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He scrubs a hand over his face. “I told you I had to deal with something time-sensitive last night.”
“And maybe you did, but we both know something changed the minute I asked about your tattoo. You left so you didn’t have to lay in my bed and pretend to want me when all you could think about was her.”
I spit the last word at him and then turn my head, so I don’t have to see the moment he realizes all of this—even my reaction about California—is because of an ex whose name I don’t even know.
Because that’s what’s at the root of all of this: jealousy. Hot and bitter jealousy coursing through me, searing my veins because some woman from a million years ago has slipped in between us. Disrupting the steady rhythm we’ve fallen into and derailing my plans to tell him how I feel.
She doesn’t even know it, but she’s stealing precious time from me. Time I don’t have to spare. Time I need to figure out if it matters that we’re both broken when we make each other feel whole. Time I’ll have to spend committing every inch of Dom’s body to memory, and soaking in enough of his heat to last me a lifetime, if I can’t ever bring myself to say the things I need to say to find out.
Silence stretches between us, chafing against my skin and making me even more agitated.
“You’re not going to respond to me?”
“I’ll respond when you say something that doesn’t sound like you think I’m cheating on you. We have an arrangement, Sloane. And until you look me in the eyes and tell me it’s over,” his gaze scorches the side of my face, but I don’t turn to meet it. “There is no one else for me.”
I bite my lip, forcing myself to swallow the hope bubbling in my chest. I wish I could believe that, but the look in his eyes last night told me everything I needed to know. There is someone else out there for him, someone who’s probably a lot less complicated to be with than his best friend’s widow.
“No lies, Dom. That was part of our agreement too, and I don’t know if you even know you’re doing it, but you are lying to me. Whoever this woman is, she owns you in a way I never could. And the look you had on your face when I asked you about the tattoo….I’d know it anywhere. I see it every day when I look in the mirror.”
Except lately, I’ve been seeing it less and less. The haunted look of missing a part of my soul has been replaced by joy, happiness, love. I still can’t believe I did it. That somehow I managed to move aside all the hurt, self-loathing, and thoughts of not deserving happiness to nurture the love blooming in my chest for him. But he doesn’t want it.
“Stop talking, Sloane.”
I scowl at him as he turns into my driveway, the hurt churning in my gut transforming to anger in a split second. As soon as he puts the car in park, I unlatch my seat belt.
“Fuck you, Dominic.”
I hop out and slam the car door, digging my keys out of my purse while his dark laughter rings out behind me. I glance over my shoulder and see him hot on my trail, tracing my clumsy footsteps with his perfectly steady ones.
I’m still struggling to dig out my keys when the heat of his body covers my back, blocking me from the chill in the air. His warm breath skates over my skin as he reaches around me and slides his key in the door.
“Let me.”
The door swings open, and I let out a frustrated groan when he walks in behind me and closes it. Without another glance in my direction, he heads into the kitchen and starts rummaging through my medicine cabinet, probably searching for something to stave off the headache we both know I’ll have tomorrow.
And instead of being touched by his forethought, I’m pissed off. I want to shout at him, throw something at his head and tell him my impending hangover isn’t his problem, because I’m not his problem anymore.
But instead of doing any of that, I stomp up the stairs and jump in the shower to delay the inevitable. The moment where I’ll have to look at him say what I’ve known since the shadows in his eyes killed the hope in my heart: this is over.
* * *
When I’m done with my shower, I towel off and walk back into my bedroom, half expecting Dom to be waiting for me, only to find that I’m completely alone. Again. The silence in the house stretches on endlessly, pressing down on me and knocking loose another shard of my shattered heart.
Exhausted and heartbroken, I crawl into my unmade bed with nothing on. My sheets still smell like Dom; I pull them over me and close my eyes, telling myself not to listen for any sounds that might suggest he’s still here because they won’t come.
But then the doorknob turns and heavy footfalls that are trying to be soft move towards me, and my stupid, treacherous heart swells with joy and screams, “He’s still here! Maybe there’s hope.”
I can feel his eyes on me, sweeping over my body for long seconds before he sighs and sets something on the nightstand with a faint click. For a breathless second, I wait for him to turn and leave. And my brain and heart are at odds, one wanting him to stay so we can have one last night together and the other hoping he’ll leave because settling for his body when I want his heart is a unique kind of hell.
In the end, the decision is made for me by the rustle of Dom’s clothes as he sheds them and leaves a messy heap on the floor. By the shifting of the mattress as he climbs into bed beside me. By the contented sound he makes in the back of his throat when he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me back into his chest.
By the stupid smile that curves my lips when I realize he’s completely naked, and every inch of his skin is pressed to mine.
Warm lips graze my neck, sending shivers down my spine that make me squirm against his lengthening erection. “Be still, angel. I just want to hold you.”
“What if I want more than that?”
“You’re drunk.”
