“Babe, are you okay?” Chloe knows me better than anyone, so she can tell I’m not sick. My face burns as I shake my head.I don’t trust myself to keep the tears at bay if I say any more. Nodding at me, Chloe says, “I’ll text you later.”
Throwing my coat on, I hustle out of the bar before I have to face Dominic or Andrew and walk home alone.
After a night of brief wallowing, I wake up feeling refreshed and lighter than the night before. Chloe had texted me that neither Dominic nor Andrew returned to the table after I left, but that our team still came in third place. She asked what was wrong about five times, but I wasn’t ready to share the details. Actually, I don't think I'll ever feel comfortable enough to share this humiliating experience, even with my closest friend.
I’m not about to let Andrew’s words leave a lasting hurt on me– he’s not worth that. And hey, at this point, I should probably thank him because I’ll be saving money by never going to his cafe again. Maybe I’ll buy myself some new books instead, as a little treat. Girl math, or whatever.
When I get to the store later that afternoon Gloria greets me from her spot at the register.
“Good afternoon, Penny.”
“Hey, Gloria. Let me put my coat and purse in the locker and then we can discuss next month’s events?”
She nods, glancing warily at the break room door. “Sure. If you see Dom back there just… well, don’t say anything.”
Stopping just short of the door, I freeze. “What do you mean?”
Gloria smirks, eyebrows raised. “You’ll see.”
Punching in the code, I enter the break room. Dominic is standing by the column of lockers with his back to me. He’s wearing the hell out of a pair of Wrangler jeans and a vintagePaul McCartney band tour shirt. Is he ever not looking fine as hell? Not wanting to make it awkward, I head toward him, saying, “Sorry about last night. I wasn’t feeling?—”
My words die on my lips as Dom turns. His cheek is bruised and there’s a cut on his lip.
“What happened?” I gasp, my hand instinctively reaching for his face. He jerks away and walks past me, allowing me to get to the lockers. “Dominic!” I cry his name as he’s about to storm out to the floor.
He tenses and I can see the tick of annoyance in his jaw. “You should see the other guy,” Dom says, turning to me with a smirk that pulls at the cut on his lip before he walks out the door. “See you tomorrow, Pea.”
On my break later, I go for a walk, passing by Andrew’s coffee shop without any intention of going in. As I glance through the glass, I see him clearly at the register, and I’m stunned enough to stop walking and simply stare. Andrew has a black eye, a swollen lip, and, oh god, are those bruises on his neck? Oh my god. He looks up and I avert my gaze, walking at a fast pace to clear the windows of his shop.
Did Dominic do that? Because of what Andrew said? I don’t recall Dom ever being a violent person, but then again, I would’ve said the same thing about Andrew. I guess you never really know?
A buzz courses through my body, and suddenly I understand how the main characters in my dark romance books feel. The thought of Dominic doing that for me– defending me. It shouldn’t feel so flatteringly hot, butdamn it does.
SIX
march
DOMINIC
“Dominic, this cocktail is absolutely wonderful!”
one of my aunt’s friends, Margaret Peachwood, declares from where she’s sitting at the table, playing bridge with the ladies.
“The ladies” is how Aunt Gloria refers to herself, Margaret, and their two other friends, Eva and Jo. Seeing my aunt with her friends, enjoying a Saturday afternoon, makes me happy.
“Thanks, Mrs. Peachwood.”
“Oh please, call me Maggie, dear!”
I don’t consider my aunt to be old, but her friends are at least ten years older than her, and they’re certainly old. It doesn’t feel right to call Mrs. Peachwood by her first name, not when I remember the way she would swat my hand away from the dessert table at the barbeques growing up.
Aunt Gloria declares it’s time for a break before their next game begins. She wanders over to the bar spot I’ve unofficially set up for myself in her living room.
“Mags is right, Dom. This one is fabulous.” Aunt Gloria runs a hand over the bottles I’ve used: bourbon, crème de cassis, Campari. “What are you going to call it?”
“Penelope has been talking about starting a dark romance book club, so I was playing around with some ideas. This one I’m calling the Velvet Thorn.”
“Ohhh.” Aunt Gloria’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “You know, I’m so glad you’re still creating these things.” She raises her glass to me before taking a sip.
