I danced. My bottle of wine was my partner as I watched the countdown on the microwave before it beeped a few times at me. I could already smell the sweet scent of artificial butter.
I barely even heard the knock on the door the first time.
The second time, however, my head whipped toward the sound, waiting until it gently pounded a third.
Maybe Lu was more than just a little worried about me, stopping by for one of her impromptu wellness visits. I rolled my eyes.
Wine in one hand, I tilted my head down toward the neck for another sip and threw open the door. Only it wasn’t Lu.
With my mouth still around the open bottle, my eyes met a scuffed pair of very worn black lace-up boots. I knew those boots.
I followed them up past loose, dark jeans, past an untucked shirt, all the way up to what looked to be the beginning stages of stubble. But still, there was no gentle smile or eyes looking past me. No, his eyes were directly focused on one thing as I finally lifted my mouth away from the bottle of red wine, though I probably should’ve chugged it then and there.
His dark, nearly black eyes locked on my face.
There in front of me stood the one and only Dominic Rovnik, down to ripped jeans that hugged his perfect apple of an ass. At least, I imagined it was still perfectly round. It was hard to see much beyond the tired scowl staring me down.
“Hey, Ana.”
I slammed the door in his face.
2
“Ana, open the door.”
I cringed at the distinct sound of him shuffling on the other side of the door. Damn it! I really should’ve looked through the stupid peephole I’d covered up with a Post-it Note first.
I took another step back, clearing my throat, as if I hadn’t just thrown the door closed so hard that I was pretty sure his dark hair had flown back. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Dom, Ana. You know it’s me.”
Well, fuck.
I remained silent, nearly frozen where I stood.
“Open the door, Ana.”
“So, what, you can murder me?” I didn’t know where I had come up with that.
Dom had once let a spider go from inside my apartment out the sliding door before even swatting it with one of my old magazines stacked under the coffee table.
“I’m not here to murder you. Who goes out of their way to come back to this little shithole of a town to murder someone?”
Someone they had slept with? Someone they had spewed terrible things at before angrily leaving a relationship of sorts through the door separating the two of them right now?
I tried not to mock him as I kept the distance between us. “It happens more often than you’d ever have to worry about as a big, tough man obviously. It’s a truly terrifying domestic violence issue we are facing as a world.”
He sighed. I heard a knock on the door, which was likely his head. “Ana.”
How could he possibly be here? He was only a few feet away from me. I could hear him breathing. But maybe, if I didn’t open the door, I could pretend he wasn’t. He could only be a figment of my buzzed brain. If being buzzed off approximately three to four sips of wine was possible.
Who was this person, and what had she done with the confident take-no-prisoners woman I’d thought I’d turned into?
I put a hand to my forehead. Unfortunately, it was the same hand that held the wine, nearly splashing some onto the front of me. “I’m pretty sure you’re at the wrong address.”
“Pretty sure I’m not.”
“Pretty sure she moved out,” I countered once more.
