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34
Dominic
Ipour myself a double scotch and stare out the window of my penthouse.
I was happier before I got tangled in Valentina’s web again. Wasn’t I? All these doubts about whether she loves me as much as I love her are still swirling around my head, making me question everything that’s happened over the past few months.
My condo door opens, and I turn around to find Val. Her eyes rage with fire, but they’re red-rimmed and it causes a stabbing pain in my chest.
“How was work?” She drops her bag on the floor.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” She crosses her arms and pins me with a stare.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“Showered and changed already?”
I can’t help but feel like this is an interrogation. “It was a long day and I needed to clear my head.”
“Or clean off the smell?”
“What?” I walk toward her.
“Put on a shirt. I can’t think with you looking like that.”
“I’m not doing anything until you explain to me why you’ve been crying and what has you so riled up.”
She plops down on the couch and tosses a pair of panties onto the coffee table. Panties that look similar to the pair Nell put in my desk only weeks ago that I threw away. Tell me that woman isn’t up to her old tricks again.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Where did you—”
“Are they hers?”
“Yes, probably but—”
“Were you with her tonight?”
My eyes snap open. “No.” I sit next to her. “I told you I stopped that when you entered my life again. She left those in there on her own accord.”
“It’s coincidental, right? That you didn’t show up tonight. Said you had to work late. I find a pair of panties in your drawer with a note from the woman you used to fuck saying that you know where to find her. Tell me how this doesn’t add up to what it’s equated to in my head.” She heads into the kitchen.
“It might look that way, but that’s not what happened tonight.” I follow her, my temper simmering.
She grabs a glass and pours herself a triple scotch. She’s going to spit it out. She’s not a fan of hard alcohol.
“Then enlighten me. Why was work so much more important than Ryder and me tonight?” She sips it then turns and spits it into the sink.
I shake my head and grab a bottle of white wine from the fridge, but she snatches the bottle from my hand and pours it down her throat without a glass.
“Well, if you must know, I was running late, but I got to the field right before kickoff.”
The bottle drops from her mouth, hanging from her hand at her side.
“I searched the bleachers and there you were—all cozy with your ex.”
“We were talking. I told you he got engaged.”
