She had Eric though.
The reminder helps a little but makes it hard not to begrudge my bestfriend every morning he spent waking up beside the woman we both love. Drinking coffee that made his teeth ache and cracking corny jokes while they planned their day. Part of me knows I have no right to be angry with Eric for having Sloane while I was alone, trying to fill the hole in my chest with all the wrong women, but the smallest part of me does.
Sick shit, right?
Being jealous of my best friend, coveting his wife, and stealing my way into the bed he’d still be in if he hadn’t been ripped from this world far too soon. I would feel bad about it, but I’ve lived with the guilt of wanting her for years, and I’m past the point of regretting it, too far gone to feel bad enough to stop what’s happening between us.
And if claiming my angel means I’m going to hell…well, then, I’ll be a happy inhabitant when my time comes.
I roll my eyes to mask the dark thoughts flipping through my mind. “I’ll take some creamer if you have any left. I’m assuming you didn’t use thewholething when you made your cup.”
She sticks her tongue out at me as she grabs the creamer out of the fridge. When she saunters back over to me with the carton in her hand, I just stare at her, amazed by how beautiful and relaxed she looks. No emptiness in her eyes, no slump to her shoulders, not a hint of regret or shame lining her features. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her look in a long time, and my heart flips in my chest knowing I had something to do with it.
“What are you staring at, Alexander?” She sets the carton down and takes a seat with her body angled toward me.
My eyes go to her legs, admiring the golden inches of skin left on display by her short cotton dress, before coming back to her face. “You. Always you, angel.”
Sloane’s eyes go soft with emotion. “Why do you call me that?”
The question punches a hole right through my chest, because of course I can’t tell her about the white dress that clung to her like a desperate loverand the magnetic pull that locked into place the moment our eyes met. I clear my throat, focusing my attention on pouring creamer into my cup, so I don’t have to look her in the eye when I skirt around her question.
“You don’t like it?”
Her brows furrow. “I didn’t say that. I just wanted to know why you chose that particular…term of endearment.”
I bite back a bitter laugh and mix in the creamer.Term of endearment, my ass. It’s not a nickname or some cute epithet used in the fit of passion when you don’t want to ruin the moment by calling the woman you’re balls deep in the wrong name. I call her my angel because that’s what she is to me.
The promise of God’s love in human form, a treasure from heaven walking here on earth, making the lives of every person she meets better. And that’s what she’s always been, even when her presence chafed against my skin and burned a hole in my heart.
All of those thoughts fly through my mind, mixing with thoughts of the night we met. In all the time I dreamed about being with Sloane, I never considered how hard it would be to suppress the relentless memories that want to spill out of me. The need to make her remember is a pounding beneath my collarbone, a demand that builds with every beat of my heart, but she’s not ready.
I shrug, turning my gaze back on her. “Just seemed fitting.”
Her lips part, but before she can say anything, the sound of her doorbell ringing echoes around us. Surprise laced with panic has Sloane’s eyes stretching wide. It would be comical if she didn’t look so afraid. Indignation unfurls in my gut, stoked by the disappointment of having my morning with Sloane interrupted.
Whoever is at her door can go to hell in a handbasket. For interrupting us and for putting that look on Sloane’s face.
“Shit,” Sloane hisses, jumping up from her seat. “I forgot Mal and Iwere taking Mama to breakfast today.” Wide eyes flick from the door to me and back again. “Where did you park?”
I take a sip of my coffee, and Sloane’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “In your driveway, like the rest of your guests.”
My voice is even. I’m going for nonchalance, because if I start freaking out, it will only add to the terror gripping her. The doorbell sounds again and all of the color drains from her face.
“Oh my God.” She turns to me, hopelessness creeping into the corners of her eyes. “Mal can’t find you here, Dominic. She can’t know about this. She’ll think… She’ll hate me.”
The last part is a broken whisper that etches itself into my skin and jump-starts the ferocious beast in my chest that exists for the sole purpose of destroying everything and everyone that’s ever put that look on her face.
“Sloane, look at me.” I keep my voice soft, gripping her chin to force her to focus on my calm expression. “It’s going to be okay. Go let Mal in and act like everything is normal.”
Skepticism pulls her brows together. “But…”
“Just trust me, okay?”
She nods, setting the cup on the island with shaky hands before smoothing over her dress. Then she’s moving toward the door with leaden feet. While she’s taking the world’s slowest trek across her hardwood floors, I head over to the sink with my cup and spoon, pouring out the coffee and rinsing the cup quickly while Sloane calls that she’s coming.
I see her stuffing the thong and dress we left in a heap by her door in a basket where she keeps pillows and throw blankets as I duck under her kitchen sink and start fiddling around with nothing at all.
Less than a minute goes by before I hear Mal and Sloane heading back into the kitchen. Mal’s tone is animated while Sloane’s is more reserved, and I silently curse myself for not considering the ramifications of parkingin her driveway last night knowing full well Mal makes a habit of showing up here without calling or texting in advance.
