Page 39 of A Taste For Trouble

“Shush! Oh, lordy! I wasn’t supposed to talk about it,” he said, wincing. “The boss is going to skin me alive with his favourite butter knife.”

“I will stab you with this nail file if you don’t start talking now,” I threatened, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“Fine, but if your boyfriend gets mad at me, you have to save my life, or I’ll haunt you till the end of yours. Now, remember how they were after you because they thought you hid the stash for Joe?”

“Uh-huh, and they were threatening me to smoke him out of hiding,” I replied.

“Well, it looks like they’ve upped the stakes. They’ve put a hit out on you. And Logan is sure it’s just a scare tactic to get Joe to show his hand.”

“That’s stupid,” I said bluntly. “Because they are assuming that Joe actually cares for me, which is not true. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about me, or he wouldn’t have hidden the stash in my house at all. And you know what? I’m done with this shit.You and I are going to my house right now, and we’re finding that stash of snow.”

“Look at you going all street on me,” he teased before his face turned serious again. “And no. Nuh-uh. Nyet. You’re not going anywhere near that cottage. I refuse to take you there. It’s not safe for you, babe.”

I knew that tone. Trevor wasn’t about to budge on his decision. Well, I’d just have to go back home on my own. Until we resolved this issue and I went back home, I was stuck in limbo. I didn’t know if Dominic really wanted me for myself or if he was just using our forced proximity for physical release.

My gut told me there was a deep connection between us and that he wanted me as much as I wanted him, but my gut also told me Joe Cheney was a decent, if boring man, and I had been ready to marry him based on that feeling. So my unreliable gut and I weren’t on speaking terms right now.

Which meant that I had to rely on hard facts and evidence. If Dominic continued our relationship after I moved back home, it would prove that he wanted to be with me. If we went back to our previous status quo, then it meant this was just a fake relationship with benefits.

“Babe, look at me. I can see the wheels turning in your head, and I can only tell you one thing. Be open with the boss. Ask him where this relationship is going. Be an adult,” Trevor said sombrely, and I tried not to roll my eyes.

It was easy for him to say that, but Dom and I had paused our reality to make love to each other. I’d ruin everything if I tried to change the terms of the agreement now. I had to wait and see if his heart was involved or just his dick. The trouble was that we had complicated things by bringing Scary Mary into the picture. If we broke apart now, it wasn’t just my heartbreak on the line. It was also Sweetpea’s. I couldn’t afford to let him get even moredependent on Scary Mary. If this was just a fling, it had to end soon, before Sweetpea got too attached to Dom’s cat.

I went back to Dom’s apartment with Trevor because I didn’t want to tip him off, but I made my plans nonetheless. The next day, after Dom went to the office, I called a cab and set off for my cottage.

I was just unlocking the front door when my phone rang. To my horror, it was Dom.

“Hey, where are you?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound too shrill.

“I’m still at work. I had a minute between meetings and thought I’d say hi,” he said softly, making my heart melt.

“Hi,” I replied, just as softly.

“Are you home?”

I looked around wildly, wondering what excuse I could give that would sound halfway plausible. I was a terrible liar, and I was worried he’d know I was lying.

“No, actually…I’m on my way to get a mani-pedi,” I squeaked.

“Oh, you should have called me before you left. I could have sent the car to take you there,” he said.

“No, I got a cab. It’s not too far, and I like going around on my own.”

I was aware I was babbling, and shut up abruptly.

“I miss you,” he said, sounding as if the words were torn from his chest.

I took a long, slow breath and tried not to sound too giddy.

“I miss you too,” I replied. “But I’ll see you when you get back from work. Want a slice of pie for dessert?”

“Only if it comes with your lasagna,” he returned.

“Of course,” I said with a little laugh. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Rosie, promise me you won’t make that lasagna for anyone else,” he ordered gruffly, and my heart took a flying leap around my chest.

That was my ‘marry-me lasagna’. And if he didn’t want me making it for anyone else, it could only mean one thing, right?