Three Hard Lessons (Blindfold Club 2)

I shook my head and took a big sip of my drink. “Chicago.”

The man glanced at the monitor behind the bar. “You’ve gotten here early.”

“I needed to get a head start on the liquid courage.”

“Nervous flier? Me, too.” He signaled the bartender. “I’m Simon.” He probably thought he was charming and seductive.

I sighed. “Okay, Simon. Can I be honest with you?” God, two months with Dominic had taken its toll. I sounded like him now.

Simon nodded and looked curious about what I was about to say.

“I’m going to save you the effort. If you’re hitting on me, it’s not going to work.”

The curious expression froze on his face. “Why not?”

“I’m not interested.” I finished my drink and pushed the glass away with my fingertips. “Not in anyone right now, and definitely not a married man.” My gaze dropped down to his hand on the bar, where the worn impression of a ring was obvious on his bare third finger.

His hand drew away as the pleasant smile faded to nothing. “I’m newly divorced.”

My gaze sharpened on his shifting eyes, and I gave a short, bitter laugh. “Okay, newly divorced, and a fucking liar. So not interested.”

Simon gave me a sour look and wandered away. I still had the ability to read liars . . . just not Dominic. I dug my phone out and stared at his text messages again. The flight information first, then:

That was it. No pleading, no more apologies, and there was terrible finality that made me sick. I’m sure he was pissed I’d walked out. Whether or not I walked away for good was up to him. I needed time and space. It just sucked how much space was about to be between us.

I did fine on takeoff, but thirteen hours is a long-ass time not to think about what had happened, and the Asian man sitting next to me looked mortified when I spent twenty minutes crying silently turned toward the window. I couldn’t help it. I was exhausted and Dominic had broken the wall I’d built around this part of my feelings.

The nice thing about first class was I drank myself to sleep, and the seats were pretty comfortable. It was six in the morning when I landed at O’Hare, and after customs and immigration, I was on the train toward my apartment in the thick of rush hour. It was loud, and dirty, more than I’d ever noticed before.

Dominic’s emotionless text was unnerving. I spent the remainder of the ride overanalyzing it. When I got home, I slept in my bed – my first time sleeping alone in more than two months – and I hated it.

My intercom buzzed and woke me at noon. It was Logan, which immediately made me suspicious. I’d texted Evie this morning and made arrangements to have dinner with them when they got off work.

“Did Dominic send you?” I asked into the call box.

“I came to return your car.”

Oh. I buzzed him up and pulled on a sweater and jeans.

It didn’t register that he hadn’t answered me about Dominic until I opened the door and was greeted with flowers.

“I’m sure you know who these are from,” Logan said, lingering in the hallway. “Can I come in?”

I motioned for him to do so, but gave him a guarded look. “What a cliché. He shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

“He didn’t. I offered.”

Logan evaluated the room and sat the vase of red roses on my kitchen counter. They were beautiful, but I refused to show my appreciation. A first-class ticket hadn’t fazed me, so a dozen roses weren’t going to either.

“Dominic told me what happened.”

My neck got hot and I clenched my teeth. “Oh, did he?”

Logan’s face was serious. “All of it, and I mean, all of it. He knows how bad he screwed up.”

I didn’t know what to say. I picked up the flowers and moved them to the center of my kitchen table. “That conversation had to be awkward.”

“Payton, he’s a fucking mess.”