Page 94 of Paint the Town, Dove
Her hair was lava against the beams, bright smile a glistening pearl white. “Our ritual.”
“For a second, I thought you’d forgotten.” I gripped onto her other hand, leaning forward. “It’s bad luck not to see the rock star before a show.”
“Well here I am,” she pursed those full fucking lips at me, “I’m looking at you.”
I smirked, “Give me the dice.”
We came up with this little ritual before my first ever show ten years ago. It was a dingy bar back home, I’d barely grazed twenty, and no one could keep me off stage once I gripped that mic. The bar had a thing called secret shots, where each number correlated with a mystery drink.
She pocketed the dice and handed it to me after I performed my first ever song,Grey Heights.
“I thought we could roll it one day and take a vacation for as many days as the dice gives us,”she’d said, “after I heard you sing, I knew that one day these numbers would take us to the Maldives. You earned it,” she’d folded them in my palm, “we earned it.”
A decade later and we kept the same practice. From breaking into movie theatres and midnight chats on the jungle gym, we really did end up going to the Maldives.
We really did end up earning it.
“What number do you think we’ll get?” she asked.
“Hoping for twelve,” I winked. “One bedroom this time.”
“Pfft, relax.” But her gaze lingered with humour and temptation as she held out her hand, and I threw the dice.
Our foreheads brushed as we peered down to look. “Nine,” I breathed.
“Nine,” she repeated. Probably couldn’t hear me. The crowd swallowed our voices.Something to be grateful for.
I glanced up, ready to pull her in for a hug, but it was her eyes that drew me in instead. God, we were really fucking close. Too fucking close. Her perfect, pouty lips and hazelnut irises stared deep and determined. Firelight danced inside them, willing me to say the words. “Where would you like to go, Dove?”
Her throat bobbed. “The Maldives.”
I was entranced by her. “We’ve been.”
And she, me. “Not like this.”
Spectre! Spectre! Spectre!
“Mr. Spectre, you’re on in ten –” A stage manager pulled my arm, the rest of my band shooing me to the curtain, vibrating with elation.
Not like this.“What do you mean by –”
But I was already being dragged away, Harley handed off to me by Dean, and I could only see her once.
Once more.
And her smile confirmed all that I knew.
Not like this.
Something’s changed.
“Fly, Ryden!” she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Fucking fly!”
And I stumbled onto stage,
Lightsin rays –
Thousands, thousands,thousands,
