My insecurities flare and I know it’s an ugly reaction. It’s one I’m not used to, poise and confidence coming fairly easy to me. But now neither are really present.
“Let’s say you walked in to Mallory’s yoga studio one night,” I say, my voice starting to shake, “and I’m there, alone, with Barron Monroe.”
“Who the fuck is he?”
“Just a guy I’ve known my whole life,” I shrug.
His jaw pulses as he envisions this situation.
“Let’s say Barron is helping me with a pulled muscle. It’s just some muscle rub on the back of my thigh—where I can’t reach. No big deal.” I let that sink in. “How’s that working for you?”
“I’d break every bone in his fucking body,” he seethes.
“Oh, but Dom,” I say innocently. “I couldn’t reach.”
His eyes narrow as his chest rises and falls.
“That is the equivalent of what I just walked into only I didn’t throw in how I didn’t want you there—right or wrong,” I add as he starts to object. “It’s about how it makes me feel, Dominic.”
His head drops forward. “I just feel sorry for Hannah. She’s not a lot different than me, really.”
“I beg to differ.”
“But you don’t know her. Not that I think you could be friends because I don’t,” he grins. “But I can’t just be hateful to her, Cam. I don’t have it in me. But that doesn’t mean I want her or think of her in any way other than a girl that really has nothing to go on.”
His face falls, his jaw loosening up, and he sits back down on the mat. “I saw you on television. I thought you looked beautiful. But I see you now and realize . . . you’re even prettier in person.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not. Well, maybe I am,” he mutters. “Nothing happened with Hannah, Cam. Nothing will ever, ever happen with her. She legit helped me fasten this thing around my waist because I might’ve cracked a rib tonight. I don’t know. It just hurts.”
“You can’t fight with a cracked rib.”
“I’ve fought with cracked ribs before.”
“If it splits and punctures one of your organs, you could die.”
He almost smiles. “I could. But I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
His arms are draped over his bent legs, his black mesh shorts riding up on his thighs. He looks so long and lean and sweaty and sexy, and I wish I could pretend I didn’t see Hannah touching him. I wish I could erase it from my mind.
“How did the event go?” he asks quietly.
“Fine. Raised a lot of money. Goal achieved.”
“That’s great.”
“Then why don’t I feel better about it?”
“Get up here,” he grins, patting the mat next to him.
A part of me screams to stay the course, be mad, keep the distance, but for my good and his, I need to touch him. To make sure he’s okay.
My heels are off and I’m slipping under the ropes before I can heed the devil on my shoulder’s warning. Sitting next to him, I lay my head on his shoulder. “I’m still very, very angry,” I warn. He pulls me closer and I take a deep breath. “I have something to tell you.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter one way or the other, really, but I’d want you to tell me.”
“Cam . . .”
“Barron Monroe asked me to Paris tonight.”
“Paris as in France?”
“Yes.”
“Some asshole asked you to Paris?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “I’ll kill him.”
Shrugging, I blow out a breath. “You could’ve been there. Bet he wouldn’t have asked me then.”
“I definitely don’t think those are my people. I think they’re the kind of people that get my kind of people sent to prison.”
“Well, I think that about your kind of people.”
“What?”
“I have a thing against trashy gym whores that put their hands on my man, okay?”
“It wasn’t like that, Cam.”
“It was enough like that that I want to break her in half.”
He bursts out laughing, pulling my head into his chest. It’s damp with sweat and probably ruining my make-up, but I don’t care. As a matter of fact, I cuddle as close to him as I can and breathe him in, touching his back lightly until he jumps from pain.
“I’m not kidding,” I say. “I have moves now, remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” he chuckles. “You better work on that before you go throwing punches.”
“I hate her.”
He looks me over. “She’s not bad. She’s just . . . different.”
“She’s a whore.”
“Maybe she is. She’s been fucking Nate off and on, so you could ask him his opinion. I don’t know. You know why? Because I don’t care.” He stands and offers me a hand. When I place one in his, he pulls me to my feet. “The only girl I care about is standing in a beautiful yellow dress right in front of me. And despite the fact that I am semi-annoyed that she can’t listen to save her soul and showed up here at ten at night alone, she’s all that matters to me.”
“Really?” I say, fighting the corners of my lips from tugging up just yet.
“What else would matter?”
“Dom, seriously, she better never touch you again. I mean it. I’ll go crazy. Rich girl crazy. We have tons of avenues of destruction at our hands.”
“Noted.” He bends down and puts his lips on mine. I don’t kiss him back at first, trying to hold out long enough to make my point. Then his tongue licks along my bottom lip and I can’t help but return the gesture. “Now that’s settled—”
“Oh, it’s not settled,” I resist. “I hate her. You have to understand the depths to which I’d like to see her eaten by a host of fire ants.”
His laugh washes over me and makes me smile even though I don’t feel like it. “Fire ants?”
“It’s all I could come up with.”
He moves to the side and winces, almost dropping to his knees in pain. “Fuck.”
“What can I do for you, Dom?” I say, rushing to his side.
Sucking in a breath, he stands back up slowly. “Nothing,” he hisses. “I just have to wait ’til it goes away.”
“You can’t fight like this. You could get seriously injured. This is no joke.”
“I’m fighting. That’s the end of it.”
Taking a deep breath, I try to remember I’m playing the role of supportive girlfriend, not naysaying nag. But when his face pales and he doubles over again, gripping his side, a gleam of sweat dotting his forehead, I can’t help but want to protect him.
“Dom, I’m serious. There’s no reason for you to risk this. You have to think about your health here.”
“I have to think about paying my rent that just went up. I have to think about buying groceries and feeding Ryder until Nate gets himself back together. I have to think about making sure The Gold Room doesn’t go to the tax sale this year and sock a little away to buy a few things for Christmas. This is my way of not having to do it again.
“This money is my rainy day fund, Cam. Without it, I’m more paycheck-to-paycheck than I already am. I’ve counted on this for years now, like a bonus I get every six months or something. Don’t think I don’t know I can’t keep doing it . . .” He looks at the floor, embarrassment written all over his face.