I wish she wouldn't do that. I wish she'd be fucking proud of my gift, show it off to everyone around her. They should know she's mine. They should know I'm crazy enough to kill for her. I don't have limits anymore. I'll do any-fucking-thing to keep Dove tethered to me.
I wait not-so-patiently for her to notice me. I keep Elise entertained, making her down one cocktail after another. I keep it to one beer – I need to keep my wits about me if I want to impress Dove. The more Elise drinks though, the more of a mess she is, which works fine for me. She's going to embarrass herself, and I'll leave Raphael to deal with it while I leave with Dove on the back of my bike, which I parked up here a few hours ago. There's no fucking way I'm leaving with Elise tonight.
No, I'm leaving with my little bird.
I make a mental note not to call her that. I need to keep up pretenses with the game of messages we've been sending to one another through Instagram. I don't want her to know it's me yet, and a part of me wonders why I'm keeping that a secret. Maybe it's because I feel safer knowing I have one last card up my sleeve.
Elise is getting impatient. She's fidgety, eager to see Raphael, to speak to him, and we both know she won't last much longer. When she finally comes up with some bullshit excuse to go see her 'old friend' and asks me to come with, I nod along. She hooks a proprietorial arm through mine and totters over to where Raphael and Dove are standing.
I've been close enough to her to sate my immediate need to have her nearby, but this is on another level. I get to speak to her. I get to see the look of pure shock in her face when she realizes it's really me. And I can't fucking wait to wreck her all over again.
"Raphael?" Elise speaks up in her squeaky voice, and the slimy asshole turns around to face her. But I miss his reaction, because my eyes are zeroed in on Dove, a sly smirk playing on my lips as she also turns around.
She looks at me, really fucking looks at me, and the sight of those eyes on mine makes me hard as fuck. Her pupils dilate. Her breath catches in her throat. She looks fucking terrified, unable to look away.
"P-Parker?" she whispers.
"Hey, Dove," Elise jumps in, practically purring with excitement as she wraps her friend in a hug. "This is Nox, um, er..." She looks at me, desperately begging for help. The bitch doesn't even know my fucking last name. But I refuse to help her out, just staring with a smirk. "Well, this is Nox. Nox, this is Dove. And Raphael. He's a photographer."
"Hello," I answer easily, focusing on the guy and shaking his hand. He has a strong handshake, confident. I lazily turn my attention to Dove next, giving her a crooked smile. "Hey."
"His name isn't Nox," Dove hisses, surreptitiously touching the scar on her face. Good, it feels fucking good to scare her like this. "It's Parker, Parker Miller."
"Huh?" I raise my brows, staring her down. "You must be confusing me with someone."
"You know I'm not." Her words are coming out in a snarl, and Raphael looks at her with concern.
"You okay, Dove?"
"No, I'm not okay," she mutters.
"So, Raphael," Elise cuts in, running her fingers over his arm. "I haven't seen you in a while. How've you been?"
For a moment, Raphael takes his eyes off Dove, but a moment is all I need. Dove pushes through the crowd and I follow, hot on her trail. I reach for her arm, and she pulls it away from me, turning around to snarl.
"Stay the fuck away from me."
"I can't," I mutter, quiet enough so she can't hear it. I keep following her like I always do. She pushes through the back exit into the alleyway behind the club and I'm still hot on her trail.
"Dove, wait."
"No," she shakes her head vehemently. "Just leave me alone, Parker."
"It's Nox these days."
"No, it's not." She looks pissed off. Her face is red, blotchy, apart from the scar that mars it, which is strikingly pale. She's never looked more beautiful, but then again, I come to that conclusion every single time I see her. "It's not Nox, it's Parker. Stop fucking lying to everyone."
"I'm not lying." I make another grab for her, thirsty for the feeling of her skin against mine, but she dodges me. If she wants to play this cat and mouse game, I'll play it with her. But only because I know she'll be mine in the end. The cat always fucking wins. "Dove, please. Would you just listen to me and let me explain?"