Page 70 of City of Wind and Lies

"Want me to break his hands?" Dallas grumbles, falling into step beside us.

"Easy killer," Drea laughs.

"He's not worth it, Dallas."

"If you say so," he murmurs, leaning back against the same spot he occupied earlier.

I pause beside him as Drea rejoins Cami at the table. "Think you could not tell Bowie about this?"

"Too late," he replies, his tone as nonchalant as ever.

"Of course you already did," I sigh.

Groaning, I kick off the covers and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Last night, I passed out in seconds. Tonight, on the other hand, sleep is being a real fickle bitch.

I tap the screen on my phone to wake it up. 2:46, cool.

It was almost midnight when we got home. Perry's band finished their set and then spent the next hour or so playing cover requests from the crowd. Cami tried to convince us to go with her and Perry to an after-party, but Drea has to open the bakery in the morning, and at the time, I felt like I could've slept for a week.

How wrong I was.

The moments where my mind managed to stop spiraling and I could close my eyes and drift into a blissful sleep were met with the hyper awareness that the spot beside me was empty.

I've grown used to the way Bowie blankets my body with his or tucks me under his arm and lets me curl into his chest. Even on the nights he came home late, it was easy to fall asleep knowing that when I woke up, one of those corded and tattooed arms was going to be wrapped around me.

Whenever I wanted to snuggle against Trey, he complained. He was too hot or he didn't like my hair near his face or it tickled his chest for me to be breathing there. I eventually stopped trying and caring, another sign that the relationship was probably doomed. I didn't lose a wink of sleep in the first few nights sleeping here alone, but it’s a whole other story now.

I hate that Bowie has this much of an effect on me.

Pushing to my feet, I quietly open my bedroom door and pad towards the kitchen. It's dark, but I don't bother with the lights. I know this place like the back of my hand, and I don't want to disturb Dallas. I fill a glass with water from the tap, taking a big gulp before turning around to lean against the counter.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Fuck!" I shout, body jolting and the glass shattering against the hardwood floor.

"Don't move," Dallas instructs as he flips on the light.

Of course, I don't listen, stepping towards the fridge where the broom is and instantly regretting it as a shard I didn't see embeds itself in the soft flesh of the arch of my foot.

"Shit!" I hiss out in pain, lifting my foot and bracing myself on the counter.

Dallas lets out a string of curses in Italian as he grabs the broom and starts to sweep the broken glass into a pile.

"I told you not to move," he growls.

"I was just trying to help."

He shakes his head mumbling, "Stubborn woman. No wonder he likes you so much."

"He only likes me because I'm having his baby." The words tumble from my mouth in a bitter whisper.

While Dallas disposes of the remnants of the glass from the floor, I raise my foot to remove that piece.

Blood blossoms around the small cut and more bubbles out as I pluck out the offender and hop over to the trash can.

"Sit," Dallas instructs, tipping his head toward the barstool as he holds the first aid kit.

This time, I don't argue with his commands and take a seat.

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