Tossing my purse where Red was sitting, I take the few steps to him. He spreads his feet wider, allowing me to stand between his knees. As soon as I’m in his personal space, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is what I wanted. What I needed. To feel the comfort that I only find when I’m with him.
My shoulders sag, the expectations I’ve faced all day to be me, Camilla Jane Landry, are gone. I’m here, with him, and that’s enough. There’s no need to remember exquisite table manners or to choose my words thoughtfully. No need to remember the impact of my behavior on my family’s business or my brother’s campaigns. Dom doesn’t care about all that. If anything, he tries to provoke me to act out, which I resist but find entertaining.
He looks up, assessing me. “You know I don’t like you coming down here,” he says, his gaze narrowed.
“Why?”
“You know why, Cam. This is no place for a girl like you.”
“Red is here,” I point out, narrowing my own gaze. “Apparently she gets to be with you everywhere I don’t. You don’t have a problem with that.”
“Let me reiterate what I just said: this is no place for a girl like you. And Red is in all these places because she’s fucking everyone . . . but me.”
He has to notice the way my shoulders fall just slightly at his statement. He sits up, his knees pulling together and resting against the outside of my thighs. I can smell the sweet sweat on his skin and notice a small cut just above his eye that I want to inspect, but don’t.
“I’m a big girl, Dominic,” I say, letting the last syllable click on my tongue. “I’ve been here before and nothing bad has happened to me. Hell, nothing bad has ever even happened in front of me here. It makes me wonder if there are ulterior motives for you not wanting me around.”
“Damn it.” His palms rest against the backs of my legs, his hands splaying out against my skin. They’re extra coarse from the boxing gloves he’s undoubtedly been wearing and make me break out into goosebumps as he strokes up and down my thighs. “There is no ulterior motive. The reason I’m asking you not to show up here is self-explanatory. Look around,” he chuckles. “Why in the hell would you even want to come to this shit hole?”
“I wanted to see you,” I say softly, draping my arms over his shoulders. “And you were here.”
His face rests against my stomach. He nudges me towards him, pulling me tight against him.
Leaning down, I press a kiss to the top of his head. My heart swells in this moment, in a way that I haven’t gotten to experience too many times with him. He doesn’t give in often. He’s not one for showing too much softness, and when it happens, it strikes some instinct in me to want to protect him from the world.
“I thought about you today,” he says, still tucked against me. “I wondered how your lunching went.”
“My luncheon went well.” I smile as I enunciate the proper word. “Too much food, but it was nice being with my family.”
He squeezes me. “I want to spend some time with you tonight.”
“I’m here.”
“But not here.” He pulls away and looks me in the eye. “Nate’s working for a while, I think. Meet me at my place?”
“Or we can go to mine,” I offer.
“I need to go to mine anyway, and I don’t want to spend an extra thirty minutes going back and forth. I need to glance at this one more time, and then I’ll meet you there.”
“Have you eaten?” I ask, brushing a damp lock of hair off his forehead.
He smiles. “No.”
“I’ll get you some food and then meet you at your place in a little bit.” Bending down, I cup his face in my hands and press a kiss against his swollen lips. “And I’m icing you down when we get there.”
He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he likes it. “Get outta here.”
We walk to the door. He whistles loudly through the bar, getting Nate’s attention. Without a word, they exchange directions. Dom squeezes my hip before disappearing into the office again.
An exasperated sigh escapes my lips as I side-step a broken piece of linoleum on the floor. Making my way to the entrance, I feel Nate’s eyes on me every step of the way.
I almost look up at him and roll my eyes, their overprotective nature a little out of control. The fact that Red is sitting at the bar, facing me but trying to keep Nate’s attention, is what stops me.
“Hey, Nate,” I say as I get close. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
As expected, he turns away from her and rounds the corner to me. “Ya leaving, Priss?”
“Yeah, Dom kicked me out.”
“Like you didn’t know that was coming,” he laughs, then lowers his voice. “I didn’t know Hannah was with him or I would’ve warned you.”
“Would’ve been nice.”
He grins. “Like you’d think he’s up to something with her,” he scoffs. “Dom is a dumb motherfucker sometimes, but even he’s not dumb enough to risk you for that.”
“Oh, Nate. You have such a way with words,” I joke, laying a hand on my heart. “But, really, thanks for saying that. It makes me feel a little better.”
“Better about what?”
I shrug, not really wanting to get into it with Red sitting a few feet away. “Are you staying at Dom’s tonight?”
“Yeah. But I don’t want to cause you guys any problems.”
“You won’t,” I say. “I have a house, you know.”
“I heard. A nice one if the word on the street is right.”
“And because it’s mine, I can go there anytime I want,” I point out. “So, again, you being at Dom’s won’t cause any problems in my life. Besides, Ryder will give me someone to play with while you guys watch sports.”
A thought crosses my mind and I try to shake it off, but it comes back full-force. I picture Ryder’s little face capped with the same dark hair as his father and uncle, and I wonder how much of his life resembles theirs. And how different it is from mine.
A spark begins to take root in my stomach and the feeling of being absolutely right floods me. Lifting up on my tiptoes, I place my lips right against Nate’s ear. “I want to do something.”
“I won’t tell Dom. I swear,” he cracks, getting a swat from me. This makes him laugh harder. “Kidding.”
“Sure you are,” I giggle, dropping back to my feet. “But, seriously. I want to do something for you.”
“What are we talking here? Homemade lasagna?”
Forcing a swallow, I look him straight in the eye. I give myself a moment to reconsider, to go with the lasagna, but that option falters to the wayside. Bracing myself for his reaction, I take a deep breath. “Nate, let me loan you the ten grand.”
All humor erases from his face. “What?” he blanches.
“I about killed myself in a hole back there,” I say hurriedly, trying to make him agree before we can establish a solid argument. “Someone could trip and sue you for more than that before the loan goes through.”
“Priss, no,” he says, waving his hands in front of him. “I can’t do that. No way.”
“And why not? I can have it wired to you tomorrow and you can start your renovations or whatever it is. Plus,” I say, cutting off his rebuttal, “you’ll get the money to pay me back in sixty days.”
“No.”