Page 135 of You're The One
“You know what I mean, Dom,” she whispers. But it’s not the reassurance I need.
She pulls the comforter over her lap, like her skin isn’t still damp from the out-of-this-world sex we just had.
I let out a breath that’s half-huff, half-disbelief. “No, I don’t think I do, Mia.”
“It’s not a big deal,” she repeats, this time with more bite. “Why are you making this into a thing? Do you care that I’m not experienced?”
“No.” I pause to gather my thoughts.
I try to see her side. Ireallytry to. I know she’s scared, defensive. But all I can think is: she didn’t trust me enough to tell me something that mattered this much. She didn’t trust me to hold that part of her.
And that stings more than I want to admit.
I know she wanted to keep this casual at first, but things have changed.We’vechanged. Haven’t we?
“This isn’t about your experience,” I finally say, my voice quiet but steady. “It’s about you not telling me. About you not trusting me… still treating this like it’s some casual test run.”
I stand and pull on a clean pair of boxers, needing to move, to shake off the energy crawling under my skin. But I can tell almost immediately it was the wrong move.
She hops out of bed and grabs one of my T-shirts, tugging it on. It falls almost to her knees. She stands there for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed, knees bouncing restlessly.
I kneel in front of her and take her hands. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She bites her lip. “I don’t know.”
“Give me something, Mia.”
C’mon, baby. Don’t push me away.
But instead, she stands abruptly. “I don’t know, Dominic. I don’t fucking know.”
I follow her, keeping close. “Tell me what you were thinking. Help me understand.”
“What difference does it make? I just didn’t. And now it’s over and done with. It doesn’t matter.” Her voice rises as she steps away. When she pivots, she nearly runs into my chest.
“It does?—”
“It doesn’t,” she snaps, then freezes. Her jaw drops as her eyes search mine. “Do you… regret it?”
“No, baby,” I reply quickly, shaking my head. “Of course I don’t regret it.”
Her arms tighten around her chest. “I didn’t think you’d care… I mean, how many women have you slept with?”
If she slapped me, I swear it would have hurt less.
“What does my past matter? I’m not holding yours against you,” she adds.
I exhale sharply. “Wow,” is all I manage at first. Then, steadier, “It’s not about your past or mine. It’s about you trusting me enough to let me in. Isn’t that what people do when they care about each other?”
“This isn’t like the movies, Dom.”
She starts gathering her damp clothes, her movements fast, messy.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice tight.
“I’m leaving.”
And I thought her previous words gutted me.
