You look hot.”
“Is that the same as slutty?”
“It’s not dissimilar,” he said, his grin spreading.
from J G Cain’s Sexhair