Page 32 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

“What I get off on is knowing how much you hate wearing it. Truth cubed: I’m pretty sure I threw the original away before I left, so how is it that you’re wearing it right now?”

Keeping my voice even, I said, “I took it out of the trash. How else?”

Dominic cocked his head, pausing for a beat to study me. “Why?”

“It’s not your turn.” I crossed my dangling ankles, letting my head fall back. “Let’s see… truth to the power of I-don’t-wanna-keep-track: speaking of trash, tell me something about you I caneasily exploit. Like a phobia I don’t know about or your biggest fear or something.”

“That’s off topic.”

“It’s not off topic. The topic is trash, and so are you.”

One of the veins in his temple was back, but I could have sworn his mouth twitched before he rubbed an aggravated palm over it.

“And remember, being caught in a lie is grounds for immediate forfeiture,” I said helpfully.

He bit into his bottom lip, nodding. “You are, Alice. You’re my biggest fear.” He stepped forward and braced his hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, caging me in. “You’re the monster under my bed. The creepy little critter crawling under my skin. You’re my sleep paralysis demon. The boogieman. The Grim Reaper. The Loch Ness monster. And the personification of my deepest, darkest nightmares. It’s all you. Happy?”

I swallowed, watching his golden-brown irises shrink and shrink, until they were barely visible. He smelled like expensive soap with a warm hint of cologne, and I wanted to place a palm on his chest and gently push. But that would entail touching him.

“Flattering,” I noted lightly, stuffing my hands under my thighs.

“Truth to the power of five: what’s yours? Same question.”

I pushed out my lips, thinking. “Hmmm. Being burned alive, I think.”

“It has to be one I don’t already know. And one I can exploit without facing a life sentence.”

I sighed. “Uhmmm…”

“And no copying my answer.”

My eyes hit the back of my head. “Please. You’re about as terrifying to me as a growling puppy. Or a damp cotton ball.”

“I get it.”

I bit back a smile. “All right, here’s one: I have a very real fear that I’ll… how do I even say this? Hold on.” I glanced down at my thighs, trying to get my thoughts in order. There was no way of wording it that wouldn’t sound lame, but maybe that was a good thing. If he was underwhelmed, he wouldn’t dwell on it. “I am legitimately scared of… and I don’t know how you’d exploit it, but if anyone could figure it out…” Wow,howwas this so hard to phrase?

“This better be good, Lice. Otherwise, we’re going to implement a time limit on answers. I don’t want to be here all week.”

“I’m scared that this is it.”

His mouth moved like he was going to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he frowned. Then blinked. “What does that mean?”

I didn’t know.

I mean, I did, but I wasn’t sure how to explain it.

“One question per turn,” I argued.

“And no cryptic answers. Your rule, remember?”

I unhooked my ankles. Rehooked them. “I don’t know how to make it any clearer. I’m scared that this is it.”

“Definethis.”

“This.” I waved a hand through the air.

“Solid start. Now try adding words.”