Page 54 of Dolls & Daggers
Dove’s beautiful blonde hair is a few inches shorter. Where it once hung to nearly the middle of her back, it now curls around the tops of her breasts. Streaks of pastel pink run through the strands from mid to tip in sporadic bursts.
I’ve never had a real girlfriend before—is she even my girlfriend?—so I have no idea how to navigate this situation. I don’t think you’re supposed to tell a woman you don’t like what she’s done with her hair, though.
I hate it. I hate everything about it because it doesn’t look like her.
She twirls, holding out her hands. “Do you like it?”
“Shouldn’t we have talked about it first?” I ask weakly.
Her hands drop to her sides, her expression flattening. “I don’t need your permission, Songbird. Besides,” she perks back up, “I thought it was time for a change.”
She rounds my desk to scoop up Fang. Her fingers brush against my cock—intentional, no doubt—but both he and I are too stunned for him to high-five her. “You told me to be honest about my feelings.”
Dove releases a short, breathy laugh and nods. “I did.”
“Okay.” I scrub a hand down my face, taking a deep breath. “This makes me extremely worried for thesafety of my own gorgeous locks because I assure you, they will never be pink again.”
“Goodness, Songbird. Lighten up. No one asked you to color your hair again.”
“Ididn’t color it in the first place!”
“Mmhmm. Well, you still have no proof it was me.” She lilts the words, cocking her head before spinning in her four-inch pumps, the ruffled skirt of her dress sailing high enough to expose the curve of her cheeks and a pair of white lacy bikini-cut underwear.
“Why’d you do it?” I unglue my eyes from her ass when she turns back around.
A somber smile replaces her playful grin, not quite reaching her eyes. “I think you see someone else when you look at me sometimes, and I don’t want to remind you of someone who brings up bad memories.” I stare at her, trying to decode her meaning. I haven’t spoken about my past with her…
Maybe she knows you’re onto her as the Doll.
Do her words have a double meaning? She knows I’m not afraid of the Doll.
“Anyway, I need to get back to work. See you in a few hours.” She blows me a kiss.
I catch it, making a show of slapping it against my cheek. It’s our thing now, and we’re corny as fuck. I don’t know how we went from hating each other tobeing the poster couple for Hallmark, but they can start cutting us checks any day now.
“What about my article, Dove?” I call out to her retreating form.
She spins, flashing me a devilish grin with a wink. “Not quite there yet, Songbird.”
My smile drops, my heart sinking into my stomach.
Infuriating woman!
Dove
“It’s fine. I was going to go upstate with Hunter to visit his parents anyway,” Wren says when I tell him I’m busy this weekend and can’t hang out.
He chews his cashew chicken thoughtfully, his grip tightening around the spoon as he clearly winds up to ask a question. I’ve been waiting all night for him to ask why his article didn’t make it into this week’s edition.
“You have every Saturday on your calendar marked out for C.W. What is that?” he asks, his tone careful, guarded.
I swallow my bite of broccoli, dragging tofu and peppers onto my fork, pulling them between my lips to buy time to think of an adequate answer. The little Chinese-American restaurant where Wren eats threetimes a week has a fondness for spice, giving me a few extra seconds as I chase the heat down with lemon water.
C.W. stands for culling weekend—whether that means recon or stripping evil men of their privates before brutally murdering them—but it’s not like I can tell him that. I’m nearly one hundred percent sure he’s onto me. Wren has always watched me with fierce attentiveness, but now it’s heightened, like he’s waiting for me to slip, to catch the tiniest thread he can trace back to the Doll.
There’s only one other thing I can think of for C.W.
My mother.
