Honey, Banana, and a Very Weird Duo
Cohen
It’s been sixteen hours since I pulled my last brilliant, irreversible dumbass move.
And yet Sloane Heart’s taste is still there.
In my mouth, on my hands, under my damn skin.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her—her parted lips, her breath catching, her warm skin against my tongue.
Christ.
I’m in Dominic’s kitchen, leaning against the counter, holding a banana and staring into nothing.
My duffel bag sits at my feet, ready for departure.
I’m not hungry, but I don’t know what else to do.
Eating seemed… acceptable.
The clock on the wall reads 7:42.
In less than twenty minutes, Coach Heart will show up with Nate and we’ll hit the road.
Dominic moves behind me in complete silence, making his coffee.
The moka pot hisses, the scent filling the room.
I lift the banana to take another bite when his voice slices through the air.
“Try not to be an idiot with Sloane.”
I freeze.
The banana halts midair.
Slowly, I turn toward him.
“Come again?”
Dominic doesn’t even look up.
He pours the coffee into his mug, stirs it even though he doesn’t add sugar.
“Don’t bother making excuses,” he adds calmly. “You know I know everything.”
I stare at him for a second.
How the hell does he always know everything?
“Did you put a tracker on me or what?”
“No need. You’re predictable.”
I let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
I mean—sure, it was obvious the night at The Aureum he’d picked up on something.
But I’d hoped he was too absorbed in his lone-wolf mission to notice.
Of course Dominic is never too absorbed to miss anything.
He has eyes and ears everywhere.
Still, it kind of cracks me up that he’s bringing this up.
He’s not exactly the type to… care about this stuff.
“You care about her that much you’re out here covering her ass? You two friends or something?”
He finally lifts his gaze a fraction.
“I just don’t feel like holding the boxing bag for her again.”
I freeze mid-bite.
I stare at him.
“Hold on. You two box together?”
“Mmh.”
I burst out laughing, nearly choking on the banana.
He doesn’t smile, but one corner of his mouth twitches.
“I’m not kidding, Becker. Don’t hurt her.”
And he says it in that flat, calm tone of his—the one that somehow chills you more than yelling ever could.
No anger. No judgment. Just truth.
I drag a hand down my face, trying not to react.
“It wasn’t… it’s not what you think.”
Dominic rolls his eyes toward the ceiling.
A car horn outside cuts the conversation clean.
That’ll be them.
I sigh, inhale, and head toward the door.
I step outside.
The morning is clear and cold, and the icy air smacks me hard enough to remind me that the real world still exists.