“The sexy you.”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re so great at helping me and talking me through things and doting on me. But you won’t let me take care of you like you do me. That’s not fair to either of us.”
There’s a shake in his next breath that ignites a spark inside him. I can see it cautiously ripple across his face. “I didn’t realize I was doing that, exactly.”
“You are,” I say, touching my lips to his. “Maybe I’m not super supportive of the fighting thing. It’s hard to be when I know things like this wallop of a bruise are going to show up.”
“Do you have something in your life that, when you do it, you could forget about everything else and just kind of zone out in that space?”
Instantly, I think of the designs Sienna has been showing me and the plans for Nate’s bar. I could play with those things for hours on end and never grow tired. I think, too, of certain charities that I love and could spend all day plotting for ways to help them.
“Maybe,” I say.
“That’s what fighting is for me. I go to the gym, pound the bag, concentrate on my footwork. You can’t fight and think about anything else. You have to focus on what you’re doing or you’ll get hurt.”
“I think you need to focus more,” I say, running water down his bruise.
He holds his breath. “Want me to tell you a story?”
“Yes,” I reply immediately. “I do. Bathtime Storytime with Dominic Hughes. Sign me up.”
He shakes his head, but I can see he’s already working on what he’s going to say. “Okay, when I was twelve, I skipped school,” he blows out a breath that has more emotion in the waves than I care to acknowledge. “I had a black eye from an impact with my dad’s right elbow in a futile effort to save my mother from his left fist. I didn’t want to make up a bullshit answer and I was just really fucking mad, to be honest. The other kids didn’t come banged up and I didn’t want to either. It was embarrassing.”
I fight back the tears wetting my eyes because I know if he sees them, he’ll stop talking. I focus on keeping his back showered with warm, sudsy water because that is something I can control.
“So I was just hanging out around town, just kind of walking around, messing around in some parks when this guy comes up and sits next to me on this bench. I remember the bench was red, down by the minor league baseball stadium, and faced the little tributary that runs down to the ocean. So he just sits next to me—no book, no magazine, no phone or anything. Nothing.”
“What did he want?” I ask.
“He sits there a while until I start to get up thinking this guy’s a creep, you know? Then he says his name is Jerry Percy. I tell him I’m Dominic and he asks why I’m not in school. I tell him I skipped, that he could call my parents or the school but neither of them would care so not to waste his time.”
I have to close my eyes to keep from crying at the thought of a little Dom sitting and feeling so alone. My throat squeezes so tight that I can’t answer or show I’m invested in the conversation. It’s impossible.
“He gets up,” Dom continues, “and I think he’s going to go call the cops or something, but he comes back with a bag. He sits again and pulls out a sandwich. It’s ham and tomatoes and lettuce and I don’t remember what else, I guess it doesn’t matter, and he handed it to me. Said his wife always packed him more than he could eat anyway.” He smiles sadly. “I ate the fuck out of that. Then he gave me a baggie of chips and a soda, and by this time, he could’ve kidnapped me and I would’ve gone willingly,” he chuckles. “So when he asked if I wanted to hang out at his gym for the rest of the afternoon, I said I did.”
“Percy’s,” I whisper. “That’s your gym now.”
“That’s my gym now.”
I have so many more questions, but I’m afraid to ask.
Before I can respond, we hear the front door opening and Ryder’s cries as Nate carries him past the bathroom and into their bedroom at the end of the hall.
We both exhale and then chuckle at our simultaneous reaction.
“Guess there goes your night cap, unless you can do it without screaming this time,” he winks.
“When is he moving out again?” I pout. “I should’ve made that a condition of my loan.”
“You’re a sucky loan shark.”
“I can’t be good at everything.” I stand, grabbing a towel off the makeshift rack and handing it to him.
He stands and dries himself off quickly before wrapping it around his waist. Before he steps out of the tub, he takes a deep breath. “Hey, you want to go stay the night at your house tonight?”
“You mean you’ll stay? With me? At my house?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I stammer. “I mean, yeah. Yes. Yes, I want you to come stay at my house tonight.”
He laughs at my reaction, stepping onto the linoleum. Bending so our noses are touching he whispers, “Then let’s get our shit and go before I make you start screaming right here.”
Dominic
THERE’S SOMETHING TO BE SAID for calculating the thread count in your sheets. That and sleeping in the bed of a beautiful woman.
The room glows, the all-white décor almost blinding, as I open my eyes. My body feels rested, lots of the aches I wake up with daily in my legs and hips aren’t as noticeable, and I wonder vaguely if maybe that means I’m dead. Then I look to my right and see Camilla asleep next to me and realize if I’m dead, I’m okay with that.
Last night wasn’t the best sleep I’ve ever had, but it wasn’t the worst. Once we got here late and fucked ourselves senseless, I had a hard time falling asleep. It was well past three before my eyes finally shut, but they did. They don’t always.
Cam’s on her side, facing me. Her hair is a wild mess against the pristine sheets. I glance at the clock, then back to her. Then back to the clock. Then to the ceiling.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I count to three and then turn to my side. Running a fingertip from her forehead down the side of her face, her neck, and over her shoulder, she wakes up under my touch.
Her lashes flutter as she opens her eyes. “Hey,” she says, her sleepy voice killing me.
“Good morning.”
“No breakfast in bed?”
“I’m not much of a cook,” I admit. “But I promise to buy you breakfast if you get up and come with me.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s early.”
She yawns. “Like five o’clock early or like ten o’clock early?”
“Ten isn’t early, babe.”
“It is to me,” she yawns again.
“It’s six.”
“Where do you have to be at six in the morning on a weekend?”
“I don’t have to be anywhere. I have somewhere I want to be and I want you to be there with me.”
She looks up at me with one eye, the other buried in the sheets. “What if I remind you I’m naked? Would that keep you in bed?”
“Nope,” I say, springing off the mattress. My feet hit the soft carpeting and I swear I sink a couple of inches. “Get your fine ass up, Miss Landry. The world awaits.”
“The world can wait.”