Dominic
I’VE DRIVEN BY THIS PLACE a hundred times in my life but never stopped. As soon as I step foot in Hillary’s House, it’s everything I thought it would be—an uppity place that tries so hard not to be. It’s like when we go to a fast food place and get the triple burger with bacon and curly fries instead of the burger that costs a buck off the discount menu . . . only in reverse. It’s our way of feeling fancy. This is their way of feeling like an everyday man. Someone just needs to clue them in that the everyday man doesn’t walk around in loafers or pearls.
A stillness settles over me, causing my palms that were a little sweaty to dry, as I spot what has to be her brothers at a table in the back. This happens before I walk into the ring. It’s a silence that trickles from the top of my head, through my chest, over my gut, and down to my feet. It washes through my veins and allows me to focus on the task, or men, at hand.
Some fighters get amped up, go nuts, before the bell rings. Not me. It’s a waste of energy. I need all of mine on the job to be done. Especially today.
Cam gives me a reassuring look as we make our way through the restaurant. There’s a sparkle in her eye, one I see often when she talks about her family. It’s fascinating. The idea of having a family as close-knit as the Landry’s is completely alien to me. She has friends, like Joy, but the stories she shares are always of her sister or one of her brothers or one of their wives.
We approach the table and I set my gaze on the two men. I’ve seen them before on television for different things, mostly charity events and political campaigns. At the moment, I wish I’d paid more fucking attention.
This is not my element, and it’s both of them versus me. If I didn’t have this loan bullshit on my mind and all of the related complications, I’d feel better about this.
Ford and Lincoln look enough alike to undeniably be brothers, yet one is wider and blonder and the other leaner and darker. The blond one laughs, shaking his head at the other as we approach.
“Hey, guys,” Camilla says. The forced cheeriness goes unmissed by all of us. Their heads whip up, doing a quick fly-by of Cam and then land on me. “Dominic, this is Ford,” she says pointing to the lighter-haired one. “And this is Lincoln.”
“Hey, Dominic,” Ford says, standing. He’s about my height and weight with a clean look about him. There’s no doubt he’s assessing me, but he’s classy enough about it. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“Same here.”
We exchange a firm handshake and courteous, yet guarded nods, as we take our seats. My chest tingles, burning with the anticipation of what’s to come. It’s the same sensation I experience as I wait for the referee to start a fight. It’s the unknown, not sure what will be coming your way but knowing you better be bringing your A-game because your opponent sure as hell is.
Camilla settles in to my right as I finish my introductions. I flash her the best smile I can, maybe for more my own reassurance than hers, before resting my eyes on Lincoln.
He’s sitting across from me, a wide smirk on his face. Holding back a chuckle, because that won’t get me anywhere, I’d put money that’s the exact face that made Nate want to send Lincoln’s teeth across the bar.
“Lincoln,” I say, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” He shakes my hand, his grip stronger than it needs to be. I return it with as much force as he’s giving plus another couple pounds per square inch. The fucker grins. “Dominic, was it?”
“Yeah. Dominic Hughes.”
“Where have I heard that name before?”
I shrug, sitting down. “Who knows? It’s a small world.”
He nods again, this time looking up as the waitress slips between him and his sister. “What can I get y’all?”
“I’ll have a water, please, Lola,” Ford says. “No lemon.”
Cam takes the menus from the raven-haired waitress with a smile and passes them around the table. “Me, too.”
“What about you, Linc?”
“Water.”
“Make it four,” I chime in, watching Lola’s eyes glitter as they meet mine.
My stomach twists and turns as I feel the Landry eyes peering at me, waiting for me to fuck up. Lola is attractive. There’s no doubt about that. But she’s not what’s sitting next to me, and anything compared to Cam loses.
“You aren’t a Landry,” Lola grins.
“No, he isn’t,” Camilla says with a little more force than necessary. “Lola, this is Dominic. Dom, this is Lola.”
We exchange hellos, cut brief by Cam’s grabbing my hand under the table and locking our fingers together. I smile at the touch as I watch her place them next to our silverware with a pointed glance Lola’s way.
If we were alone and I wasn’t trying to keep my head about me, I’d find it incredibly hard not to give her hell about this. My lips would be on her as soon as Lola walks away, the demonstration more of a turn-on than I can muster.
Satisfied that I’m taken, Lola traipses towards the kitchen. Lincoln snickers.
“Is this Swink’s version of going caveman?” he cracks. “I think you were almost hateful with that. I kind of like it.”
“Hush,” she glares at him. Her cheeks go rosy, her hand slowly slipping from mine. “Don’t be an ass, Linc.”
“That’s like asking the sky not to be blue,” Ford scoffs.
“Well, fuck you too,” Lincoln says, continuing on with some inside joke the three of them laugh at that I don’t understand.
Instead, I sit back in my chair in wonderment. It’s like being at a table in a foreign land full of customs and exchanges you haven’t seen before. It’s like Nate and I, but on a whole other level, like what Nate and I and Joey could’ve been if Joey hadn’t been run over, our mother wasn’t weak, and our father not a useless son of a bitch.
Cam elbows me in the side, making me jump. “What?” I ask.
“I was just asking you what you do for a living,” Ford says.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “I work for Monstone Repair.”
“That’s heating and cooling, right?” Ford asks.
“Yeah. That’s my nine-to-five,” I say, wondering if they even know what that truly is. “I also bartend some at my brother’s bar.”
Lincoln leans forward, his athletic reflexes on full display. “The Gold Room?”
“Yeah.”
“You resemble the guy we met down there. What was his name?” he asks, turning to Ford. “You know who I mean? The guy behind the bar.”
“Nate,” Ford and I say at the same time.
“That’s my brother,” I continue. “He said you were in a while back.”
Lincoln reclines in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He twists his lips before smacking them open. “Dominic, your brother is kind of a dick.”
“He can be. But, funnily enough,” I say, looking him right in the eye, “he said the same thing about you.”