Page 131 of Paint the Town, Dove
A real story of two people destined from the beginning, fates interconnected, souls intertwined –
One woman’s Eagle, another man’s Dove.
***
Three Days Later
“I’m SOOO EXCITED for this trip, Scarlett,EEE!!!” Zayla jumped up and down, Hermes scarf swatting her in the face. “A Christmas getaway is EXACTLY what we all need.”
“View count not high enough?” Derek jibed, rolling his luggage down to Barnett’s Suburban.
“Swallow nails, Spindly.” I scoffed, in a half decent mood for once.
I wonder why, the little joker in my head whispered. I resisted the urge to knock my face into the snow-crusted sidewalk of Ryden’s townhome.
Every time I thought back to the photobooth… whathappenedbehind the curtain, a heat pooled beneath my stomach.
“He’s swallowed more than nails, little toad.” Zayla threw her middle finger up at him, then hopped into Caralee’s (my driver) Cadillac.
Polly placed a mitted hand on my shoulder. “How’ve you been?”
Great. More than great. “Just getting by,” I replied.
She tilted her head, eyeing me with suspicion. “Something’s… different, about you.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “Hm?”
“New lipstick?”
I veered back, appalled. “You honestly think I’d cheat on MAC’s Red Rock?”
She laughed, ducking into the Cadi. “How dare I ask.”
“Yes, how DARE –”
“You okay?” A finger looped into my belt, tugging me backward.
Ryden.
Control yourself, Scarlett. He’s still your best friend. Even though he…
“Dove?” His green eyes flashed with greed, an all knowing stare flooded with desire. “All packed?”
We were flying to our chalet in Banff. It sort of became a Christmas tradition when Ryden signed to Arc & Sheild Records, and we formed our littlefriend group of the band and my girls. No press, no noise, just our little clique in Canada, soaking in the jacuzzi and whisky warmers for three days.
Amidst all the chaos since the tour ended, Zayla was right in saying we all needed a vacation.
Ryden and I had yet to take our dice ritual holiday.
And where I’d usually be stamping on his neck to book something, I didn’t know if I trusted us with that much alone time.
The photobooth… It was the heat of the moment.It had to be. A demanding distraction due to the reappearance of his mom, a tiny reprieve above the raging tide.
“Why…” I fought the strain of his lips, giving in to my own betraying desires. “You’re not thinking straight, Ry, you’re not –”
His lips found the soft spot behind my ear, fingers dancing over my spine. “Dove,” he groaned like he was in pain. When my hand (accidently) brushed against his groin, I could feel how muchpainhe was in.
Reallyhard, torturous pain.
