Chapter 8

• “Okay,” Monique says as we drive home that night, “can I now officially say Dominique Voss definitely wants to fuck you?”
• She’s behind the wheel—because I’m too annoyed, too exhausted, and too mentally fried to drive. I’ve been groaning, sighing, and cursing under my breath since we left the hospital. He’s in my head. Dominique fucking Voss has planted himself like a weed and I want him out.
• “Please don’t say the F-word,” I mutter, slumping against the passenger-side window. “It’s gross.”