Page 74 of Dolls & Daggers
Later, rinsed clean and tangled in bed after two rounds of what I can only describe as the most sensual experience of my life, Wren asks, “How did you get so comfortable with sex?”
“Reading,” I admit truthfully. “Believe it or not, it’s therapeutic. It let me experience things while still having the power to close the book—stop the trauma, so to speak.”
I’ll never forget the first time I picked up a book at thestore and skimmed through it. Some dark romance had been misplaced, buried among historical novels featuring women in dresses that weighed more than they did and pirates who took pleasure in plundering what lay beneath.
A giggle rumbles from my lips at the memory. “At first, I was like, what the hell did I just buy? But four hours later, I was hooked. When Bunny and I met, we realized we liked the same kinds of books, so we started our book club. Even though we see each other all the time, Sundays are sacred—we always get together to talk about whatever we’re reading.”
I leave out the part where we also discuss our targets. I can’t tell him she’s a fellow serial killer without her approval first. And something tells me Wren will have to work really hard to get on Bunny’s good side after implying he’d be a better choice to watch Fang than her—and after calling the Shadow Siren basic in her form and not as interesting as my alter ego. A tidbit I let slip to Bunny one night while complaining about him when we were still rivals.
“Can I be in the book club?” Wren asks, and he sounds genuinely interested. I giggle against his chest, already imagining my friend’s face when I tell her everything.
“I’ll have to ask Bunny.”
“She hates me,” he muses, then pauses thoughtfully. “Although, who knows? After tonight, she might be more fond of me.”
I prop my chin on his chest, raising a brow, waiting for him to elaborate.
He smirks. “I may have sent Hunter into the bathroom after her to fuck her brains out while she was on a date. He’s always going on about being her Mr. Right. I told him to say fuck it and just be her Mr. Right Now.”
My jaw drops, and I let out a shocked squeal. “Did he?”
Wren shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out tomorrow at book club.”
Northern California doesn’t feellike coming home.
Home has always been New York, even when I wasn’t living there.
It’s the chaos of the city, the inescapable air of superiority on one block while the next is full of laid-back artistic types. It’s grabbing a slice at any time of the day, walking down the sidewalk and spotting a random movie star filming on any given night of the week.
Home is hues of pink and glitter and the ever-present scent of cookies and vanilla. It’s curling up in Dove’s bed, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and Fang in mine.
Even though I spent over ten years of my life in this godforsaken state, arriving back in California feelsmore like turning myself in for a crime I didn’t commit than returning to a place full of happy memories.
“I see you’re just staying the one night. Passing through?” The front desk attendant at the hotel asks. Her tone is suggestive, and if the smile she’s flashing me is anything to go by, she’s about to offer to show me around the shit small town my mother dragged me to during my senior year of high school.
I answer with a noncommittal hum, hitching my overnight bag higher on my shoulder as my phone dings.
The woman flutters her lashes as I pull it from my pocket. “Well, the hot tub closes at eight, but—” she leans forward and winks, “if you want to use it after hours, I won’t say anything. Sometimes, I like to relax after I get off work.”
I give her my bestwhat the fuck is wrong with youstare before dropping my gaze to my phone.
Turtle Dove
How’s Hunter’s parents? I miss you. I know, I know. So sappy.
I can’t help the grin that curves my lips. I like it when she’s sappy because I might as well be a sugar maple when it comes to her. How I managed towithstand her allure for so long, I’ll never know. All I know is that I never want to be without Dove again.
Seizing the keycard from the woman—whose cheeks flush in embarrassment as she avoids my eyes due to my glaringly obvious dismissal—I head out of the main office without another word. The air is thick with petrichor from the afternoon rain, the parking lot nearly full as the hotel’s patrons settle in for the evening.
I wait until I’m in my room before replying. Another ripple of guilt courses through me as I carry on my fabricated lie.
I love the sap, and I miss you more. It’s fine. They have chickens.
Dropping my bag onto the bed, I send her a picture of Hunter and his mother, who’s holding a black chicken with a crazy hairdo and wearing a diaper. He sent it earlier as evidence, but also because I hadn’t believed Carla now spends her days tending to a diaper-clad chicken.
Dove came clean about C.W. not really standing for her mother’s initials. She admitted the trip she claimed she was taking was an excuse to leave for the weekend to target another douchebag. So I had to come up with a reason of my own for my absence.
Hunter was all too willing to provide an alibi,which worked perfectly since he was already heading to his parents’ anyway. He’s been in a great mood since his little rendezvous with Bunny in the bathroom at The Tipsy Taco. I have a feeling they fucked like her namesake—even she’s been friendlier since.
