“You’re so full of shit, you know that?” she hisses at me. “You think you’re such a fucking gentleman, such a good man, but you’re just like every other asshole out there, Nic. Using women up, making them fall in love with you and then tossing them to the side when they aren’t any good to you anymore.”
I stare at her, keeping my expression carefully blank at her gross miscategorization of our relationship. We were never perfect—didn’thave a chance to be when my heart was so damn wrapped up in Sloane it could never truly be hers—and it wasn’t smart for me to agree to this friends-with-benefits thing, but I never used her.
The annoyance flaring in my chest expands to a dangerous level. “I never used you.”
She snatches her purse off of the couch, and I marvel silently at all the indications of her presence that I missed walking in here because I was so eager to get back to Sloane.
“Keep telling yourself that. I’m sure the bitch you’re seeing now will feel the same way in a few months when you’re done stomping all over her heart.”
The protective beast in my chest snarls, raging at the word “bitch” being used in reference to Sloane even if Kristen doesn’t know that’s who she’s talking about. My mind goes to the woman waiting for me outside of my building, and my jaw hardens.
“You need to go. Please leave my key on the table by the door,” I return harshly, and then, because I’m not a complete asshole, “Get home safe, Kris. I’ll call tomorrow to check on you.”
Her face crumples, sadness joining the misdirected anger etched in her features as she digs the key out of her purse and launches it at me.
“Fuck you, Nic.”
Chapter 22
Sloane
Now
The engine of Dominic’s car purrs quietly as I scroll through social media on my phone in hopes of distracting the giddy butterflies swirling around in my stomach. The thought of having him in my bed again has my thighs clenching in anticipation and my heart beating triple time. I’m eager to get him home, but it’s been over half an hour since he went inside his building, and he still hasn’t come back down or responded to my text.
Worry tries to burrow its way into my chest, but I quickly dismiss it. No way is Dominic up there trying to find a way to tell me this is over. He’s made it very clear that he doesn’t regret this relationship, no matter how short-lived and ill-advised it may be, so whatever is keeping him probably doesn’t have anything to do with us.
Closing out my social media, I open up my work email and respond to a few messages from clients who have been working primarily with my senior designer, Sasha. I’ve just sent her a private email telling her howawesome she’s doing when a tingle of awareness prickles across my skin. At first, I think it must be Dominic, but it’s nothing like the zip of electricity I feel when he’s near. This is something creepier, like someone with less-than-good intentions is watching me.
My head snaps up, scanning the front of Dominic’s building for any sketchy guys looking a little too hard at the idling car, but there’s no one out there except for a lone woman with bouncing curls in a dark trench coat marching toward the other side of the building where guests park.
“Relax, Sloane,” I mutter to myself.
The door to Dominic’s building swings open, and I smile like a fool when I finally see him emerge carrying a duffel bag as big as me in his hand.He wasn’t playing about spending every night together.But then I meet his eyes and my heart sinks. They’re dark and serious, and all of the playfulness he’s had most of the evening is gone. I wonder if it has something to do with whatever kept him in his place for so long.
He tosses his bag in the back seat then hops up front with me. I stare at him, examining every inch of his body for a clue to the sudden shift in his demeanor. My eyes linger on the Band-Aid affixed to the palm of his left hand. I stare pointedly at it, and Dominic shifts it from my view.
That’s not suspicious at all.
“What happened to you?”
“Put on your seat belt, angel,” he orders quietly.
Despite my current irritation at him evading my simple question, the demand still makes a wave of liquid heat pool in my core. Ignoring his order, and my own ridiculous response to it, I get on my knees and reach for his injured hand from across the console.
“How’d you cut yourself packing an overnight bag?”
“Put your seat belt on, and I’ll tell you.”
I roll my eyes. “Tell me and I’ll put my seat belt on.”
Dominic releases a frustrated growl, pushing me back into my seatand pulling my seat belt across my body as soon my ass hits the leather. I reach for his hand again, but he manages to secure the belt before I can get a good grip on him.
“Stubborn woman.”
A sarcastic snort rips from my throat. “Well, if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”
He shakes his head and backs out of the parking spot. Surprisingly, my gaze stays glued to his face as he maneuvers us back onto the main road and heads toward my house.
