Page 125 of Paint the Town, Dove
Since the day we met, she was my dying wish.
Every day since my dad passed, since my mom let the abuse carry on, since she left [and came back], I threw my heart in the trash.
She always collected it, always brushed it off – restored it to something new.
And every day, I was reminded that I didn’t deserve to be mended.
The buzz was long gone.
It was the intoxication ofherI craved.
“You should’ve left me a broken mess, Dove.” More tears began to fall. “You would’ve lived a better life –OW! What thehell?!”
Her acrylic pinched the skin behind my neck. “Don’t say that to me ever again. Get out of your head, enough with this pity party. It’s been a month and a bit. Your tour ended, but you had a tour. Two, actually. You are the hottest rock star on the planet, and you need toownit. Own your mistakes, they’re yours. Own your flaws, they’re yours. Own your fucking talent, Ry,” she stabbed my chest, “it’s yours.”
Before I could say anything, a chortle of voices carried over the wind.
I think I saw him leave the club!
Where do you think he went?
Let’s scour the area, get the scoop in for tomorrow morning’s paper!
“Just great,” Scarlett seethed, yanking me into the photo booth and shutting the curtain. “Legs up, come on.”
“Wha –”
“Legs,” she lifted my calf, “up.”
I did as I was told, knocking my knee against hers with a smile. “This could not have played out better.”
Her delicious lips pursed in anger. “You get excited over the worst things.”
I leaned in, smirked. “How fast did your Ducati take you last night, Dove?”
She turned to me, scornful.
I eggedher on. “Got room for one more on that seat?”
She turned away, peaking through the curtain. I knew she could feel me, my hand grazing her thigh, my body so close to hers – the weight ofwantheavy in both our hearts.
I kissed her.
I kissed her.
I kissed her.
And I can do it again.
Better.
More deserving.
Desperate. Hungry.
Right.
Because that’s what I was for Scarlett Emory-Blake.
