believe it.
I must have looked super surprised, because JoJo giggled. “You like it?” she said, tossing her hair. “A good hair weave is every African woman’s secret weapon.”
“JoJo, I don’t mean to sound dumb, but what on earth is a hair weave?”
JoJo laughed delightedly. “Great, isn’t it? Come and have a closer look.”
I went over, but honestly really couldn’t see how JoJo’s long hair had been attached. “See how my hair is a little bit bumpy here?” JoJo asked, getting me to touch the top of her head. “That’s where the weave is. They use a special adhesive to glue Swiss lace with real hair to my scalp. It’s just like having long hair. I can brush it, wash it, go swimming—even straighten it. After a couple of weeks, I get it taken off and either get a new weave or leave my hair short. Given that taping is due to start tomorrow for Idol, I’ll leave my hair long for the next few months. The only thing I don’t like is that the weave takes hours; this one took five hours—crazy, isn’t it?”
I just couldn’t take my eyes off JoJo’s hair. It was amazing. It looked so totally real. “JoJo, what about someone like Beyonce?” I asked curiously.
“It’s a weave. Do you remember when she had honey-colored hair—didn’t you ever wonder why she never got regrowth? I’m not sure, but apparently each of her weaves costs over $5,000. That’s why her hair always looks amazing.”
I couldn’t believe there was a whole world of hair care out there that I knew nothing about.
Chapter 12
D
rinks turned out to be a music industry party in a trendy bar. Waiters and wannabes milled around while the celebs of the evening sipped cocktails on the outdoor terrace. From all the attention she was getting, JoJo was clearly an A-lister. Within moments of arriving, we were surrounded by a crowd of admiring friends and fans. Of course, the fans all wanted pictures with JoJo, and the friends just wanted to gossip and hang out.
Michael arrived as drinks were in full swing. As soon as JoJo clapped eyes on him, her face lit up. It was clear they were an in-love couple. Michael was good-looking in a nerdy way. He was tall and lean like a runner, and wore glasses. He was the only one at the party wearing a suit, and that, coupled with the glasses, made him look distinguished.
Michael had brought a friend. Unlike Michael, he was the epitome of cool. Even though he was dressed down in chinos, loafers, and a linen shirt, he looked like he owned the party. He had piercing blue eyes, perfectly straight white teeth, tanned skin, and dark brown hair. He looked to be in his early thirties. Embarrassingly, my heart fluttered when I saw him and I’m sure I blushed.
Maybe Sal was right; maybe I did need a holiday fling. As a serial monogamist, the world of flings was new to me. But how hard could it be? All I needed was a bit of courage or perhaps just one more cocktail—a strong one.
JoJo must have read my mind, because she promptly introduced us: “Zara Hamilton, please meet Hamish Walters. You two have a lot in common, including both being single.” She gave us a sly wink before turning her attention back to Michael.
“Um, that was an awkward introduction. So, Hamish, how do you know Michael?” Lame, but I was feeling flustered.
Hamish gave me a long, hard stare with his incredible piercing blue eyes before curtly answering in an English accent that he and Michael had met at Cambridge years ago. His voice was sexy. He was definitely fling potential.
I waited for him to ask me why I was in Africa giving me an opportunity to launch into an upbeat version of my volunteer spiel (rah, rah, I’m such a wonderful naturalist/humanitarian/whatever), but he didn’t ask me a single thing. Instead he impatiently looked down at his watch!
Okay, so this whole pick-up thing was much harder than it looked. I wracked my brain for something interesting to say. Absolutely nothing came to mind. Awkwardly I stood
I must have looked super surprised, because JoJo giggled. “You like it?” she said, tossing her hair. “A good hair weave is every African woman’s secret weapon.”
“JoJo, I don’t mean to sound dumb, but what on earth is a hair weave?”
JoJo laughed delightedly. “Great, isn’t it? Come and have a closer look.”
I went over, but honestly really couldn’t see how JoJo’s long hair had been attached. “See how my hair is a little bit bumpy here?” JoJo asked, getting me to touch the top of her head. “That’s where the weave is. They use a special adhesive to glue Swiss lace with real hair to my scalp. It’s just like having long hair. I can brush it, wash it, go swimming—even straighten it. After a couple of weeks, I get it taken off and either get a new weave or leave my hair short. Given that taping is due to start tomorrow for Idol, I’ll leave my hair long for the next few months. The only thing I don’t like is that the weave takes hours; this one took five hours—crazy, isn’t it?”
I just couldn’t take my eyes off JoJo’s hair. It was amazing. It looked so totally real. “JoJo, what about someone like Beyonce?” I asked curiously.
“It’s a weave. Do you remember when she had honey-colored hair—didn’t you ever wonder why she never got regrowth? I’m not sure, but apparently each of her weaves costs over $5,000. That’s why her hair always looks amazing.”
I couldn’t believe there was a whole world of hair care out there that I knew nothing about.
Chapter 12
D
rinks turned out to be a music industry party in a trendy bar. Waiters and wannabes milled around while the celebs of the evening sipped cocktails on the outdoor terrace. From all the attention she was getting, JoJo was clearly an A-lister. Within moments of arriving, we were surrounded by a crowd of admiring friends and fans. Of course, the fans all wanted pictures with JoJo, and the friends just wanted to gossip and hang out.
Michael arrived as drinks were in full swing. As soon as JoJo clapped eyes on him, her face lit up. It was clear they were an in-love couple. Michael was good-looking in a nerdy way. He was tall and lean like a runner, and wore glasses. He was the only one at the party wearing a suit, and that, coupled with the glasses, made him look distinguished.
Michael had brought a friend. Unlike Michael, he was the epitome of cool. Even though he was dressed down in chinos, loafers, and a linen shirt, he looked like he owned the party. He had piercing blue eyes, perfectly straight white teeth, tanned skin, and dark brown hair. He looked to be in his early thirties. Embarrassingly, my heart fluttered when I saw him and I’m sure I blushed.
Maybe Sal was right; maybe I did need a holiday fling. As a serial monogamist, the world of flings was new to me. But how hard could it be? All I needed was a bit of courage or perhaps just one more cocktail—a strong one.
JoJo must have read my mind, because she promptly introduced us: “Zara Hamilton, please meet Hamish Walters. You two have a lot in common, including both being single.” She gave us a sly wink before turning her attention back to Michael.
“Um, that was an awkward introduction. So, Hamish, how do you know Michael?” Lame, but I was feeling flustered.
Hamish gave me a long, hard stare with his incredible piercing blue eyes before curtly answering in an English accent that he and Michael had met at Cambridge years ago. His voice was sexy. He was definitely fling potential.
I waited for him to ask me why I was in Africa giving me an opportunity to launch into an upbeat version of my volunteer spiel (rah, rah, I’m such a wonderful naturalist/humanitarian/whatever), but he didn’t ask me a single thing. Instead he impatiently looked down at his watch!
Okay, so this whole pick-up thing was much harder than it looked. I wracked my brain for something interesting to say. Absolutely nothing came to mind. Awkwardly I stood
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