Page 32 of Dove
“I always have fun when I’m with you,” she muttered into my side, her voice the embodiment of sunshine with its warmth.
I repeated that sentence to myself as we headed to the house, reminding myself just who I was to her.
All I couldeverbe to her.
The ice in the coolers had long since melted, making the contents inside lukewarm at best. I was a handful of beers deep, riding the buzz enough not to give a shit if the can in my hand wasn’t cold or if I had a ridiculous crush on my stepsister.
I sighed, taking another swig of cheap booze.
Maybe not buzzed enough.
But I refused to get drunk, not while Dove was here, and not while everyone was onmy dad’sproperty—if something went wrong, he’d likely murder me for underage drinking.
I frowned. At least he’d care, though. At least it would be something other than bland indifference to me.
My next swig was met with only the remnants of half a sip. Somehow my beer was empty… I could have sworn I just opened it.
“I don’t think it’s good manners to be antisocial at your own party,” Dove’s voice piped up from my left, just loud enough to be heard over the country music playing from someone’s truck speakers nearby.
My eyes slid over to her, taking in her appearance. She was one of the only girlsnotdressed up, opting for plain dark wash jean shorts and a simple black tank top. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and she nursed a Coke in her hands.
Not drinking, then.Good girl.
My frown deepened, and I dropped my empty beer to the ground, flattening the can with the heel of my boot. I imagined it as the thought I just had and put a little extra force into it.
“Not going to slam it against your forehead like the rest of your pals?” Dove teased.
“I don’t need to prove I have a thick skull,” I replied, my voice deepening into something a little too playful. “You know I already do.”
She laughed, her head tilting back, and the tendrils of hair that had escaped her bun framed her round face and danced across her cheeks from the warm breeze coming off the lake. The glow of the lamps we’d strung up for light illuminated in her blue eyes like flickering fireflies.
She was breathtaking.
“You’re right about that,” she agreed once her laughter died down, hiding her amused grin behind her soda as she took a sip.
It always felt good to be the one putting a smile on her face.
I glanced away, not wanting to be caught staring. I wanted another beer, if only to have something to do with my hands, but I needed to pace myself. The night was young, and all that. Plus, I didn’t want to leave Dove’s side, not when she’d sought me out.
Reverie Price, Dove’s best friend, had come over to ours earlier to get ready with her, and they’d been glued to each other’s sides all night. That is, until the youngest of the Gallardobrothers had shown up. Reverie had been lusting after Ezekiel all summer. I imagined it was the reason Dove was at my side right now; Rev was too busy hanging off Zeke to pay her any mind. There were a few other girls Dove knew here tonight, but none she was as close to as Reverie. Dove could be a bit of a wallflower, and I knew the longer this party went on, the more she’d crave being back at the house curled up in her bed.
A tiny spark of something bloomed in my chest, knowing she was sticking it out for me.
I leaned over to ruffle her hair, only to stop last minute, not wanting to disrupt the bun on top of her head. Despite the name, Dove had educated me on the time it took to artfully craft a “messy” bun to perfection.
She turned to face me at my hesitance, her eyes so bright and alive. My hand reached out before my fuzzy mind could clear enough to realize how bad of idea it was to thumb the swell of her cheekbone tenderly.
“Thanks for sticking around, little dove,” the words slipped out huskily, my throat dry despite the beers I’d spent the night sipping.
She offered me up a small, genuine smile in return as she nuzzled her cheek into my palm. My heart gave a funny flop in my chest.
God, my life wasunfairlyfucked up, wasn’t it?
I’d gotten someone taken from me before I’d even had a chance to know them, and now I’d been given someone I could never have.
Loud whistles and jeering catcalls came from the guys standing a ways behind us—the source of the pot smoke that had been wafting around all evening—and jarred me back to reality. My hand jerked from Dove’s cheek as if it had been a flame against my palm instead of soft skin, and I cast my gaze guiltily behind me, afraid I’d been caught.
But no one was paying attention to us. Their focus was on a small group that had formed near the edge of the woods, where it looked like something was going on.
