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It's time for me to make an appearance in Dove's life again.
I'll act like I didn't know she was there, of course. How could I? It's not like I've been stalking her for years. She has no fucking clue about my sickness. No idea she's still the object of my obsession.
But tonight's going to be special. Dove will be back in my life and I'll be back in hers. I'll be her shoulder to cry on. I'll be her savior, the man who saves her from herself, even if I can't save her from myself.
"Do I look good?" Elise fusses with her hair in the rearview mirror. She didn't want to take the bike, so I've been forced to arrive at Pulse in her fucking bubblegum princess ride. I give her a quick glance and mutter something positive in response, forgetting about it the moment I close my mouth. She does look good, but I don't give a shit about her appearance. She could look like a million bucks and I'd still only have eyes for Dove.
"Aren't you going to help me out of the car?" Elise pouts as she looks at me, and I look her dead in the eyes, finally seeing her for what she really is. A fucking idiot, who's already moved on from Robin. Tonight isn't about us, it's about Elise following around that schmuck photographer and throwing herself at him when Dove isn't looking, which suits me just fine. At least she'll keep Raphael busy while I make Dove mine again.
"Help yourself," I growl at her, opening the door and getting out of the princess wagon. Elise huffs and puffs behind me, following me into the club. We face our first issue – the bouncer holding up a guest list. But I slip him a couple hundreds, and just like that, we're in. The blocky, huge guy raises the red velvet rope, and into Pulse we walk.
My eyes drink in the inside of the place. Swanky. Pretentious as shit. Art is displayed on the club walls and lo-fi, chilled music plays through the speakers. People are drinking ridiculously colored cocktails and mingling in small groups. Elise stands out like a sore thumb, but then again, so do I.
My date is wearing a tight bandage pink dress that clings to her sexy body, and sky-high heels with the tiniest handbag known to humankind. At least Pepper's not with her, because I'd lose my damn mind if I had to listen to that thing bark all fucking night long.
I stand out just as much in my beaten old leather aviator jacket, accompanied by ripped black jeans and a white V-neck. Elise tried to convince me to wear a shirt, but I wasn't having any of her shit.
Scanning the crowd, I realize Dove isn't here yet, and neither is photographer prick. Fucking good. It gives me some time to get my bearings, even though it makes me fucking paranoid about them making out when I'm not looking.
I buy Elise a ridiculous overpriced cocktail and myself a twenty-dollar bottle of beer. I fight the urge to throw an insult at the guy manning the bar who gives me a smug grin as I grab the drinks from him. Elise wraps her glossy pink pout around the straw in her drink, and I guzzle the beer, my heart pounding in tune with the music.
The moment Dove enters the room, the entire atmosphere of the place changes in an instant. I can feel her, smell her. I don't even see her yet but her electrifying presence has made the hairs on my neck stand on end.
"Oh God," Elise mutters next to me.
"What's up?" I take another swig of the beer, feigning casualness. As if I didn't fucking know this would happen. I planted the idea of coming here in Elise's head. It barely took any coercing.
"My ex is here," she groans, but she sounds fucking delighted to me. As depressing as it is how fast she's moved on from Robin, I find relief in the way her eyes devour Raphael who enters the room in an all-black outfit that costs more than my bike, probably. "Fuck. And he's with..."
She doesn't get to finish her sentence. Raphael's gaze finds us, darkening. I half expect him to march over, readying myself for the inevitable face-off. Instead, he puts a proprietorial arm around the woman standing next to him, shifting his body so she can't see us.
But I'd recognize Dove anywhere, from any fucking angle. I've been stalking her for long enough that every feature of hers is engrained in my mind, for-fucking-ever. Her hair is a glossy dark sheet of silk, straightened to perfection. She's wearing a long-sleeved black dress with a scooped back. She doesn't have any scars there. It doesn't escape me how she keeps correcting her hair, though, making sure some of it is always falling over her face to cover up what I did to her.
