33. Elyse
CHAPTER 33
Elyse
YOU’RE STARING
PRESENT
I t’s been six days. Six long, exhausting days.
After the first night, Dominic worked two straight twelve-hour shifts. For a while, I almost felt normal—just a single patrol car parked out front while I went about my usual business. I barely noticed it.
Dominic did little more than eat and sleep when he wasn’t at work, and I kept myself locked away in the safety of my bedroom, pretending not to notice his presence.
But then came day four.
I came home from work, Ethan following me to make sure I made it safely. I hadn’t been in for more than two seconds when I heard a loud thud in the garage.
Dominic’s patrol SUV was parked out front, so I wasn’t necessarily scared, more curious.
I opened the door to find him shirtless and sweaty. He’d moved over some weights and set up a workout area in my garage .
I’ve seen him shirtless before, but that was back when he was barely more than a boy.
I can confirm he’s not a boy anymore.
He’s a man. A muscled, tattooed, delicious man.
My gaze instantly caught on the trail of hair running down the center of his abdomen, disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. I couldn’t stop staring at the bulge there, my mouth watering at the thought of what I already knew he was packing.
“You good?” Dominic asked, smirking as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with a rag, veins visible along his forearms.
“Huh?” I swallowed. “I heard a noise.”
“Just me.” He winked, knowing full-well what he was doing.
I was barely resisting him in uniform. But nearly naked? That was decidedly harder.
“I’ll be inside in a minute. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I almost didn’t hear him, too distracted by the ripples of muscles running across his stomach, taut and defined, as if they’d been sculpted from stone. There were eight.
Eight.
The man had an eight-pack.
His shoulders were broad, leading down to chiseled biceps that were massive. I’d seen them strain against his shirts, but seeing them bare was something else entirely. I couldn’t help but blatantly ogle him.
He stalked toward me, cocky smile in place, sweat dripping down his body, causinghis olive skin to gleam. The gold chain around his neck was almost my undoing.
As he got closer, I caught a whiff of his scent.
Even his sweat smelled good.
“You’re staring, Ellie girl,” he whispered, his eyes roaming over me .
My cheeks burned. “No,” I lied. My shoulders squared as I tried to look unaffected. “I don’t remember you asking if it was okay if you turned my garage in to a gym.”
He chuckled. “My mistake. I should’ve ran it by you. Is it a problem?”
“No,” I said weakly.
I rarely used my garage for anything more than housing a few totes full of Christmas decorations.
“Good to know.” His smile grew. “You seem distracted.”
Distracted didn’t even scratch the surface. I was ensnared. I was trapped. He was quicksand—and I was sinking.
I only knew one way to fight this losing battle—and that was to walk away.
So I did, without another word.
On the fifth day, he cooked.
I hadn’t realized his schedule was two days on, two days off. But since he’d appointed himself my live-in bodyguard, I found myself spending more time holed up in my bedroom than ever before—leaving for work early, staying late. Part of it was because of Dominic, but mostly it was because work was one of the only places I still felt in control.
Since the incident with my car, nothing else had happened. No more notes, no weird flowers, no photos. Nothing. I was starting to think the whole thing had been blown out of proportion. Maybe it had been the interns, who eventually realized their pranks had gone too far. Or maybe someone else with the same make and model as my car had pissed off the wrong ex. Either way, it was starting to seem like whatever had been happening was over.
When I walked in, my house smelled amazing. It smelled familiar. It smelled like the house Dominic grew up in.
“Hey,” he called out casually. Like this was normal.
“Hi,” I replied.
“Hungry? ”
I would’ve lied, but then my stomach growled loudly, answering for me.
“What did you make?”
“Barbacoa. My dad’s recipe.”
Dominic’s dad was an amazing cook. I couldn’t recall a dish of his that I didn’t absolutely love. I’ve even attempted to replicate some, using the internet as my guide, but I’ve never come close.
