But now, things are different.
After one drunken night, and a surprisingly sexy act of heroism, he's started to be...nice. Treating me like something other than the physical embodiment of his annoyance, which would be nice if it didn't make me feel all the things I swore to never feel for another man after my husband died.
Dominic
Sloane Kent is going to be my undoing.
What's worse: I think I'm going to enjoy being unravelled by the gold flecks in her hazel eyes and the adorable little way she scrunches her nose up when we're arguing, which we've done a lot of over the past decade. She thinks it's because I hate her, and I've always let her think that because the alternative is...untenable.
But something is changing between us, and I don't know how to stop myself from breaking every promise I've ever made to myself regarding my best friend's wife. Promises that include never telling her that there's a long list of things I feel about her, but hate isn't one of them.