Chapter Seven
Dominic
I don’t know who is having a party in the apartment building, but they must be destroying their eardrums.
But I can be tolerant. Some people blow off steam by blaring music.
I hum along to the songs I recognize as I stare down at the plays from Coach Ellis, trying to commit it to memory. He’s been brutal the last few days, and my sore calves are the evidence of it.
Well, and this playbook.
I scan it again, as if repetition will unlock something I’ve missed. Coach Ellis’s sets are all about misdirection. He wants the guards darting, the wings popping out, the bigs setting screens and holding their ground.
It honestly looks simple on paper, but I’ve never met a lineup that made it look less easy. We’re not enmeshed the way we should be…
Or maybe it’s just me.
Plucking my pen up from beside me, I start to diagram one of the plays myself to get a better mental image. The partier’s bass drops hard, rattling the glass in my living room and startling me enough that I make a dark line through my work.
“Come on,” I grumble, shaking my head. I glance at the clock. It’s a little past ten, which isn’t that late, but still…
Isn’t an hour of loud music enough? Or is someone really having a party? Can you even have those here?
Pursing my lips, I try to rack my brain about the policies I had to sign for the apartment complex. I know there’s a strict rule about quiet hours, because there are signs everywhere reminding us.
I try to focus a little longer, watching the clock as twenty more minutes rolls by. However, I can’t focus with the tunes assaulting my ears. Giving up, I close the playbook and pace the length of my living room a few times.
If this keeps up, I won’t sleep, which means I’ll drag tomorrow, which means I’ll get a lecture from Coach and be heckled by the guys, and then probably get dunked on by the rookie point guard.
Ugh.
I stop at the window, arms crossed, watching the pool deck below for signs of a rave, but the only movement is the blue glow of string lights and the motionless shape of a sleeping inflatable flamingo.
My eyes narrow as I spin around. I lean into the noise’s origin, trying to discern where it might be coming from.
And it takes me about eight seconds to realize who’s disturbing the peace.
Nicole.
“Because why wouldn’t it be her?” I say with a heavy sigh. I don’t want more drama with my neighbor, but as much as I want to pretend the music isn’t bothering me, it is.
Also, if I politely tell Nicole to turn it down, it might even benefit her, too. Because if it bothers someone else on our floor, they’ll probably file a noise complaint. So basically, by me telling her to turn it down, it’s a win-win for both of us…
And totally not an excuse to walk across the hallway and see her.
I grab my Comets hoodie and slip it over my head, rolling my shoulders and smoothing out my hair for good measure. I slip out of my apartment and into the hallway, confirming with the way her door is rattling that she’s the culprit.
Just knock and be nice. Not that hard, Dom.
I don’t know why it takes a pep talk for me to speak with my neighbor. But it helps.
Sort of.
When I make it to her door, I knock twice.
Nothing.
So, I knock again, a little louder this time.
Nothing.
“Come on, Nicole,” I grunt, eyeing another one of our neighbors stepping out of their apartment. I don’t know the guy in any capacity, but I do recognize the frustration on his face. He looks like the stereotype of a surfer, though he’s in a suit at ten o’clock.
But whatever. I don’t ask questions.
“Being a trust fund baby is seriously a problem,” he says to me, shaking his head as he heads in my direction. “She really needs a hard reality check. But … I think the world’s already giving her that.” He laughs.
And I kind of want to punch him in the face.
I let him pass by unharmed, though. I don’t need any more trouble. Just sleep. I need sleep.
So, I knock once more, a little more obnoxiously than before. Finally, the door lever jiggles…
But nothing else happens, other than a few strange clicking noises.
“Come on, Nicole,” I groan, running a hand down my face. “Don’t play games with me. This is getting weird.”
I hear a high-pitched whine, followed by a snuffling snort that is all too familiar.
Cocoa.
I stand in a fit of awe as the apartment door opens and the little terrier who temporarily ruined my shoes peers out at me. His little eyes bug out with focus. He’s on his hind legs, clawing at the shiny lever handle.
“Your mom should make sure that thing gets locked.” I can’t help but chuckle. It quickly fades as a new song starts, though.
Yeah, this needs to stop.
“Nicole?” I call out, crossing my head over the threshold. “Nicole!”
No answer. But Cocoa seems excited, grabbing the bottom of my sweatpants with his teeth.
“Hey,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Don’t do that.
” I do my best to pry him off, but he keeps tugging me deeper into her space.
And as much as I should probably work a little harder to get him off me, I’m suddenly recalling all the stories I’ve heard of dogs going to get help when their owners are in peril.
And I don’t want to be the reason Nicole doesn’t get help.
So, I step into her entryway. And now, for the first time ever, Nicole’s apartment is visible to me in all its glory.