I joined Dominic in the kitchen, and lifted the lid off the pressure cooker, inspecting the inside.
He looked nervous. “I cheated and used a pressure cooker, but it should taste similar.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Probably not as good.”
A lump sat heavy in my throat. Food was probably how he felt connected to his dad.
I gave him a soft smile. “I bet it tastes exactly the same.”
He smiled back, like he needed to hear that.
We ate dinner together in the dining room. The conversation was light, surface level, but so easy I almost forgot all the reasons it was a bad idea.
We cleaned up the kitchen together. He tried to shoo me out, but I insisted. Wiping countertops, washing pans, loading the dishwasher—it all felt so normal. It felt couple-y. It felt right.
Later that night, all I could think about was how much I wanted to do it again.
And that was a problem.
So, tonight, I’m redirecting things. I have a plan.
Girls’ night. It also happens to be my birthday, even though I never celebrate it anymore.
All I know, is I need some space from Dominic, and I need some time with my girls. A night where I don’t have to think about some stalker who may or may not exist, or my ex, holed up in my house, or the fact that said ex is getting harder and harder to resist.
I’m dragging Ariana and Layla out to The Jackalope, and Marisa is joining us.
I need this. Desperately. Some time to breathe—to feel normal again.
There’s only one small obstacle.
I have to convince Dominic to let me go without locking me in here, or worse, tagging along.
I find him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter drinking an energy drink. His head is tipped back, working down a swallow. His dark eyes stare at me as I approach, immediately narrowing in that way that makes my skin tingle when he notices my outfit.
“What?” I cross my arms, my defenses rising.
“Is that my birthday present?” he asks, eyes giving me a heated once over. “Because if it is, I approve.”
His burning gaze roams over me again. It lingers on my exposed legs before slowly dragging up to the deep V of my dress. I’m not wearing a bra, not as if there’s much to look at in that department anyway, but it still sends my stomach into a dive.
“No,” I scoff. “It’s girls’ night. I’m going out with Marisa and my sisters. And you can’t come.”
He straightens, all six-foot-two of him radiating disapproval. “Not happening.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You’re not going out.”
“Yes, I am.” My voice hardens. “Last I checked, I’m a grown ass woman who can do whatever the hell she wants, and the last person I’m going to let tell me what to do is you.”
“Are you suffering from amnesia? Did you forget someone has been stalking you and vandalized your car?” His voice is infuriatingly calm. “I’m trying to keep you safe. ”
I scoff. “Safe from what? It’s been a week. Nothing’s happened. Whoever it was is likely gone. I refuse to put my life on hold just because you’re paranoid.”
A muscle in his jaw tics and I can tell it’s taking everything in him to not boil over. “A week of silence doesn’t mean shit. I’m not being paranoid. I’m taking it seriously, which is what you should be doing instead of putting yourself at risk. It’s foolish behavior.”
Foolish .
“If you weren’t so quick to jump to conclusions and treat me like an idiot, you’d know that my brothers are coming. I’m not so reckless, I’d actually go out with all the shit’s that’s happened without some sense of safety.”
He rubs the back of his neck, a hint of guilt sweeping across his features. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—fuck—I’m sorry.”
Well, shit, now I feel guilty.
“I’m sorry for snapping,” I admit.
“It’s okay,” he breathes. “You can go. I won’t try to stop you.”
My brows lift. For some reason, I thought he’d go as far as handcuffing me to the radiator to stop me from going. Or maybe handcuffing me somewhere else…
My eyes squeeze shut as I shove the intrusive thought away—before I end up liking the idea a little too much.
“But I’m coming with you,” he adds.
The Jackalope is loud and crowded. I thought it would be exactly what I need, but I can’t seem to let loose .
Three drinks in and I don’t feel drunk at all. I don’t even feel tipsy.
