Ginger clears her throat. “Well! Nice to meet you two!”
Arm still wrapped around Dove, I say, “Merry Christmas, Ginger.”Not Shawn. Just Ginger.
“Merry Christmas!” Ginger says jovially.
Shawn looks sour. I’ve won.
“See you around,” Shawn says. He’s looking directly at Dove when he says it. It feels like a command, not a request.
No. No, he won’t.
They break away from us and I try to guess at Dove’s mood. Her expression is flat, but her breath is hitched, and I can’t tell if she’s about to have a panic attack or scream.
I drop my voice so only she can hear. “Are you okay?”
“No. Not even slightly.” She wraps her lips around herstraw and sucks her drink. Hard. She sucks up half the drink before she says: “She’s wearing my collar. That bitch was wearing my collar.”
Ah.
The collar. The sign of ownership in the kink community.
I can’t imagine the chaos that’s rattling around inside of Dove at this moment.
I can’t make this better, so I ask, “What do you need?”
She’s not looking at me. Her eyes lock on the pillow fight arena. She lifts a finger from her glass, pointing. “Dorian, do you know what this is?”
“A pillow fight?”
“No. It’s permission torage. You have rage. I have rage. We need this—no. We deserve this. Come rage with me.”
I haven’t engaged in a pillow fight in—well. Maybe ever.
But there’s a frantic look in Dove’s eyes, and I know she needs this.
“Come on,” she says. “Growl. Like this.” She bares her teeth and lets out an animal sound from deep in her throat.
I match her energy. I snarl back.
She looks pleased. “Good boy.” She snaps her fingers. “Now grab your ducks and let’s fuck this place up.”
12
THE FEATHER IS MIGHTIER
Dove.Now.
I kill my drink, grip my pink pillow, and get ready to rumble.
I saw Shawn twice tonight.
Once, in a hallucinatory nightmare after giving the best blowjob of my life.
And now,here, in the flesh.
He’s haunting me, and his presence has me physically shaking with anger. With hurt. With emotions I can’t even begin to digest.
I need to bleed these demons, or I’m going to scream.
