Page 133 of By A Thread
I eased his Range Rover into the driveway and sat in the dark. Images from the night flashed on a loop through my mind.
The dress.
The runway.
Dominic “Alcohol as Truth Serum” Russo.
I had a lot of confusing, conflicting thoughts. But it all came back to one thing. He didn’t want to be like his father. It was as simple and complex as that.
Nights like these changed lives and were retold as stories for years to come. But I didn’t know what my story would be. Would it be the time the up-and-coming designer made me temporarily semi-famous? Or would it be the night I finally realized my heart belonged to a man I was never going to be with?
I got it now. I gothimnow.
He wanted me but not enough to do something that—in his mind—would put him in his father’s league. I had experience in that department and could respect Dominic’s decision.
I wanted that revelation to free me from whatever attraction I had to the man. I wanted to feel relieved. Instead, I just felt sad. Bone-deep, soul-deep sad.
My old phone cheerfully clunked out a facsimile of a ring.
Faith. My late-night checker-inner.
“Hey,” I said.
“Oh. My. God. I’m so glad you’re up!” she squealed. “Girl. You are all over social media as Christian James’s mystery heartbreaker! Tell me you’re out partying with fancy people. Are you in a limo on your way to some celebrity’s penthouse afterparty?”
Faith’s life was significantly more glamorous than my own. It was a special treat to have a story finally worthy of sharing.
I laughed. “I’m sitting in my driveway in my boss’s Range Rover that I may or may not have stolen.”
“I knew you had an inner badass! Is this the same boss who chased you out of the club after you refused to take his sexy money?”
“That’s the one. It’s been a weird night.”
“I absolutely need every detail,” she insisted. I heard her crack open a can of what was probably Mountain Dew, her post-one a.m. beverage of choice because she was immune to calories, sugar, and caffeine.
Since the SUV was warmer than my house, I stayed put and told her about the dress and the preview and party.
Faith swooned appropriately. “Are you totally into this Christian guy?”
“He’s super smart and sweet and sexy,” I hedged.
“But?”
I smiled. She was an expert people reader. “But the chemistry isn’t right.”
“Bummer. He’s gorgeous, and he’d shower you in designer goodies for all the days of your life until you had a dramatic divorce. Maybe you should introduce me to him,” Faith teased.
Huh. That could be interesting,I thought. Two creative free spirits with nothing but hotness in common?
“So, since you’re not into Hot Fashion Guy, does this mean you and Grumpy Grump Face Lap Dance Guy are on?”
I wasn’t one to kiss and tell. Or drive and tell. Or help strip a man down to just his pants, listen to his confession, leave him drunk in his bed, and tell. I was a good person, gosh darn it. And it was Dominic’s story to tell. Not mine.
“Definitely and irrevocably not on.” I sighed, picturing that bare chest with just the right amount of hair, those arms with just the right amount of ink.
“Disappointed!” she groaned.
You and me both, sister.
