It doesn’t work.
When her eyes meet mine again, her head still shaking, I ask in my silent way if she or the fucking clown she’s on a date with wants another drink.
“We only understand actual words. No one can know for sure what you’re saying with all those scars across your face. They cut into your lips.”
“Ignore him, please.” Dahlia is a nicer adult than she was a child. Apologizing for her date’s shitty behavior. “I think he’s had one too many.”
“It’s my first, Dahl’.”
“I agreed to a quiet drink, Lincoln. I didn’t want drama with the?—”
“Local freak?”
Fuck my life.
I let my eyes roll closed, and all I see is Dollie at home, probably with Shane.
The clock on the wall taunts me. I still have six hours to go.
Roll on midnight.
I ask again if Lincoln wants a drink, and his response is to level-check his bottle and intentionally spill it over the edge of the table.
Jumping back, I avoid as much of the spill as possible, not wanting anything his lips have touched near me.
“Oh, I guess I should get another, and I guess you should get down on the floor and wipe that.” He finishes with a cocky smile.
I hate that I have to obey his requests like a little lap dog.
Taking care of the spill first, because if someone slips in it, falls, and makes a claim here, that’ll be the final straw. Valaria would fire me, and in turn, I’d breach the terms of my probation.
I keep a look of professionalism in place as I return to the table and set down a drink for Lincoln and Dahlia. She never asked for another, but I’d figured she’d need it to see her date through.
Lincoln, because he’s such a delight, knocks over his full bottle, but my quick reaction prevents me from pulling out the mop again.
I say nothing, my lips still, but the warning glare is enough. He backs off, returning to chit-chat with Dahlia, and I return to the bar.
My phone, tucked under the bar, flashes with new messages. I fight the urge to pick it up and put it down repeatedly because a wave of excitement flits through me.
It has to be Dollie.
Sliding my finger across the screen, I unlock the phone and see a message from her.
A pain stabs me in the chest.
Can I really keep talking to her as someone else? Can I ignore my feelings and play the loyal friend?
I have to.
Dollancie:
I’m sorry it’s taken me all day to reply. I have a lot of things I’ve been thinking about today.
God, me, too. And they’re all about her.
Those thoughts enter my head again, that twisted voice with cruel promises. I focus on the little dots appearing on the screen to block them out, but it doesn’t work.
Tell Dollie you love her, or—the buzz of a new text message sends the voice away.
