Ashly Mathew

“You might want to pop your collar."

"Hey if the biker doesn't pop his, I'm not popping mine. Also? We're thirty years past that fashion faux pas."

"Yeah, but it still comes in handy when you're sporting a hickey."

"What?" My hands flew to my neck, and I found the tender spot. "Shit. No, that's not-- I burned it. My hair wasn't cooperating, so I dragged out the curling iron."

"Gabriel has a curling iron?"

"No, I meant--Damn it." I rooted through my bag for concealer. "I'm sorry. If I'd noticed, I'd have hidden it."

"I know." His lips twitched. "It is kinda funny, though, watching you guys scramble with excuses. Gabriel told me you weren't answering my calls because you forgot your phone in the car. Which is about as likely as you leaving your arm behind. He dried his hair so fast the back was sticking up. And then he scarfed down half the food I brought for lunch. I've never seen him eat like that." He smiled. "But I do appreciate he's being circumspect."

"He's not going to wave it in your face."

"No, but we are talking about Gabriel, who never goes out of his way to cushion anyone's feelings but yours. He's being very thoughtful. It's sweet. Just don't tell him I said that."

"I won't." I finished applying the concealer. "Better?"

"Yep." He leaned over for a better look and then stopped. "Is that a bite on your collarbone?"

"Shit! No. Damn it.

Ricky laughed as I frantically applied more makeup.”
― Kelley Armstrong, Rituals