Love Her or Lose Her (Hot & Hammered #2) - Tessa Bailey Page 0,28

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Chapter Nine

Rosie’s heels clicked in the silence of the mall parking lot. The night breeze swirled around her calves and caressed her neck. She breathed it in deeply, grateful for fresh, clean air after eight hours of sucking in various perfumes. There was no respite from the cloying odor except for the break room, and that smelled like reheated chicken and stale donuts. This afternoon, she’d gotten stuck behind a stalled school bus and arrived three minutes late, so she’d been forced to demonstrate a scent called Green Monster.

Two bottles had been sold.

Both to female customers who wanted to play a joke on their boyfriend.

Rosie didn’t even bother waiting until she’d reached her car to take off the heels. She gripped them by the stems and cooled her feet on the chilled asphalt, one step at a time. She’d have to remember to wash them off before getting into Bethany’s dream bed.

Weirdly, she wasn’t quite as excited to sink into the exquisite mattress tonight. It might be perfect and ergonomically designed, but . . . a lot was missing. Things she’d grown used to and possibly, maybe, taken for granted. Such as Dominic’s breath in her hair, steady and deep and reliable. The way he’d brush their knuckles together when the night was too dark to see each other’s face. And just that simple touch would lull her back to sleep. Even the dip of the mattress when he turned over, the one that used to wake her up and annoy her . . . She found herself waking up in Bethany’s bed, troubled by the absence of it.

This was normal. Any kind of change was hard. It wasn’t that she missed him. She needed to remember that. What would she miss? His brooding silence? Their total lack of a social life? Seriously, he hadn’t taken her out in . . . years. They had friends, but those relationships never got nurtured because they always stayed home. Dominic didn’t expressly ask her to stay home, but growing up they’d done everything together. Now they were adults and going out separately never seemed like an option. Almost like there was an unspoken rule between them and it was cemented by Dominic’s possessiveness.

If she hadn’t gone to Zumba class one night over the summer, she wouldn’t have been there for the formation of the Just Us League. It might never have been formed at all.

Rosie stepped on a pebble and winced.

“You okay, Rosie?” called the security guard from the mall door. He’d been supervising Rosie’s walk to her car since she’d gotten the job years ago. Such a sweetheart. His watching over her was slightly odd, considering he didn’t do it for anyone else, but he was such a harmless grandfatherly type, she never questioned it.

Hopping on one foot, she waved back. “I’m fine, Joe!”

Lost in her thoughts—and the twinge of pain in her heel—it took Rosie a moment to see the envelope on her windshield, tucked beneath one of the wipers.

Her name was written across the front in a familiar hand.

Dominic’s.

Rosie’s stomach winged up to her throat like a startled bird as she plucked the envelope out of its place. With it in hand, she looked around the empty parking lot, as if her husband might be leaning against a lamppost, but there was no one there, save the McDonald’s wrappers and shopping bags blowing in the wind.

She took out her car keys and unlocked the door, waving one final time to Joe before climbing into the driver’s seat and locking the Honda. After a moment of deliberation, she set the letter down on the passenger seat and started the car. She’d read it when she got home and changed into her pajamas. But she made it two feet before she slammed on the brakes and threw the car back into park. With a deep breath, she retrieved the letter and switched on the overhead light, sliding the folded piece of paper out of its home.

Rosie,

You have a freckle behind your ear, in a place that’s impossible for you to see. I’m not sure if anyone has ever told you about it, but sometimes I pretend it’s my secret. The first time I kissed it, we were at homecoming. Beginning of senior year. I pulled your back against my front and the lights went up. The dance was over and it felt like we’d just gotten there. We looked around and everyone was gone. When you turned your head, that’s when