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“Dirty?” His smirk says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You know what your cooking does to me.” I scramble over to the front door and grab my bags, then I weave back behind the big sectional couch he’s had me on in multiple positions.
“I’m just being nice and making you a welcome meal.”
I drop my bags in the guest room and storm back down the hallway. “Tell me you don’t want to sleep with me.”
He shoves the pan to the back of the stove, turns off the burners, then walks toward me. “I always wanna fuck you, Val. Feel me right now and you’ll find out. But me making you this meal isn’t a way to get you in my bed… again.”
I throw my hands in the air. I know Dominic Mancini and I am not seeing things that aren’t there. His sexual comments. All the ‘wife this’ and ‘welcome home baby’ shit. He’s an agenda kind of guy. There’s always an end goal in mind.
“Then stop. I’m not going to survive five weeks if you keep doing nice things and saying stuff like that to me. Just keep your distance. We need to keep this platonic.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “There’s nothing platonic about us.”
His light eyes search mine, but I have no clue what he’s looking for. I swallow the lump in my throat and will my feet to stay in place. Don’t run to him. Don’t jump into his arms and kiss him until his hands run along your body and he walks you to his bedroom.
I use every ounce of my willpower to stay grounded. If we cross that line, I’ll only end up devastated again.
“You’ve got your wish.” He raises his hands. “I’m officially your roommate only.” He goes back to the kitchen, scoops the food onto a plate, and slides it in front of a breakfast stool.
“Dom.” I step forward now that he’s not looking at me, because it’s safer now. “I just want us… you know as well as I do that if something happens—”
“I know, Val.” He walks to the entry table and grabs his computer bag, sliding his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to remind me. It was honestly just dinner. I knew you’d be upset about Ryder. It was a way for us to find our way back to the friendship we had, not a way to sleep with you.”
Before I can respond, he opens the condo door and shuts it behind him softly. Somehow, the absence of a slam or bang makes me flinch harder.
I eat the meal he prepared, package up the leftovers, then clean the dishes because it’s the one thing I can do well in the kitchen. It isn’t until two in the morning that I hear him come home. With my door closed, I hear him drop his keys onto the table and open the fridge. He always has a water next to his bed at night.
The shadow from the hallway light I left on is interrupted by his shadow on the other side when he stops at my door. I want to tell him I’m awake. To come in so we can talk this out. But I don’t say anything, and the shadow disappears.
I roll over and curl into a ball. How will I ever survive five weeks of this?
