BarberBrad
The night after Liz got her razor-sharp flattop, she and Brad decided to let loose. They’d spent the day lounging on the beach, the sun baking Liz’s freshly buzzed scalp, and by dusk, they were ready to hit the bars. Liz’s flattop still had her buzzing—literally and figuratively—and she couldn’t stop running her hands over it, grinning every time the ocean breeze skimmed her bare sides. They stumbled into a beachside dive, all sticky floors and neon signs, and started knocking back cheap tequila shots with beer chasers. Liz texted her old friend Sarah, who’d just rolled into town for her own vacation, begging her to join them. “You’ve gotta see my hair,” Liz typed, sloppy thumbs fumbling. “It’s epic.”
Sarah showed up an hour later, her short, spiky pixie cut gelled into chaotic points, a bottle of Corona in hand. She’d always had a hair bug like Liz—never letting it grow past her ears, always tweaking it with scissors or dye. The two had bonded over it years ago, swapping stories of bad cuts and bold moves. When Sarah spotted Liz across the bar, her jaw dropped. “Holy shit, Liz! That flattop is insane!” She staggered over, already tipsy, and ran her hand over Liz’s flat crown. “How do you even get it that flat? You look like a badass marine.”
Liz laughed, swaying a little, her tequila buzz humming. “Street barber on the boardwalk. Ten bucks, best cut of my life. I’m obsessed.” She rubbed it again, grinning at Brad, who was nursing his beer and watching them with an amused smirk.
Sarah’s eyes lit up, her spiky hair glinting under the bar lights. “I want one. I’m on vacation, and I work from home now—no one’s gonna care if I go extreme. Gimme that flattop life!” She slammed her bottle down, sloshing beer on the table, and grabbed Liz’s arm. “Take me there. Right now.”
Brad raised an eyebrow, slurring slightly. “You two are nuts. It’s, like, midnight.”
“Perfect time for a haircut,” Liz shot back, already dragging Sarah toward the door. “Come on, babe, you’re our sober-ish guide.” Brad groaned but followed, stumbling after them into the humid night.
The boardwalk was still alive—tourists weaving between game booths, the air thick with fried dough and salt. Liz led the way, her flattop gleaming under the fairy lights, until they found Joey’s pop-up barbershop. He was still there, clippers in hand, finishing a buzzcut on some sunburned guy. When he saw Liz, he grinned. “Back already? You want it flatter?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Liz said, shoving Sarah forward. “She wants a flattop. Shortest and flattest, like mine. Make her a badass too.”
Sarah plopped into the folding chair, giggling as Joey draped a towel over her shoulders. “Yeah, flattop me up! I’ve never gone this short—let’s do it.” Joey didn’t hesitate, firing up the clippers and buzzing her spiky pixie down to nothing on the sides and back. Hair fell in dark clumps, and Sarah whooped, the alcohol fueling her glee. He leveled the top with a comb and clippers, carving it into a perfect, flat plane—sharp enough to rival Liz’s. When he was done, Sarah jumped up, snatching the hand mirror. “Oh my God, I love it! It’s so… me!”
Liz clapped, swaying on her feet. “Told you! Flattops are the shit. But…” She leaned in, her drunk brain sparking. “You’ve never gone all the way, right? Like, bald? You should. It’s the best feeling ever.”
Sarah blinked, then laughed. “Bald? Like, nothing? You’re crazy.”
“Dead serious,” Liz said, slurring but insistent. “I’ve done it—feels like freedom. You’re on vacation, no job rules. Shave it. Trust me.” She turned to Joey, waving a crumpled ten from her pocket. “Shave her head. All off.”
Joey shrugged, used to wild requests. “You sure, spiky?” he asked Sarah.
Sarah hesitated, running her hands over her new flattop, then nodded, her grin sloppy and fearless. “Fuck it. Do it. I wanna feel what Liz feels.” Joey swapped the guard for no guard at all and went to town, shearing the flattop away in long, steady strokes. Sarah’s head emerged smooth and bare, the clippers leaving nothing behind but pale, gleaming scalp. When he finished, she reached up, her hands trembling with excitement, and rubbed it. “Oh my God. This is… unreal. It’s so smooth!”
Liz cheered, nearly falling over as she hugged her. “Yes! Bald babes unite!” She rubbed Sarah’s head too, then her own flattop, both of them laughing like maniacs. Brad, leaning against a booth, shook his head. “You’re gonna regret this when you’re sober.”
“No way,” Sarah said, still stroking her scalp. “This is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
They staggered back to the bungalow, Liz and Sarah giggling and comparing their cuts, Brad trailing behind with a bemused grin. Inside, the night blurred into more beer and sloppy stories, Sarah crashing on the couch while Liz pulled Brad to bed. The tequila and the flattop high had her buzzing, and as they tumbled under the sheets, she kept rubbing her head, whispering, “She gets it now.” Brad kissed her hard, his hands on her flattop, and they made love again, the ocean roaring outside, her scalp tingling with every touch.
The next morning, hungover and sunburned, Sarah woke up still rubbing her bald head, grinning despite the headache. “No regrets,” she croaked. Liz, sprawled next to Brad, smirked. “Told you. Welcome to the club.” The vacation had just gotten wilder, and Liz knew she’d sparked something in Sarah that wouldn’t fade with the tan lines.
