Page 35 of Dolls & Daggers
Regaining my composure, I ignore the way his face morphs into something like concern. “Right.” I hate that I can hear the mortification in my tone. Backing away, I end my shitshow with a grand finale, my voice accidentally cracking as I let out a hoarse, “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me to ask. Have a good night, Wrenley.”
His expression shifts like he’s been punched in the gut. We both know I’ve never called him by his full name. I didn’t even mean to. It just slipped out.
I inhale a shaky breath and turn, willing the tears not to fall as I walk away. Behind me, I hear Hunter growl, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” It’s followed by a heavy thump—like he might have thrown something onto the pool table.
By the time I make it back to our spot, Bunny is staring at me with a sympathetic expression that makes my sinuses burn. “Oh, Love Dove. You wanna get out of?—”
She cuts herself off, her eyes darting behind mewith sudden alarm. Spinning around, I see Hunter striding toward us like a man on a mission. He speaks to Bunny first, though his whiskey-colored eyes never leave mine.
“Bunny, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.” He doesn’t stop walking, cradling my face in his palms as he bends low. “Dove, just fucking go with it.”
Then his lips are on mine, and I’m too shocked to do anything but stand there frozen while the stupid man who’s in love with my best friend kisses me right in front of her.
Red.
Scarlet, maraschino cherry, crimson—fucking candy apple shades cover everything in sight as Hunter grabs Dove’s face and kisses her.
Apparently, my best friend wants to meet his maker early, and I’m all too happy to send him there with a one-way ticket.
Something roars inside me—a beast I didn’t know existed, clawing to escape and murder my best friend before resurrecting him just to do it all over again.
Mine.
“Hey!” The woman—Cindy? Mindy? I don’t remember her name—cries as I break free from her embrace and charge across the bar.
Bunny jumps down from her stool, pale as a ghost, and bolts. Dove finally—why the fuck did it take her solong?—shoves Hunter away, then yells after her best friend. “Bunny!”
Hunter glances over his shoulder, flinches, then spins quickly when he realizes how close I am. “I’m gonna go after her. You two, do us all a favor and get the fuck over yourselves.”
“Hunter!” I growl, lunging for him, but he slips from my grasp and disappears into the crowd.
“What iswrongwith you two?” Dove snatches her purse and follows after him, shouting over her shoulder, “Alex, I’ll take care of our tab later.” Without so much as a glance in my direction, she shoves past me and into the growing crowd.
The night air is cool as I step outside after her. Bunny and Hunter are nowhere to be seen, but Dove’s dress shimmers under the streetlights as she storms toward her apartment—yes, I know where she lives—arms wrapped around herself.
“Dove!”
Her blonde curls bounce as she shakes her head, offering no response. I have to jog to catch up. For someone so short and wearing such ridiculous high heels, she’s fast as fuck.
By the time I reach her, she’s lighting a thin cigar. I balk, snatching it from her lips. “That shit will kill you.”
Adorably, she stomps her foot, fists clenched at hersides. “What. The hell. Is your problem tonight?” She motions back toward the bar. “Go back to your hook-up and leave me alone.”
“Why? So you can meet up with Hunter?” I goad, knowing damn well she’d never do that to Bunny in a million years. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I follow her, trailing a few steps behind, keeping an eye out for creeps.
Sure, Wren. It has nothingto do with the fact that you’re checking out her ass.
Okay, I’m the creep.
She glances over her shoulder, smirking. “He wasn’t a bad kisser. I’d be into him if he and Bunny weren’t up each other’s asses.”
I have a feeling she’s verbally poking at me, but it sends a wave of jealousy through me all the same. “Knock it off, Dove.”
“Ooh, burn,” she says dryly. “Go back to your lady friend, Wren. I don’t need you to walk me home.”
“You drank enough tequila to kill a frat boy in his first year of college.” I notice her shiver and pull off my jacket, striding forward to drape it over her shoulders. “Here, take this.”
She stops, looking up at me as she clutches the fabric around her small frame. She looks endearing as hell in my clothes, and I’d be lying if I said I don’t love it. It makes me imagine her in just my dress shirt—ornothing at all, my sweat and other bodily fluids marking her skin.
