Page 47 of PS: I Hate You

Or maybe it was the embarrassing stories Adam liked to tell about Dom when he was in a feisty mood.

Whatever the cause, I no longer saw Dom as some mythical god.

Of course, I still had my massive crush on the guy and wanted him to like me. But the urge to bow down in his presence was gone.

“What are you going to do without your minions?” His tone was light and teasing when he asked, but the reality hit me once again. I turned my head away, blinking fast to get rid of the tears forming from missing them.

“I’m not sure. I’ve still got a few weeks until the semester starts. I guess I’ll just hang out.” Not at my house, though, where Florence would pick and scold and berate me for things I couldn’t change.

Dom cleared his throat.

“Adam says you read all day.” He waved toward the far end of the porch. “You could read here. If you want. You like the swinging bench, right?”

More than most other places in the world. But my eyes tracked over his shoulder to a card table arranged next to an outdoor outlet. A laptop sat on the surface along with folders and stacks of papers held down by a paperweight.

Dom’s makeshift office.

“You’re working out here.” I pointed to the setup.

Dom didn’t bother to glance at the arrangement. “So?”

“So, wouldn’t I distract you?”

He continued to hold my gaze. “You’ll just be reading. You don’t read out loud, do you?”

A smile tugged at my lips. “I can. Make different voices for the characters. Put on a whole performance.”

His teeth tugged on his bottom lip and humor sparked in his eyes. “Maybe on my lunch break.”

Lunch. My mind returned to Adam and Carter. “I could grab us food. If I read here, that is. Get some takeout.”

He wrinkled his nose, and the expression was surprisingly adorable on the devastatingly handsome man. “Not Taco Bell.”

At that, I burst out laughing. It was either that or cry.

“Okay.” I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, still giggling. “I don’t think I could betray Adam like that anyway.”

Dom’s lips tightened, and I continued chuckling as I wandered over to the swinging bench and pulled my latest paperback from my bag. The yellowed pages were a soothing soft brush against my fingers and the spine let out a comforting creak that melded with the squeak of the sturdy chains holding the padded bench suspended from the porch ceiling. It was one of those large swinging benches, almost the size of the mattress in my dorm room, and covered in throw pillows.

I’d sat on it hundreds of times through my life, but that day felt different.

Because it was just Dom and me.

Now I don’t think I could stand to look at that bench. Not after what happened two weeks later.

Not when Dom lay beside me on it, held me tight to his body, kissed me like breathing didn’t matter, and touched me like I was precious.

Not when I came upon him sitting on the same bench beside Rosaline the next morning and heard the words that destroyed me.

“Let’s get married,” he’d said to her.

I hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t been able to move. So, I saw her raise a beautiful tear-stained face to gaze into Dom’s.

“Really?” she’d whispered, though I’d still heard.

“Yes.” His strong hands—the same hands that had touched me the night before—stroked her hair. “I want to marry you.”

Then he’d kissed her forehead.