Dean took up the scissors, moved closer. The warmth of him invaded the space where Jay stood, heated the air he breathed. Burned him as a hand descended to squeeze Jay’s right shoulder.
“How many inches?” Dean met his gaze in the mirror. “I take it we’re not talking a designer cut or you wouldn’t have the scissors out. What were you planning to do? Try to cut it yourself?”
Jay flushed, shrugged. “I thought I might manage a little off.”
“Want me to give it a go?”
Head jerking in an awkward nod, Jay said, “Chip away before I chicken out.”
Dean’s gaze narrowed. “If you’re feeling that way maybe this is not the thing to do.”
He had a point, but Jay shook his head, movement as abrupt as his nod had been. “I want to. I’m just…if you don’t think I should…”