There’s really nothing all that special about it. For someone with a rich dad, I guess I expected everything to be designer or something. Instead, it just looks like a normal person’s apartment.
But as I step into the living room, my hands now covering my ears, I realize this apartment is anything but normal.
Nicole stands in the middle of a patchwork rug, her light blonde hair falling wildly from her ponytail, cheeks flushed, both arms wrapped around a yellow Swiffer like it’s a guitar. She’s absolutely lost in the moment.
She’s not just singing along. She’s performing.
I freeze, teetering between the bamboo flooring and carpet. My brain short-circuits, unable to look away. She’s … not bad.
In fact, she’s actually killing it, hitting every word, belting the high notes like she’s auditioning for American Idol. Her eyes are closed, her face scrunched with effort, her entire body moving with the reckless abandon of someone who thinks no one is watching.
Which, until about three seconds ago, was most likely the case.
Cocoa, not content to be a spectator, launches himself onto the rug, skidding between Nicole’s legs and joining the performance with a series of excited spins. He barks sort of in time with the chorus, tail wagging so fast it’s a blur.
The sheer commitment is kind of mesmerizing.
Nicole transitions into a dramatic dip, one hand flung above her head, the other still clutching the Swiffer. The song reaches its climax. She nails it.
Then, in the split second of silence that follows, she opens her eyes…
And sees me.
Nicole’s mouth drops open, her eyes wide and bright, the Swiffer drops to the floor, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she is absolutely speechless.
It’s hard to say who’s more surprised.
Um…
I try to think of something to say, but all I can do is stare at her, my mind desperately cycling through every possible reaction.
Cocoa jumps on the couch, overturning a stack of throw pillows and sending them to the floor.
Nicole blinks, something finally coming from her mouth. “What are you… How did you? My apartment?” She gestures at the door, then at me, then at herself, still tangled up with the Swiffer.
“Uh. Your dog.” My hoarse voice sounds ridiculous. “He … unlocked the door?”
Nicole turns, glares at Cocoa, and then back at me as she stops the music. “That’s not… He doesn’t even have thumbs… He couldn’t…”
“To be honest, he’s a genius,” I say, glancing over to him, and then frowning as I realize he’s now chewing on the fringe of her throw pillows. Kind of a genius, anyway.
Nicole brushes her hair behind one ear and squares up, her face red and her arms folded across her chest. “So, I assume you were at least knocking before Cocoa opened the door, right?”
“I was,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant and not at all like someone who just witnessed his neighbor’s one-woman Broadway debut. “Were you, um… Were you practicing for American Idol or something?”
She looks away for a second, but then back at me. “I’m … definitely not.”
“It’s fine—whatever you were doing,” I say quickly, waving a hand and then using it to rub the back of my neck. “It’s really fine. I just … um, needed to talk to you about something. About the music.”
Nicole’s cheeks go from red to scarlet. “Oh my gosh … I bet you want me to turn it down.” She looks mortified. “I had no idea it was so loud.”
“Yeah.” I frown. “Probably a good indication was the walls shaking.”
She cringes and then lets out a sigh. “I hope I don’t get a noise complaint. I totally got lost in it, and I think I kept turning it up, because, you know, it’s just so easy to blow off steam that way.”
I fight the urge to smile as she rambles. “It’s really not a big deal. I mean, it’s just kind of late, and I don’t want someone to turn you in.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows pinch. “That’s… That’s really thoughtful of you. I didn’t think you’d do that.”
“I’m not a total jerk,” I huff, my shoulders slumping.
“Just when a dog pees on your shoes.” Nicole laughs, her tone a little nervous as she carefully leans the Swiffer back in its place and closes the front door. She looks back at me, meeting my gaze in a way that causes my heart to thump awkwardly. “I’m still really sorry about that, by the way.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug. “The cookies made up for it, even if they made me pre-diabetic afterward.”
Her eyes widen. “I seriously barely put any sugar in them. I’m so sorry.”
I burst into laughter. “It was just a joke, Nicole. They were amazing, and I don’t hold Cocoa’s mishap against you. Anymore, anyway.”
She flashes me a smile as she takes the throw pillow from Cocoa, putting it back in its place. “Good, that’s a relief. It’s nice to know someone outside of my family doesn’t think I’m the worst.”
I furrow my brow, having no clue what she’s talking about. The moment of silence seems to carry weight, too, as she looks away, petting Cocoa for a few beats.
I clear my throat, wiping my clammy palms on my sweatpants. “If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure no one in Los Angeles knows I exist at all.”
Her eyes jump back to me, a hint of a smile on her face. “Yeah, well, I know you exist.”
I give her a grin. “And that’s a pretty big deal, if you ask me.”