Page 158 of By A Thread
She looked stricken. “No! Dominic, you’ve done nothing but tell me we can’t be together. That you aren’t going to let yourself want me. I respected that. Why can’t you respect this?”
I didn’t care if she had a point. It was all different now.Wewere different. “I was lying to myself. To you. You know damn well that tonight changed everything.”
Those golden-brown eyes were wide and scared. Good. It was about time she got scared about something. “What do you mean ‘everything’?”
“Everything, Ally. Every fucking thing.”
“So the sex was good. That doesn’t mean we’re—”
“In a relationship. That’s exactly what it means.”
“Oh, no you don’t, Dominic Russo. You can’t boss me into a relationship. I don’t have time. I don’twantto be in a relationship!”
“Well, tough shit. Because we’re in one.”
“This isnothow relationships work! You don’t just tell someone you’re in a relationship. That’s why restraining orders exist!”
She looked panicky. And I was glad because I didn’t want to be the only one with this sick, terrified feeling in my gut.
“Fine. Be my girlfriend.”
Her eyebrows skyrocketed up her forehead. “What?”
“Be my girlfriend. Date me. Be in a fucking relationship with me, Ally.”
She opened her mouth, and the only thing that came out was a squeak. Not exactly a reaction that stroked the ego.
“You… I… can’t…” A language barrier had apparently sprung up between us.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I demanded.
Her gaze flicked toward the stairs, and I charged up them. Ally was hot on my heels. “Be careful of the floor up there. I haven’t replaced it yet,” she said, grabbing my arm as I stepped onto the rotted landing.
I didn’t give in to the need to take her by the shoulders and shake her. Instead I shrugged her off and stepped into a tiny, drafty bedroom. The twin bed was made with three cheap comforters. A pair of sweatpants—my sweatpants—hooded sweatshirt—again mine—and long sleeve t-shirt were neatly folded next to the pillows. She slept in layers huddled under cheap-ass blankets just to stay warm.
I felt physically ill.
“What are you doing?” she demanded when I moved to the doll-sized closet and started pulling clothing out of it.
“Packing.”
She yanked a skirt out of my hands. “Knock it off, Dom. You’re starting to piss me off.”
“You’ll stay with me,” I decided.
She hit me with the skirt. “Excuse me! I’m not moving in with you!” She looked horrified.
“I have spare rooms. You can take one of them.”
“You have lost your damn mind. I am not living in your house!”
“Fine. Then I’m staying here with you.” I abandoned the clothes I’d piled up on her bed and started for the stairs. I’d pack a bag for me and Brownie and make a few calls. A contractor and an all-night locksmith to start.
She ran after me. “You can’t stay here!”
I rounded on her, and she came to an abrupt stop on the step above mine. “Get it through your stubborn fucking head, Ally. If you’re staying here, then so am I.”
“I’m handling this. I don’t need you.”
