Page 88 of Dominate Me

Chapter Twenty-One

Haley

I had barely climbed into bed when a faint thud echoed through my quiet house.

After the limo ride home, which felt like it took forever, I’d picked up the phone and called Anya as soon as I’d walked through the door. Considering she’d assumed I would be spending the weekend with Jensen, she knew something was wrong when my name lit up on her phone’s screen.

“I’ll be there in ten,” she’d said as soon as I croaked her name through my dry throat.

She had hung up without saying anything else. Ten minutes later I had divested myself of the beautiful dress, thrown on scraggly sweatpants and sweatshirt, and managed to wash off my makeup and smeared mascara before she showed up.

She let herself into my house with her spare key and by the time I reached the kitchen, she had gin gimlets poured and one waiting for me.

She took one look at me, said, “Talk,” and I let everything spill.

When I was done, she poured us another round of drinks, I followed her into the living room and we spent the next two hours drinking while we analyzed every single one of my mistakes, every single one of Jensen’s comments and looks down to the last details.

What could I say? Girls were neurotic when we were on the cusp of having our hearts potentially broken.

We also figured out nothing.

The only thing I could do was wait a day or two and hope Jensen would be ready to speak to me again. He was too respectful to ditch me completely without ending things, and until then, I decided to hold on to the minuscule hope I had that we’d be able to get past this major blip.

One of my own selfish making.

By the time Lance came and picked up Anya, after we’d realized how much alcohol we’d had, I was drunk and depressed. I sent her home after assuring her I’d be okay and I’d call her in the morning.

Before they left, Lance pulled me into a hug and whispered, “If I thought I had a snowball’s chance in hell of being able to kick his ass, I’d do it just for you.”

I had laughed so hard snot shot out of my nose and onto the shoulder of his T-shirt. I also didn’t tell him.

After they left, I cleaned up our drinks, spent more time moping and finally slipped into a comfortable pair of pajamas and crawled into bed.

The depressing crooning of Adele was the only sound in the house as I tossed and turned. I tried to get comfortable but every time I rolled over, the lingering scent of Jensen’s cologne on my sheets and pillows seemed to smother me.

I was finally drifting off, tears still occasionally forming in my eyes and running down my cheeks when another low, quiet thump echoed from downstairs.

Without thought, I jumped out of bed and opened my nightstand, reaching for my 380 Smith & Wesson handgun my dad had insisted I learned to shoot.

When another thump, louder this time, hit my front door, I silently thanked him for forcing the issue.

“You’re a woman alone running a resort and living in a house too large for you. It’s smart to be safe,” he’d said. My mom and I had rolled our eyes but I let him take me to the shooting range. He took me twice a week until he felt comfortable with not only my knowledge of handling and shooting a gun, but cleaning it properly afterward.

My fingers curled around the butt of the gun and I held it tightly to my side as I tiptoed down the hallway and then the stairs. Every creak of my stairs, every shift of the old house settling made me jump and I reminded myself to keep a proper grip on the gun.

The last thing I needed to do was to wrap my finger around the trigger and shoot it by accident.

The chime of the grandfather clock I’d locked away in a guest room made me jump on the last stair and I wrapped my hand around the railing to steady myself. Only one chime.

Who in the hell could be visiting me at one o’clock in the morning?

And why in the hell did I grab my gun and not my phone? I’d seen enough thriller movies to know I had just made the dumbest mistake possible.

As I cursed myself, another thump hit the front door followed by four quick knocks.

“Haley!” A voice shouted.

A masculine voice.

---