Unforgiven(47)

“Hey now,” he says as we both tug at the plastic bag that holds the pills I need.
“What do I owe you?” His bright blue eyes fix on me as he thinks. “Money isn’t an issue,” I tell him as I yank the bag from his hand.
“I told you earlier: this is my treat. Plus, maybe it’s not money I want,” he says, rubbing his hand on my shoulder.
“Dom.” Jonah’s voice is firm and the patio door slams shut as he steps out. I quickly shove the baggie of pills into the front pocket of my shorts and take a step back from Dominic.
“What’s up, man?” Dominic asks Jonah as he approaches.
“What’s going on out here?” Jonah is glaring at Dominic and I tentatively step back. Dominic pulls out another cigarette and rests it between his teeth.
“Not much. Just talking to Lindsayyyyyy.” He drags out the end of my name. “You’ve got yourself a cute little thing.” He winks at me.
“Fuck off, Dom. Stay away from her.”
Dom laughs as he pulls out a lighter and flicks it, the flame roaring to life as he lights his cigarette. Jonah breathes heavily, balling his fists. His chest rises and falls dramatically.
“That girl you brought is inside looking for you.”
“Yeah, better get back inside.” He never takes his haunting blue eyes off of me. “Nice talking to you,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “Nice talking business with you.” He saunters away with a cocky attitude.
“You okay?”
“God, why do you always think I’m in trouble or that something’s wrong?” I lash out at Jonah. “I’m fine.”
“Lindsay, calm down. Jesus. I saw Dom’s hand on your shoulder and you looked uncomfortable.”
“I’m fine. I’m going to get Jess and we’re going to head back to my place. Thanks for having us over.” I try to push past him, but his long arm grabs me at my elbow, stopping me.
“What did he mean ‘talking business’ with you? Is he where you’re getting your pills from? So help me God, Lindsay, if it’s him… I’ll fucking kill him.” My heart races as I watch Jonah’s face become angrier. He snatches my drink from my hand and dumps it into a potted plant that sits on the balcony. “And don’t fucking mix alcohol and pills, do you understand me?” His eyes soften, going from anger to concern.
“Let go of me,” I say through gritted teeth as I yank my arm out of his grasp. “Thanks for having us over.” My tone is snarky. I just want to get out of here. I enter the condo and immediately find Jess.
“Hey,” she says as I walk up to her.
“Let’s go.” I walk past her and wait for her at the front door. She says goodbye to the girls she was speaking with earlier and, as we leave, I see Jonah watching us with a scowl on his face. “Sorry, wasn’t in the mood to hang out,” I tell Jess as we leave.
“It’s fine. I came to spend time with you, not your neighbors.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Let’s have some more wine and just catch up.”
“I’d like that,” I admit. Jess heads straight for the small wine fridge that’s built into the kitchen island and pulls out another bottle while I head to the bedroom to change. I close the bedroom door behind me and pull the baggie of pills from my front pocket. I take out two and set them on my tongue while I hide the baggie under a book in the drawer of my nightstand. I lean over the bathroom sink and drink some water directly from the tap.
Using the pads of my fingers, I wipe what I think is eyeliner from underneath my eyes, but soon realize that it’s dark circles and not make-up. I can hear Jess rummaging around out in the kitchen and I pull my hair into a messy bun and join her. She’s popping microwave popcorn and pouring two glasses of chilled white wine.
“You haven’t changed a bit.” I laugh as I walk through the living room and pull one of the wine glasses off the kitchen island.
“Why do you say that?” She smiles.
“You’re still obsessed with microwave popcorn.” She used to eat it all the time when we interned together in North Carolina.
“And wine,” she interjects.
“That too.” I laugh.
“Where is there a large bowl?” she asks as she flings open cupboard doors.
“I’m not sure. Check the cabinets beneath the island.”
“How do you not know where you have a bowl?”
“I never cook,” I say, sipping on my wine. I sit on the barstool that’s at the kitchen island and tuck one leg underneath, the other one swinging from the stool.
“Lindsay, be honest with me. When is the last time you ate something? And don’t say tonight, because you didn’t take one bite of that salmon. I watched you.” She stands up and sets a large, plastic bowl on the granite counter. Her eyes soften when she looks at me. I should go on the defensive, but her eyes are concerned and I’m just so thankful I have someone here with me.