Chapter 21 Dominic #3
I couldn’t stop touching her on the way over to my place, and I was thankful when she insisted on staying in the car while I ran up to pack a bag. The short break from her gives me time to breathe, to shore up my resolve not to take her home tonight and fuck her until neither one of us can walk.
No one’s in the hallway as I rush to my door.
Knowing that Sloane is waiting for me, breathless and a little tipsy, has me moving fast. So fast I don’t pay any mind to the familiar vanilla and citrus notes lingering in the air or see the black trench coat thrown over the arm of my couch.
In fact, none of those things register until I enter my bedroom and see Kristen sitting against my headboard, her usually bone-straight locks curly and mussed in a way that kind of reminds me of Sloane’s hair.
Except Sloane’s curls are natural, soft black ringlets with hints of brown and gold that match her eyes and only show in certain light.
Like the sunlight that filtered in through the window above her kitchen sink this morning.
Kristen’s are beautiful but obviously provided by a curling iron or those soft foam things Mal uses on her wigs sometimes.
Flexi rods, I think absently, surprisingly calm for a man who’s just found his ex-girlfriend turned casual fling waiting in his bed, wrapped in his sheets and naked.
Suddenly, I’m glad Sloane refused to sleep at my place, because if she walked in on this, we would have been over before we even started.
Yes, this certainly looks like a woman who knows you’re just friends.
“You’re home,” Kristen purrs, sitting up to let the sheet fall. It pools around her waist, exposing her breasts. She crooks a finger at me. “Come to bed. I’ve missed you.”
I scrub a hand over my face, calling up the last bit of patience I have for the woman in front of me.
Trying to remember that she’s a friend, someone I care about, who seems to be struggling a bit more than I initially thought.
The call while Sloane and I were at dinner was worrying; she was all over the place on the phone, mumbling about feeling overwhelmed and needing me because her life was falling apart.
You’re my rock, Nic.
I downplayed it because I was feeling defensive about Sloane implying Kristen was a blind spot for me, but I’m not just blind. I’m stupid too. Because I truly believed Kristen understood me when I said this was over.
“What are you doing?”
Her smile fractures a bit, the first vestiges of doubt wrinkling her brow. “I’m… Do I need to spell it out for you, babe?”
She pushes the covers away, revealing the rest of her slender form as she gets on her hands and knees, crawling to the edge of the bed and reaching for my belt. I take a step back.
“Jesus, Kris. You know that we’re—” I pull in a sharp breath, biting back the harsh words crowding my tongue, because they sound too much like my father did when he was berating my mother. No matter how annoyed I am right now, I won’t turn into him.
It’s too late for that. Stringing women along was Gabriel Alexander’s bread and butter, a nasty voice whispers in my head. How many women did he use up and throw away just like you’re about to do this poor girl?
“We’re not doing this anymore,” I finish finally, backing away to put some distance between us. I won’t go back to Sloane smelling like Kristen’s perfume.
“Nic.” She pouts, stumbling off of the bed. “I need this. I need you. You never used to have a problem with helping me relieve stress from work. What’s so different now?”
Everything.
“We’re not together, Kristen. I told you I wasn’t doing this with you anymore.”
“You said that before, Nic, but you came back to me.” She crosses the room to me, arms trying to close around my waist. I put my hands on her shoulders to stop her from coming closer.
Undeterred, she runs a hand down my chest and smiles.
“You can’t deny that we’re good together, baby.
Come to bed with me. Let me remind you how good I make you feel. ”
“No.” I ease her back gently.
Thankfully, she keeps her distance, but both of her brows pinch together, and her mouth turns into a thin line at my gentle rebuff. She crosses her arms over her chest in a protective gesture that makes no sense considering she’s the one propositioning me in my bedroom.
“What’s your problem? Everything was going so great with us until a few weeks ago. We were getting back on track! Working our way back to each other, back to where we were before you lost your fucking mind and broke up with me!”
She plops down on the edge of my bed and glances up at me with teary eyes.
What? In what world were we working our way back to each other? Having casual sex is nowhere near trying to reconcile.
I brace both hands behind my head, and my threaded fingers dig into my scalp.
“That was never the plan, Kris. You said you wanted a casual situation after we broke up, and I was good with that for a while, but I’m not anymore.
I want more for me, and quite frankly, you deserve more than I could ever give you. ”
“I don’t want more, Nic. I want you!”
Tears spill over her cheeks as she searches the room for something to shield herself from the truth of my words.
I hate seeing her cry, even more so while she’s naked and vulnerable on my bed.
I cross the room, turning my back to her while I rummage through my dresser and pull out a shirt and some shorts for her to put on.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, probably a message from Sloane wondering what’s taking me so long, and frustration bubbles in my chest. I want to get back to her, to go back to the magic of our night together before Hurricane Kristen swept in.
Making your own storm and getting mad when it rains? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?
It takes everything in me not to look at my phone, to keep Sloane waiting again, but all of my attention needs to be on Kristen right now. Getting her calm. Getting her out of my apartment, so I can get back to Sloane.
The room is quiet as I make my way back to the bed. Kristen’s unanswered confession hangs in the air between us. I place the clothes in her hands, and she stares angry daggers into the space above my head.
“I’m sorry,” I say, backing away to give her some space. “Put the clothes on, Kris. I’ll be in the living room.”
A sarcastic snort leaves her as I walk toward the door.
Then the sound of glass shattering on the left side of my head rings in my ears.
I turn toward the noise just in time to see a framed picture of me and my mom clattering to the floor.
Frozen, I stare at the glass shards scattered over the image.
It’s from the last birthday I got to celebrate with her before she died.
She recruited Eric to keep me busy all day, so she and Mama could decorate our small yard with balloons and streamers and other cheesy decorations for a surprise party.
No one knew my dad had ruined the surprise earlier in the week during a rant about how worthless I was, so they didn’t catch the disgusting smirk on his face when he watched me pretend I was surprised just for my mom’s sake.
The picture laying on the ground was taken right after I walked in. My mom’s frail arms are wrapped around my torso, and she’s beaming up at me, looking beautiful even though her hair had long since fallen out and the treatments kept her rail-thin.
Annoyance flares in my chest, and it’s narrowly beaten out by the shock simmering in my veins.
I’ve always known Kristen had a temper, but she’s never been violent or cruel like this.
A triumphant grin twists her features as she comes back around to the foot of the bed.
The clothes I just gave her lay discarded on the floor as she struts past me.
“A temper tantrum.” I follow her out into the living room. “How mature.”
Wary of having yet another one of my belongings thrown at me, I give her a wide berth. Tension rolls off of her in waves as she slides on her coat and fastens the belt.
“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’t have 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.”