Chapter 31 Dominic
Dominic
The past forty-eight hours have been long as fuck.
After realizing Shane was right about my involvement with Hannah, I knew I had two options—end things with her or take myself off the case.
It wasn’t a difficult decision, but talking to Captain Leonard about it was the opposite of easy.
He was pissed at me, that much was evident by the prominent vein pulsating on his forehead this morning, but he handled it a hell of a lot better than I thought he would.
It’s not necessarily illegal for a detective to get involved with an informant on his case, but it’s not at all ethical.
It blurs the lines and causes the kind of complications that could quite literally get someone killed.
And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the reason Shane or Hannah or anyone else I care about gets hurt.
The captain gave me a long-ass lecture about how I fucked up, and even made me get a psych eval from Dr. Henley, the psychologist who works closely with MNPD. But other than some paperwork and hours of scolding and discussion, I got the equivalent of a slap on the wrist.
I felt like a prick for keeping Hannah in the dark, but I had to do shit the right way.
I had to make sure we were no longer crossing the professional line.
I hate that I’m going to be mostly out of the loop as the team works to track down the CMA killer, but Shane has promised to keep me updated as much as he can.
All I can do from here is trust his word and finally let myself really explore this thing with Hannah.
And starting right now, I’m the lucky bastard who gets to take this beautiful woman out on a date.
I help her into the passenger seat of my Range Rover and round the hood to hop into the driver’s side, the whole time grinning like an idiot.
But the sight of her—stunning, nervous, fiddling with the hem of her top—makes my chest tighten.
She’s trying to keep her cool, but her fidgeting gives her away.
I start the engine, but before I pull out of her driveway, I turn to face her.
She sits comfortably in the passenger seat in a pair of black jeans that perfectly hug her thighs and ass, and a sheer black top that reveals a black bra beneath it.
Her pretty feet are in heels, and her long brown hair hangs down around her shoulders.
If she’s wearing makeup, I can’t even tell. But that’s the thing about Hannah May—she’s always gorgeous, always so fucking beautiful it hurts, no matter what she’s wearing.
“Don’t tell me this date is happening in my driveway,” she teases. Her voice is light, but her hands are still fidgeting.
“No, Hannah.” I grin. “But you’ll have to excuse me for being a little distracted by how beautiful you look tonight.”
She rolls her eyes, my line so cheesy it probably tastes like Parmesan, but the sweetest hint of pink blushes her cheeks.
“What?” I question, acting clueless. “A man is supposed to compliment his pretty lady when he’s taking her out.”
“His lady?” she questions back, and I just waggle my brows.
“I’m manifesting, baby.”
She giggles at that, but it’s still a little shy, a little hesitant, and I reach out to gently take her hand into mine.
“I’m not lying, though, Hannah,” I say, my voice serious in the exact way it should be to convey my truth. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she answers, her cheeks flushing deeper as she clears her throat.
“Hey,” I murmur, squeezing her hand. “There’s no need to be nervous with me, okay?”
She glances at me, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “But aren’t all first dates a little nerve-racking?”
“Hannah, you don’t have to hold back or feel nervous with me. I’d say we’ve been through more than enough together.” I wink. “Or do I need to remind you of some of the CMA calls we’ve sat through?”
“Oh Lordy.” She snorts, her lips twitching at the corners. “Yeah. Don’t do that.”
“But maybe I should . . .” I tease, grinning. “I mean, the toenail guy? Or the one who wanted you to pretend to be an alien queen?”
Her laugh bounces around in the car, bright and genuine, and my chest feels like it’s soaring. There she is. My Hannah. Relaxed. Comfortable. Herself.
“Okay, okay,” she relents, shaking her head. “How about we leave the alien dude in the past, please. Pretty sure I just got over my nightmares.”
“Fine.” I lean in a little closer, grinning. “But I’m serious, Hannah. Whatever you’re thinking or feeling, I want to know. No filters.”
“Okay,” she says, her cheeks still pink but her eyes holding a playful spark.
“Now that we got that settled”—I squeeze her hand gently—“is there anything you want to tell me? About how I look tonight, perhaps?”
She narrows her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “What do you want me to say, Dom?”
“I don’t know. Something about how ruggedly handsome I am. Or maybe how sexy my cowboy hat will look on me when I put it on. You know, just some adjectives.”
“Adjectives?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “You know, handsome, sexy, take-your-breath-away good-looking, masculine, rugged, stunning, alluring . . . just something simple like that.”
“Something simple like that?” She cackles, but then she schools her face into neutrality. “Dominic, you look . . . nice tonight.”
“Nice?” I furrow my brow. “Nice?”
“Yeah, nice.” She nods, her mouth kicking up into a playful smile.
“I’m really digging the whole jeans and white T-shirt thing you’ve got going on.
It’s all very nice.” Her tone is 100 percent teasing, and it sends a thrill through me.
Seeing her like this—comfortable enough to joke back—feels like a victory.
I eye her knowingly, and a giggle escapes her lips.
She also removes her hand from mine to slap me playfully on the arm. “Dom, you and I both know that you know you look good. Really good. So good, in fact, if I recall, I requested your presence in my bed the other night.” Her cheeks flush pink again, but her eyes never leave mine.
“Okay,” I acquiesce. “You do bring up a valid point. I guess I’ll let the ‘nice’ thing slide.”
“Good plan.”
“Now, it’s time to discuss the details of our date.” I reach out to squeeze her thigh. “You have two options to choose from.”
She quirks a brow, but I keep going.
“Option A is a romantic evening at a fancy restaurant, where I will wine and dine you with a six-course meal.”
“And option B?”
“Wings, beer, and bull riding.”
She grins. “I’ll take option B.”
“You want beer and bull riding in a bar instead of wine and romance?”
“Uh-huh.” She nods. “I need to see if the rugged, masculine, alluring man taking me out can last eight seconds on a bull.”
“Oh, hell yeah.” I reach behind us to grab my well-worn cowboy hat from the back seat, sliding it over my head. “Game on, baby.”
Instantly, she bursts into laughter. “Looks like you came prepared.”
“Hannah, I’m always prepared.” I wink at her and put the engine in drive. “But more importantly, I’m always up for a challenge.”
The sound of her laughter fills the car again, and as I drive toward our destination, I can’t help but think this might just be the best night of my life.