Page 63 of PS: I Hate You
“Squat. I need to get your neck.”
“This is overkill,” he argues even as he bends his knees.
“You’ll be thanking me in twenty years when you don’t have skin—” I choke on the final word I was about to say so flippantly.
Cancer.
That is the worst word to ever have existed.
Dom turns, and I cover up my painful misstep.
“Wrinkles. When you’re not a wrinkly mess.” Then I busy myself replacing the bottle in my bag.
“You’re right,” Dom speaks softly. “I don’t want wrinkles. Thank you.”
I humph and sling my backpack on. “Right. Okay.” My eyes scan around the abandoned town and alight on a set of saloon doors. I point to them. “Let’s look for ghosts in the bar. And did Josh ever tell you about the time he helped me look for a prom dress?”
The concerned creases around Dom’s mouth ease as he smiles. “No.”
The memory of that day blares like a bright butterfly of joy in my mind, coaxing a reluctant grin of my own. “Oh, really? He never shared how he decided to get involved? How he decided to try a few on himself?”
Dom’s laughter booms loud, reverberating through the sun-soaked air.
Bringing life to a place that was once void of it.
Chapter
Eighteen
For such a taciturn man, Dom is a talented storyteller. Each memory of Josh he shares is vivid with detail and emotion, to the point I can almost imagine myself living through the experiences with him.
But I didn’t. Because I moved to the other side of the country.
Not for the first time, I wish I hadn’t loved Dominic Perry so much. That affection I built up for him over my life, in those formative years, made his abandonment hurt so much more than if anyone else had done the same.
But I don’t love him anymore, so I can move on from the past.
Right?
As he smiles and tells me about the time Josh challenged the Phillies’ mascot to a dance battle, I start to believe it. That I can move on. Dom is a different person than the young man I fell in love with. And I’m a different woman.
I can be cautious around him, but maybe I can let some of the resentment go?
After sharing a few more anecdotes, our stories naturally trail off as we continue to explore the ghost town. We meander away from each other, then find our way back. The sun beats down, hot and heavy, and I duck into the shade of an old building whenever I can.
Unfortunately, while I planned to keep my skin safe from thesun, I didn’t think about how quickly my water bottle would deplete. I upend it over my mouth, searching out the last drop for my sandpaper tongue.
“Here.” Dom appears at my side, a small blue spout in his hand that connects to a tube. The other end disappears inside his backpack. “It’s a CamelBak. I’ve got plenty of water. Have some.”
After hesitating, I step in close to accept the mouthpiece and wrap my lips around it. When I suck, warm water fills my mouth, and while I’d prefer a tall glass full of ice, this is still nice.
But also, intimate. I have to stand close to Dom to sip the water, and I can smell sweat mixing with his cedar scent and feel the heat radiating off his body. After another long drag I hope will last me for a while, I hand back the spout.
My eyes flick up to meet a dark set, and even though we’re both wearing sunglasses, I canfeelDom watching me as he sets the mouthpiece on his own lips for a drink. One that probably tastes like me.
I turn away fast and continue deeper into the town, Dom following.
A short while later the sound of Dom’s stomach growling is so loud, I can’t help a quick hiccup of laughter. The man tries to scowl at me. Doesn’t work, though, when his lips tick up into a smile.