Page 48 of Dolls & Daggers
“Goodbye,Detective Dick.”
“Hi, Hunter,” Dove calls behind me. I spin, still holding the phone, Hunter’s laughter echoing in my ear.
“I gotta go,” I mutter, hanging up as I stare, completely dumbstruck.
Dove apparently took me removing my jacket and tie as an invitation to get comfortable. Which, it’s her place, and fuck, am I thankful for that.
She reappears in the living room wearing a tiny, bubblegum-pink satin camisole with cream lace trim and matching shorts that cut high on her thighs, hair piled messily on top of her head.
“What?” she asks. “It’s time for pajamas. Get comfortable, Songbird. We’re gonna watch a movie and talk. I’ll make popcorn.”
She pads past me into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients like this is an everyday occurrence for us. “Go!” she urges. “Wash the blood off your face and rinse with mouthwash.”
“So bossy.” I smirk, even though she can’t see it. The playful banter does something to me, and I want it—fuck, I want it to be permanent so badly.
She mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Just wait till we move it to the bedroom, handsome.”
Warmth blooms in my chest like a punctured water balloon. It makes me feel happy—almostgiddy.
Dove and I have blown way past the usual awkwardness couples commonly experience in the first initial stages of courting. We’ve laughed, yelled, and pranked each other to the point that maybe we were always meant to skip straight to this.
But there are still so many secrets hanging over us.
Secrets I feel need to come to light if we’re going to make a real go of it.
As I exit the bathroom, I feel like some of those secrets are hidden behind the ominous door on the left side of the hall. It looks just like every other door in herplace, but this onefeelsdifferent—almost like a cold, looming presence as I walk by.
Popcorn popping in the microwave tells me Dove is still in the kitchen. A strange tingle crawls up my spine as I reach for the gilded doorknob and turn it slowly, ensuring I don’t alert Fang.
Locked.
“What are you doing, Wrenley?”
Shit!
Her question startles me, and I nearly launch myself back against the wall.
“Jesus, you scared me.” Breathing deeply, I clutch my chest, letting a light chuckle escape as I step toward her.
“What were you doing?” she asks again, caution tightening her features. I don’t like that look directed at me.
Playing it cool, I shrug. “You caught me snooping. I was curious.”
One light brow arches. “Curiosity killed the cat, Songbird.”
“But answers brought it back, and knowledge kept it alive.”
Myattempt at redirecting her works. “It’s too late for philosophy, Wrenley.”
Whydoes she keep calling me that?
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, rougher than I intended. I’m sick of her using my full name. She changed the way I see my stupid nickname, and now she wants to call me by my full name like I’m in trouble?
No.
“Call you what?” Dove asks, full of sass, planting her fists on her hips as she cranes her neck to look up at me. “Your name?”
Slowly, I step forward, forcing her to retreat a step. “You never use my full name.”
