Chapter 16 #2
Needing to shake off the feeling, I stand up and join Alex and Mira dancing to the end credits. When Spencer comes walking out of his room, everyone yells, “Spandex!” and takes one last shot of tequila.
I plop back down on the couch. Huh, I think, looking over at Spencer. I wonder if I could pull off spandex?
“Do you think I could pull off spandex?” I ask no one.
“I think your ass would look like perfection in spandex.” A voice says into my ear, and I shiver… Dom.
I turn, swallowing thickly.
“What are you doing here?” I ask even though my insides are having a rave.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“But that’s never bothered you before.”
A synchronized, scandalized “Ooooooh” rises from the oversized armchair. Spencer, Mira, and Alex treat us like live theater, knees tucked, eyes big, and in need of popcorn, I can only imagine. Absolutely no shame.
Dom doesn’t look at them. He’s angled toward me, blocking out half the room. “I’ve always cared about you making it home safely… even if it’s only twenty feet away.”
I tip my head. “So you came to escort me across the deck? How very knightly of you. Should I fetch my surcoat? Maybe my medieval spandex?”
Mira cough-laughs into her sleeve. Alex whispers, “Please fetch the spandex,” like a prayer.
Dom’s mouth barely moves. “The spandex is… a conversation for another time.”
I feel my face heat, which is unfair because tequila is supposed to protect me from embarrassment. “You don’t get to just show up and have opinions about my hypothetical pants.”
“I do when your hypothetical pants are a public hazard.”
“Hazard?” I lean back, spreading my knees in a challenge I pretend is comfortable. “To whom?”
His gaze flicks down, quick and traitorous, before he pins it on my eyes again. “Traffic.”
“Ooooooh,” the chorus repeats.
Spencer props his chin on his fist. “Dom, scale of one to Olympic floor routine, how would you rate Beck’s potential in spandex?”
Dom doesn’t blink. “I’m not sharing my number.”
“Private number,” I murmur. “Rude.”
“Shoes,” he says quietly.
“What about them?”
“Oh my God,” Alex whispers. “They flirt like enemies to lovers.”
Dom lowers his voice. “Put them on.”
I flounce into the couch corner. “What if I say no?”
He breathes in slowly. “Then I’ll sit here until you’re ready to go.”
“Sit where?” I ask, like I don’t care.
He drags a finger along the back of the couch instead of answering.
Spencer fans himself with a throw pillow. “What is this, HBO After Dark?”
I reach for my phone on the coffee table and miss it by an inch. Dom catches it and holds it just out of reach. I could grab, but that would put my palm on his wrist, and that would scramble my brain more than it already is at the moment.
With my arm partly outstretched, he slips the phone into my palm, his fingers ghosting my pulse point.
“Fuck, they’re sexy,” Mira stage-whispers.
Dom’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as he reaches for my other hand and pulls me up off the couch. And I go willingly. “Did you bring a jacket?”
The room goes quiet, and the silence is deafening. I nod once.
Finn must hand Dom my jacket because it appears out of nowhere as he holds it up, and I slide my arms through the cold leather material.
The chill of the night air hits my face, causing me to blink against a gust of wind. It takes the fog that took up residence in my brain with it.
I walk the ten steps to my door, reaching to turn the doorknob, but Dom beats me to it.
He places his hand on my lower back, guiding me in.
The fog threatens to reappear, and I struggle to hold it together.
He slips off my jacket and places it on the hook by the door, and I kick out of my shoes.
The clank of his keys hitting the bowl fills the space.
He takes my hand. It’s such a simple move, but it causes big reactions in my chest, and neither one of us talks as we maneuver through the house.
Two bodies moving in a silent rhythm. He leads me, stopping in front of the bathroom and nodding his head toward the door.
This is where I would normally give a smart-ass comment, but I don’t.
I simply go in, take a much-needed piss, and brush my teeth.
By the time I come out, Dom is handing me a couple of pills and a glass of water.
“For your head.”
I take the meds and set the glass on my nightstand.
“Dom?” I ask, turning and slowly walking toward him.
“Mm?”
“If I wore spandex,” I say, watching him watching me. “Hypothetically, in a controlled environment where traffic was not at risk, would you help me out of it?”
His jaw tightens. “Yes.”
“How fast?”
He unbuttons my jeans. “As slowly as you’ll let me.”
Holy fuck!
Heat punches low in my belly, then settles into something steadier when he doesn’t rush. He just stands close enough that I have to tip my chin up to see him. His knuckles brush my stomach as he nudges the zipper down, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say embarrassingly easily.
He eases the denim down, careful not to let the metal catch skin. When I step out, he puts a hand on my hip, an anchor more than a hold. He doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t look down either, which somehow undoes me more than if he had.
“Shirt,” he says softly.
I peel it off. He folds it, because of course he does, and sets it on the dresser like it deserves dignity.
“Bed,” he murmurs.
He holds open the covers for me, and I slide in against the cool sheet.
Dom walks to the other side of the bed. He toes off his boots, shrugs out of his jacket, jeans, and shirt before dropping his watch on the nightstand with a click that sounds like the end of a good day.
Dom crawls in and I roll into him, head under his chin, thigh hooked over his. His hand finds my ribs and settles there, the weight perfect, like a paperweight on the layers of my self-doubt.
“Hey,” I breathe into his chest.
“Hey,” he returns, his voice lower with the closeness. His thumb strokes one careful arc along my side, then stops like he’s setting a metronome. The rhythm evens out my pulse.
“Say the number,” I mumble.
He stills, but it feels like a smile. “Ten.”
“Obviously. But I respect your need to say it out loud,” I say lightly, patting his chest.
He huffs a laugh into my hair. “You’re buzzed.”
My jaw cracks with a yawn. “You’re comfy.”
The longer we lie here, the more the leftover tequila buzz drains away, replaced with the heavy weight of exhaustion.
He presses his mouth, just once, to the shell of my ear. “Sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” I say, but another yawn gives away the lie. My words slur with sleep. “Dom?”
“Mm.”
“If I did wear the spandex,” I whisper, the half-asleep courage making me reckless. “I’d only wear it for you.”
His chest rises against my cheek. “Good,” he says, so soft I feel it more than hear it.
He reaches past me, clicking off the bedside lamp. Then his arms slide back around me. My breathing finds his and follows.
His heartbeat pulls me further in, and I fall under its spell.