Well, at least not one I can live with anyway.
He turns his attention back to the road. “I didn’t know how to respond.”
“Don’t tell me ‘you’re welcome’ are the only two words in the English language you don’t know how to say.”
I shift in my seat and hope the movement will dislodge the lump his confession has placed in my throat. Something that feels an awful lot like relief springs in my chest, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m glad he doesn’t hate me enough to leave me on read when I’m trying to be nice or because my message shocked him enough to keep him silent for four days.
We make a right down a familiar street, and I realize I haven’t even asked where we are going for lunch.
“Three words.”
I drag my gaze back to him. “What?”
“You’re welcome. Technically, it’s three words.” He glances at me, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Youarewelcome.”
I give an exaggerated roll of my eyes. “Right, I guess you don’t know anything about contractions either.”
“Of course I do.” He makes a left turn, swinging the vehicle into the parking lot of my favorite café. “I also know being corrected makes you irritable.”
I nod my head, pretending to understand his logic. “And it’s easier to ignore or irritate me than it is to text me back or acknowledge my presence. Got it.”
He puts the car in park, and my gaze flicks down to his hands on the gearshift. When I look back up at him, he’s already watching me. Damn, ifI’m going to make a habit of staring at the man, I need to learn how to be more covert.Good thing none of my plans involve doing that.
“Well.” He shuts off the engine. “If I had known it was going to mean so much to you, I would have texted you back immediately, but let’s not forget about the part where I told younotto thank me.”
And there it is. A sharp gaze cutting into me like a blade laced with poison. Anger swimming in their endless depths.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re mad at me for saying thank you?”
“Yes,” he states simply. Like it’s natural to be offended when someone thanks you.
“Please, tell me how that makes sense in your head.”
His gaze hardens, and I almost regret letting the words slip past my lips. I don’t know if I can take another second of him looking at me like I’ve asked him for something far more insidious than an explanation.
“You’re an intelligent woman, Sloane. Do you need me to spell it out for you?”
“Yes. It would be extremely helpful, since I’m not in the habit of reading minds.” A ball of frustration expands in my chest when amusement creeps into his otherwise dark expression. My hands itch with the urge to wipe the look right off of his face.
Dominic considers me for a moment before he speaks. “You already know the answer. Mal has a lot of gifts, but whispering isn’t one of them.”
My stomach clenches as I remember Mal’s words from Saturday: violent acts aren’t Dominic’s norm. Hell, even I know he prefers verbal warfare. What he did to that man took him way out of his comfort zone and probably made him feel more like his father than anything else.
I swallow, realizing for the first time that my text, while well intentioned, highlighted behavior he’s ashamed of. I can relate to that. Sometimes at work, I open my mouth and my mother comes out. Snarky,impatient, and unkind words slicing into my team when my patience is thin and time is precious.
Unlike my mother, I always apologize for my behavior, and I’ve started talking to Dr. Williams, my therapist, about better ways to handle those situations, but I always feel like shit for being anything like her.
“Dominic, I—”
He waves a dismissive hand at me. “Don’t. I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”
He pushes his door open and hops out without giving me a chance to respond. I grab my purse, so we can go over the notes I took during the meeting, and follow suit. Dominic waits for me then places the same hand he just used to dismiss me on the small of my back when I get to his side. Once again, I can’t help but note how comfortable he feels touching me today.
I look up at him. “You might be surprised to hear this, but I manage to walk, get into cars, and hook seat belts all by myself daily.”
Dominic glances down at me as we cross the parking lot, confused by my random statement until I cast a pointed look at his arm snaking around my back.
“It might surpriseyouto hear this, but my mom didn’t raise me to be an asshole. And she would be very disappointed in me if I let someone as clumsy as you walk through a cobblestone parking lot in six-inch heels without any assistance.”
