Page 24 of Dolls & Daggers
Pink!
Bright. Fucking. Neon. Fucking.Pink.
If my hair were any darker, it wouldn’t matter. But my dirty blond locks arejustlight enough that I know I’ll need professional help to fix this shit.
How the actual fuck did she pull this off?
She would have had to bribe a guard to get in after hours—but how did she even know which locker was mine?
“Goddammit, Dove,” I seethe through clenched teeth before taking a deep breath, my mind already reeling with ideas for retribution. I grab one of themini blow dryers from a wicker basket under the vanity.
It’s so much worse dry. The lighter strands from my days on the California beaches look like someone took a pink highlighter to them, while the rest of my hair is a muted shade of raspberry.
“Someone pranked you good, huh, man?” Some guy claps me on the shoulder sympathetically as he sets his Dopp kit down beside mine. “Want some advice? Don’t let them see you’re pissed about it. Wear it loud and proud, my man. Besides,” he throws me a wink, “it’s not a bad color on you.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, fully intent on not taking his advice.
However, by the time I make it back to the office, one encounter abruptly changes my mind.
“Oh my goodness! Look at you!” Sharon squeals, clapping a hand over her mouth. “It looks like Dove’s gone and publicly marked you as hers.”
“For Christ’s sake, Sharon, it’s not like she owns the color pink,” Cecilia sneers in her colleague’s direction. “Ithink it looks great, Wren.”
I give them a brief nod, hyper-focused on what Sharon said about Dovemarkingme.
Take the in, Wren. And the guy’s advice. Don’t show Dove you’re upset. Let her stew in fear of your vengeance.
Passing her office, I see she’s not there. Instead, I findher in the break room, sipping her coffee while she reads a book.
Nonchalantly, I stroll past her table, hands in my pockets. “What are you reading, Dove?”
“To Kill a Songbird—I mean, Mockingbird.” Her sickeningly sweet tone and facetious reply set my nerves on edge, but outwardly, I remain the picture-perfect image of calm as I head to the fridge.
I grab one of her yogurt containers and a spoon, spinning around to see she hasn’t even looked up from her book. “Interesting,” I prod. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a true literary lover.”
She snorts, bright blue eyes flicking up for a second to register the yogurt in my hands before returning to her book. “I expect you to replace that.”
“Sure, Dove. Why don’t we go down to the corner bodega together, and you can pick out whatever flavor you’d like?” I smirk, shoving a spoonful of the strawberry snack between my lips.
She starts to retort, but the words die in her throat as she looks up sharply. This time, she tries to hide a snort behind her hand. “Oh, Songbird. Whathaveyou done?”
Before I can answer, George fromSports and Recreationappears in the doorway, promptly stopping to stare. “Good lord, Wrenley. What happened to your hair?”
Dove fails miserably at containing her cackling, avoiding my gaze as she gathers her things.
“Well, George. You know how boys tease girls on the playground when they like them?”
Dove pauses briefly, eyes darting up to meet mine before turning to leave.
George scratches his head. “Uh, yeah?”
“I think someone just has a crush and keeps picking on me because they’re obsessed.” I toss the empty yogurt container in the trash and shove my hands into my pockets, my words landing just as Dove crosses the threshold.
She stops, turning halfway, presenting me with a glowing smile. “Careful, Songbird. That kind of thinking goes both ways.”
A soft rapon my office door drags my attention from my computer screen, and I glare at my arch-nemesis. Berry-painted lips curl into a slight smirk as she takes in my still-pink-stained hair before meeting my gaze.
“Have you finished that piece on the Shadow Siren?” Dove asks, bubbly enough to be a glass of Dom. She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, phone in one hand as she taps her nails against her bicep with the other. She’s absolutely insufferable, yet I find myself unable to look away.
