Page 33 of Dolls & Daggers
A shrill ring sounds from the living room as my phone goes off. In a stupor, I retrieve it, only to see it’s my mother… again. You’d think she’d get the point that I don’t want to speak to her. But anytime even an inkling of a thought pertaining to her flutters across my mind, it’s like it shoots her a fucking signal. Fury builds in my chest. One second, my phone is clenched inmy hand; the next, it’s across the room, hitting the wall with a crack.
I had a chance, and I ruined it.
The opportunity to finally get my questions answered stared me right in the face, and instead, I let my attraction get in the way.
And why the fuck was I thinking of Dove?
Bile rises up my throat. I barely make it to the bathroom before retching up my dinner—and part of lunch—as a new swarm of questions floods my mind.
How does the Doll know about me? Why did she let me pull her onto my lap? Will she come back?
You basically edged her and threw her off you. If she comes again, it’ll be to put that dagger through your neck for real.
I flush the toilet and slump against the cool porcelain tiles. Maybe Dove is right—partially, anyway. I obviously have too much pent-up sexual frustration.
I need to expel it. And since doing it with Dove will more than likely open a door I don’t want to walk through, I need to find someone else to fuck.
Nearly a week passesbefore I can bring myself to so much as look at Wren. Not that he’s sought me out either, but I have a feeling his reasons are different.
The goal was to scare him. Instead, he could have unzipped my catsuit, and I would have let him crawl inside both it and me.
I stare at the blank screen of my laptop while I pick at a cup of yogurt in the break room. My article was due an hour ago, and it’s still unfinished because all I’ve done is wax nostalgic about Wren’s moans and how badly I want to hear them again. I’m not even mad about Fang anymore. Especially after I called the groomer and they assured me the dye was safe and non-toxic—which I already knew but needed to hear anyway.
Someone walks by, and the unmistakable sound ofWren’s laughter snaps my gaze to his back as he heads for the fridge. He’s on his phone. It’s new—his old one was dark, and this one is light gray—and I hate that I notice this stupid detail.
He grabs a takeout container and slides it into the microwave before turning around. The pouty lips I’ve spent way too much time fantasizing about curve downward as our eyes lock. My chest pinches, my thighs pressing together at the memory of him so hard beneath me.
Wren’s eyes darken with a heat he tries hard to disguise. It’s want and need all rolled into one delectable look. But the moment I decide to try talking to him, he whips around, snatches his lunch, and retreats without a second glance, speaking quietly to whoever is on the other end of his call.
My phone lights up with a text from Bunny, asking if we’re going to the bar tonight. It’s Thursday. She knows that’s where I’ll be, so it’s a little strange she’s even asking, but I bet it has something to do with Hunter. I respond in the affirmative. Collecting my things, I return to my office and shut the door, intent on finishing my work before I leave for the day.
I never get distracted. Never allow myself to veer from my path. But it’s rare that I find obstacles in my way—especially ones that pull my attention like a magnet. With us not talking all week, this should havebeen the perfect time to get back on track. Instead, I find myself bored. Filling the silence with thoughts of him. Wondering if I should visit him as the Doll again.
He let her in quicker than an egg fries on a hot pan. I want to know why. Need to know what his obsession is with her.
I’m already dead inside.His words from that night have been on repeat every waking moment of every day since.
What happened to you, Songbird?
I think it’s time to find out.
“Wow.You’re mighty dressed up for tacos and tequila,” Bunny teases, reaching for my hand and spinning me in a twirl. “I like the dress, though, and that’s saying a lot because you know how I feel about pink.”
“Isn’t it cute? I know you hate pink, but you love me, and I think you’d love the store. We should go this weekend.” I smooth my hands down the crushed velvet of my spaghetti-strap mini dress, a vintage designer find from SoHo. It’s so soft I want to keep petting myself.
“I do love you. And so will Wrenley when he sees you in that get-up.” She winks, hazel eyes sparkling asshe laughs when I rush forward to clasp a hand over her mouth.
Glancing around, I ensure no one from work is within earshot before scolding, “Would you hush? The last thing I need is someone overhearing and thinking I got all dressed up for him.”
She pulls my hand down with a grin that crinkles the red foil hearts over her scar. “Youareall dressed up for him,” she jests, walking backward toward our usual spot at the bar just as Vixey rounds the corner with a tray full of drinks.
“Watch out!” I shout.
My friend braces for impact, but to my delighted surprise, Vixey spins gracefully out of the way without spilling a single drop of alcohol. The blonde tips of her long ponytail whip around her head as she throws a smirk over her shoulder. “I swear, you’re just trying to run into me now.”
Bunny clutches her chest in mock horror. “Who? Me? Never!”
“You better not be, Buns,” Alex calls from behind the bar as he fills a pitcher of beer. “You’re not getting any more free drinks from me.”
