Page 52 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

I curled my fingers into my palm, stripping him of the view. My neck was growing strangely warm, and the need to cover his eyes was making me restless. “Can you let me go, please?”

He reached for my other hand, wincing when he turned it for inspection.

Admittedly, this one looked pretty bad. There was quite a bit of blood mixed with the dirt, and the cuts ran deeper than I’d have expected, considering how little they hurt.

Dominic’s jaw tightened, his molars grinding as he cut me a sharp glare. “Since when do you care about fixing shit you broke?”

I gave him a sarcastic smile. He knew I’d figured out who the garden belonged to; the part he seemed confused about was why it made a difference. “I don’t. It’s all part of my grand performance. I’m trying to make you think I care so you’ll let your guard down.”

His expression remained deadly, his narrowed eyes sliding between mine.

“Oh, and the cuts were to gather sympathy,” I continued. “So was going out there in the middle of a storm at midnight. All precalculated.”

The tightness in his expression started to ebb, replaced with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Without a word, he let go of my left wrist, softened his grip on my right, and started dragging me deeper into the house.

Itsked. “I really didn’t think you’d be so easy to manipulate this far into the game, Dom. It’s kind of disappointing.”

We were dripping everywhere, soiling the pristine tiles with our muddy shoes as he led me into the kitchen. He positioned me in front of the sink, turning on the taps and checking the temperature before finally releasing his hold on my wrist. Then he disappeared.

I flinched at the initial sting of cool water hitting the cuts, gently rinsing off the visible dirt and blood before reaching for the soap.

“Can I borrow a charger? I need to call a cab,” I said as soon as he was back.

He tossed a small leather case onto the counter, then held out a fresh hand towel.

“Thanks,” I muttered, my mouth twitching at the intensity of his brooding glower. I dabbed my hands dry, trying not to laugh. “I’m starting to think I should’ve just worn the collar. If you’re this pissy about a few minor cuts on my hands…”

He ignored the jab, too focused on retrieving a thin white tube from the case and exchanging it for my dirty towel.

I sucked on my cheek, unscrewing the ointment. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to act toward someone you hate, Dominic,” I tried. “Just FYI. It’s making you seem a hell of a lot softer than you are, and pretty damn susceptible to manipulation.”

Still no bite, which was odd.

I carefully applied the ointment, increasingly aware of the blasting AC. My clothes were soaking wet and sticking to my skin, and the rush of freezing air was making it ten times worse. “There, happy? Can I charge my phone now?”

Evidently not, given that he reached inside the case again and retrieved a roll of gauze.

“No,” I deadpanned. I didn’t need them. The cuts were annoying, sure, but they weren’tthatbad.

“They’re going to get infected,” Dominic argued, regaining his voice.

I shrugged. “So? Why do you care?”

He was silent again. Brooding and annoyed like this wasn’t exactly what he should’ve wanted. I raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Seriously, why do you care? I thought the whole point of bringing me here was to watch me suffer.”

He averted his gaze. “I’ll play you for it. You still need Thursday night off, right?”

“Answer the question. Why are you rescuing me from the storm instead of… I don’t know, shoving me outside with a lawnmower?”

He hesitated, clearly searching for an answer. “It’s past midnight” was what he eventually settled on.

My eyes narrowed. I contemplated pushing, but I was starting to shiver, and the feel of cold, wet denim sticking to my thighs was becoming borderline unbearable. “What game?” I asked instead.

He shrugged. “We’ve already done Exponential Truth, so how about Devil’s Dare?”

A nervous flutter trickled through my chest at the suggestion, my mouth instinctively forming the wordno.

“Higher level of intensity,” he argued before I could actually say it. “There’s no ability to lie or chicken out. We’d be done in fifteen minutes, if not less.”