Page 101 of Dark Love

There’s no guilt or fear on her face, just those jittery nerves and an innocent smile.

“Thank you.”

Those words hit me harder than any punch to the gut I’ve ever received. My throat constricts, making it impossible to speak, so I nod.

Whoever she bought this beer for is gone from her life, starting right now.

This woman is mine, and I don’t share… ever.

I fill the bowl with popcorn before settling into the bed next to her.

A cloud describes her bed perfectly. Dahlia likes her bed just as soft as she is.

“A blanket—” Her hand goes to the coverlet. “I’ll go get you one out of the chest. I don’t have any weighted ones, but I have some quilts that I use in the middle of winter that are heavy.”

Why are we having this discussion again? “I don’t need a blanket.”

“But we’re going to watch movies, and you might get cold.”

Cold? Her house is hot. If anything, I’d take some clothing off, but she’s not ready for that. “I’m fine.”

“It’ll just take a second.” Dahlia shifts her body.

“I’m fine.” But I’m not. The cold bottle in my hand burns my soul. “Where’s the remote?”

“Over in the nightstand next to you.” She lifts her body like she’s going to climb over me to reach it.

One thing she needs to learn early is that the control of the remote isn’t up for debate.

The drawer opens to a tablet instead of a remote. Is she fully integrated like me?

“Um… The remote is under… my um…”

Interesting. What is she worrying about? I have to see.

The tablet opens right up without requiring a password.

That’s a security breach. I could use this to hack into her desktop or laptop.

An image of a purse fills the screen. Did I really expect anything else?

“I… um… told you that I have a purse addiction.”

A quirky one at that. The purse in front of me is fully beaded in the shape of a flamingo. “Where did you plan to wear that one?”

“On the beach. But it’s not for me. My mom is going with my dad in a couple of weeks, and I knew she’d love it. My addiction to purses is almost as bad as my mom’s.” Dahlia scoots closer.

“Any other incriminating evidence on here?” I joke even as I swipe to the next open tab which is another purse.

“Maybe.” Her cheeks go pink. “That one matches a coat I’m planning to get this winter.” Her cheeks could compete with a fire engine for the brightest red.

What’s so embarrassing about a coat—That’s the exact same color as the one she used of mine. It still smells sugary sweet like her.

She plucks the tablet out of my fingers before I can snoop anymore and sets it in the nightstand drawer next to her. On top of a pile of cosmetic tools.

Why does she have beer in the fridge if she’s buying a coat that reminds her of me?

Now isn’t the time to ask, even if I’m dying to know.

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