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I ignore him and make my way out of the RV to gas up. Killian is already in the store, grabbing every single piece of junk food he can find like a starved toddler. Twenty minutes later, we’re back on the road; only this time, I’m in the kitchen, flicking through Facebook on my phone.
Keaton is still talking with Dove, only he has his guitar out now.
Dove shakes her head, smiling again. I hate how much she reminds me of her. Just when I think she’s different on the inside, she goes and does something that she would do.
Her eyes come to mine, catching me watching her. Her cheeks flash red as she quickly looks away from me. Pussy. She can never hold eye contact for long.
Keaton starts playing Jo Satriani on his guitar when I start to drown them out and search her up on Facebook. I dodge past Val’s passive-aggressive status. You think you don’t need me. We’ll see… She gives herself way too much credit as far as my cock is concerned. Opening the search tab, I type in Dove Hendry and watch as the results come up. I find her instantly and click on her profile photo. My eyes go up to where she’s sitting with Keaton, before going back to my phone. Her profile photo is of her on a snowboard, wearing the entire getup. The board is flipped to the camera, and she’s making the hang loose sign. Holiday photo maybe? Fucking weird, considering her life as I knew it and as it was, wasn’t luxurious at all.
I scroll down to see she hasn’t been online much since she’s been here, only enough to be tagged in one of Rose’s statuses. Some guy Richard has put a post on her wall asking when she’s coming back. Never, motherfucker. I click on her photos and flick through them. Photos of her dancing, one with her friends at what looks like a club. Not her club, though. Another one with her and the same guy Richard. And another with Richard.
Keaton disappears upstairs, and now it’s just Dove and I and the silence that stretches out between us. Just as I’m watching her, my phone vibrates in my hand.
I need to kick this up.
My first real boyfriend was Lionel O’Connor; he was two years older than me and street raced as a side hobby. His parents were rich as sin from old oil money, and he had a slight Southern twang to end each sentence. I have to admit, it was partially what made me fall in love with him. That and the fact he enticed my rebellious nature to come out and play every Saturday night when there was a race. I would always be sitting shotgun, and other girls hated it. They were envious that Lion chose me. He had a square jaw and prominent cheekbones, and he smoked cigarettes like they were an oxygen source. We dated for almost a year through high school, and he was my first everything. Lionel turned out to be one big mistake because he got bored and cheated on me with my best friend at the time, which was also around the time that my parents died. I would give anything to have King bored of me and move on to the next person to terrorize, because right now, he’s staring at me like a starved bear, and I’m the freshest fish in the ocean. It would make this whole experience and life change a little easier to swallow.
When he doesn’t look to be moving from the chair he’s on in the kitchen, his phone in his hand, I end up asking the question that has been burning my throat since he made me come in the middle of a show. Literally. “Why touch me like that at the show?” The words fall out of my mouth without any thought of catching them and shoving them back inside.
He tilts his head. “Because I fucking wanted to.” The longer he stares at me, the harder it is for me to look away. “Come here.”
I pull my eyes off him.
“Stop fucking doing that, Dove.”
“Doing what?” I ask, allowing myself to get lost in him again.
“Looking away from me. Come. Here.”
“Come where?” I counter, looking around the table. King is bad for every girl walking this planet. He has a face that is crafted to perfection, with a body built from steel, but that’s not why he’s poison. He’s everything you were instilled to fear as a little girl. He’s your father’s worst nightmare and your mother’s wet dream. He carries himself with confidence and danger. His felonious smirk is one thing, but the way his eyes dismiss you is another. King is exactly like Lion, only worse. So, so, so much worse. Because even after two years of dating Lion, I never felt with him the way I feel while being around King. Because even if Lion was a cold bastard, he would never have done anything to truly hurt me. And that scares me, that King already makes me feel vulnerable. You can’t have feelings for a corpse. They don’t feel back.