Layla is beside me, throwing back a shot. Meanwhile,Ariana’s still nursing the same drink she ordered an hour ago. Knowing her, she’ll slip out the second she thinks no one will notice.And Marisa has been eye-fucking my brother since we got here. At this point, I’d rather they both leave to prevent me from having to witness it.
Speaking of leaving, there’s one man who definitely should…
Dominic is parked at the guys’ table near the corner, sandwiched between Ethan and Gavin, with Cole Benton across from him. His arms are crossed and his gaze is zeroed in on me, making it incredibly difficult to actually relax. He hasn’t moved or sipped on anything more than water since we got here. I get that he’s trying to protect me, but I’m in a bar, surrounded by people I know. Nothing is going to happen here.
Ignoring him—or at least trying to—I down the rest of my cocktail, hoping it finally does the trick. It’s been so long since I’ve gone out, I’m not going to let Dominic ruin it.
“Another round?” Layla asks, waggling her eyebrows.
“You read my mind. But make it something stronger. I need something strong enough to make me forget my problems.”
Marisa gives me a side-eye that’s equal parts amused and concerned. “You mean the guy who can’t take his eyes off you, or…you know, the other thing?”
“Both. And I want to dance!” I declare, tossing my hair over my shoulder.
Ariana lets out a groan. “And that’s my sign it’s time to leave.”
I give her a good-natured eye roll, not surprised at all, and slide off my stool, smoothing down the short hem of my dress. The black fabric clings to my minuscule curves in a way that makes me feel like I actually have some.
Ariana gives me a hug and whispers “happy birthday” in my ear before handing me her drink and leaving. I finish the remainder of her lukewarm lemon drop in one gulp. My face pinches as the sour burn works its way down my throat.
Layla returns, and hands me a shot. We clink our glasses to cheers, tossing them both back at the same time.
It’s cheap tequila, but I feel it almost instantly. Exactly what I needed to tip me over the edge. I’ve been chasing that sweet-spot kind of drunk—where my thoughts go fuzzy and my limbs feel light.
The bass thumps through the floor as we make our way onto the dance floor, weaving between sweaty bodies. The moment we find a spot, I start moving to the beat, letting the music take over.
I grab on to Layla to steady myself while she does the same. Together, we dance, holding on to each other to keep from stumbling.
I don’t have to look to know Dominic’s watching.
Even though he hasn’t taken his eyes off me all night, this is the first time since we arrived that maybe I actually want him to watch me.
When I wear something sexy, it’s for me—because I want to feel good in my own skin. When I dance, it’s not to get anyone’s attention. It’s because I’m caught up in the moment, because it makes me feel alive.
But with Dominic’s gaze locked on me, I know the truth. Tonight, my choices aren’t just for me.
I’m not just dancing for me anymore. I’m dancing for him . And I didn’t wear this dress just to feel good. I wore it because I wanted him to see me in it.
I want his attention. Even when I tell myself I don’t .
So when I glance over my shoulder and find his dark eyes on me, I give him a little smirk and keep dancing.
I know this dress is driving him wild and the devil on my shoulder is loving every second of it.
The music shifts to a sultry beat, and I let my hips sway a little slower, a little more deliberate.
A guy I don’t recognize slides in behind Layla at the same moment a pair of male hands settle on my hips and begin to move with me. I’m normally not one for dancing with random men, but decide to just go with it. I just know Dominic’s going to lose his shit.
The Jackalope doesn’t get many tourists so there’s a high likelihood I know the person dancing behind me.
Layla sinks back into her guy, and starts grinding her ass.He responds by pulling her tighter, lowering his head to the curve of her neck, and sucking on her skin.
Okay, then.
My guy’s a bit more of a gentleman—or at least he’s trying to be. His hands rest lightly on my waist, giving me space, so I keep moving my hips, keeping just enough distance between us.
Suddenly his mouth is near my ear, breathing heavily. “God, I missed you.”
I freeze.
His voice is familiar.
Alarm bells flash in my head.
Immediately, I pull away, turning to face him.
The moment I realize who was behind me—who I let touch me, my stomach rolls.
It’s Stuart.
“What the hell!” I snap loud enough to turn a few heads.
His lips curl into an off-putting smile as his eyes scanme in a way that makes me feel naked. “You look even better than I remember. ”
I shuffle back, bumping into a solid chest.
“Back the fuck off.”
The voice comes from behind me.
Dominic.
He steps around me in one swift, protective motion, placing himself directly between Stuart and me. His shoulders are squared, fists clenched, biceps bulging and for the first time tonight, there’s nothing restrained about him.
Stuart lifts his hands in mock innocence. “Hey, man. I was just dancing. No need to get all?—”
Dominic grabs him by the collar before he can finish his sentence.
“Touch her again, and I’ll break the hand that does it. I’ll break every fucking bone.”
“Jesus, relax,” Stuart says with a laugh that’s anything but amused. “She was dancing with me. Maybe you should take it up with her. She wanted it.”
I open my mouth to shut that shit down, but Dominic’s already moving.
He shoves Stuart hard, enough to send him stumbling into the sticky wood-paneled wall. Marisa rushes up to us as Layla clings to my arm. Chaos breaks out all around—people shouting, phones going up, the music skipping. My brothers have Stuart pinned to the wall, and based on the look on his face, they’re not holding him back gently.
Dominic’s already on his phone before I’ve had amoment to wrap my head around what the hell just happened.
“This is Deputy Alvarez, Charlie-Four-Eight. I’ve got a trespasser in violation of a no-contact directive. Requesting immediate pickup.”
“What?” I choke out. “That’s not—there’s no?—”
Dominic doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t even blink.
He knows there’s no official order. He’s lying through his teeth.
But he doesn’t care.
Stuart’s wide-eyed now. “You’re full of shit, man. There’s no restraining order.”
Dominic’s voice drops so low, I hardly recognize it. “There will be.”
By the time RMPD shows up—faster than I expect—Stuart’s near tears. Maybe it’s because he’s terrified of being arrested or it’s because Gavin’s massive hand has likely dislocated his shoulder.
Dominic stays by my side the whole time, acting as a barrier between me and Stuart.
The cops don’t question him. They take one look at Dominic, take one look at me, and slap the cuffs on Stuart.
As they haul him out, Stuart shoots me one last look.It’s pleading and apologetic, making me question what’s real and what I’ve built up in my head.
Dominic already told me he was ruled out as a suspect for vandalizing my car, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s innocent of the other incidents.
I should feel relief. Maybe I do. But mostly, I feel my pulse pounding and my legs unsteady.
When Dominic finally turns to me, the hard edges of tension in his expression have softened.
“You okay?”
I nod slowly, unable to look away from him.
“Good,” he says. “Because I’m not.Time to wrap it up. We’re leaving.”
I cross my arms, hating the control he’s trying to place over me, even if it’s justified.
“What if I don’t want to leave?”
His eyes skate down me briefly—so brief I almost miss it—and when they come back up, they’re darker, more intense.
He steps closer, invading my space. “Was that nightmare not enough of a reason to leave? I just had to watch some piece of shit put his hands on you. I had him arrested for touching you. Don’t make me break every law because I can’t keep my jealousy under control. When it comes to you, I’m fucking weak. Cut me some slack. Please, querida mía.”
All the fire drains from my body, leaving me a useless puddle on the floor.
He steps in close. “Go wait by the bar with the others. Don’t go anywhere alone, okay? I’m going to check in with RMPD, make sure he actually gets booked.”
I can’t find words—just a tiny nod that barely feels like enough—and turn toward the bar, legs moving on autopilot.
Rhonda sees me coming and doesn’t say a word. She just slides two double shots across the counter.
“On the house, princess. The good stuff—99-proof. What a fucking night.”
I knock them back without a second thought.