Chapter Eight
Nicole
“I’m definitely not a big deal … or if I am, it’s probably not in a good way.” I laugh, wishing my cheeks would stop flaming. I brush the strands of hair from my face, happy that I can’t see myself right now.
I know I look like a mess.
Dom teeters back to his heels, his eyes suddenly everywhere but on me. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ah.” I laugh dryly. “So you do live under a rock, then.” I’m pretty sure he might be trying to spare my feelings.
Dom shrugs. “I prefer it that way.”
I blink a few times and then shake my head. “Anyway, can I make you a coffee or something? I mean, since you’re here, I got this new espresso machine…” I give him the most pitiful smile, and I don’t know why I’m so desperate for him to stay.
It’s obviously not because he’s crazy hot or smirking at me in a way that makes my stomach knot up.
Nope, that’s not at all why.
“Um, you know…” Dom’s voice trails off. “I actually don’t drink coffee this late. It’ll keep me up all night, and I have an early practice tomorrow.”
“Oh.” My voice drops, but I keep the smile plastered on my face to hide my disappointment. “That’s totally fine.” I wave him off. “I don’t know what I was even thinking to offer—”
“I’ll take a water, though,” he cuts me off, his expression softening.
“Done!” I jump on the word in a way that makes me inwardly cringe. “Do you want still or sparkling?”
Dom stares at me for a hot minute. “Uh … still?”
“You got it! Take a seat.” I gesture to the couch. “Put your feet up. Oh, and don’t be mad at me if you get dog hair on your pants. Cocoa isn’t supposed to shed, but he totally does.”
Dom’s dark eyes flicker with amusement as he plops down on the couch. “Gotcha.”
I leave him in the living room and bolt for the kitchen, mentally rehearsing how not to spill anything, trip, or reference the weird half-flirting that keeps happening. I mean, it is flirting … right?
I grab a glass from the cabinet, double-checking to make sure that there’s not any dust on it. I don’t want to give Dominic Neelson the ick after already warning him about dog hair problems.
Carefully, I fill the glass from the filtered pitcher and add three ice cubes. Is that enough ice? Should I add more? My hands hover over the ice tray. Ugh. Why am I overthinking a glass of water?
I shake it off. It literally doesn’t matter. It’s just water. I’ve totally got this.
I step back into the sitting room, water in hand, and my eyes slip to him and Cocoa. Dom points a finger, and Cocoa instantly obeys, sitting at his feet. “Well, you made that look easy. Cocoa usually only ever listens to food or threats.”
Dom shrugs, but there’s a flash of pride as he ruffles Cocoa’s fur. “He’s smart. Just in desperate need of boundaries.”
“Says the guy who just walked into my apartment unannounced,” I blurt out.
He glances up at me, and I catch a crooked smile there, like he’s not used to smiling but suddenly can’t stop himself. “I guess now we’re even.”
My cheeks are on fire again. “Ha, yeah, I guess we are.”
I set the glass of water on the coffee table, then immediately pick it up again and hand it to Dominic directly, because I’m totally a better host than that.
“Thank you…” He gives me a funny look as he takes the glass.
“So, you’re good with dogs?” I sound like I don’t know how to speak, but at this point, I don’t even care anymore. I plop down into the armchair adjacent to him.
“I think I spent more time with dogs than I did people growing up,” Dom says as he scratches behind Cocoa’s ear. “I’m not exactly the best with the human species.”
“Well, I’d say that’s something we both have in common.” I let out a sigh, sinking further into my seat. “Plus, everyone in LA is too busy broadcasting themselves to notice anyone else.”
“Right? I’ve never felt more … invisible.”
I nod. “When I moved here, I felt the exact same way. It’s part of the reason why I adopted Cocoa. Well, that, and I saw his face on the Fur-Ever Homes Facebook page and couldn’t resist bringing him home with me.”
“And now you have a built-in dance partner.” He meets my gaze, and I’m certain my cheeks are still bright red. “You know, you could easily be the next Taylor Swiffer.”
We sit in silence for a second and then both burst into laughter. It might be the lamest joke I’ve ever heard, but it feels like it’s exactly what I need right now—even more so than the jam session itself.
As our laughter fades, it leaves this … thing, this awkward and surprisingly pleasant moment, hanging between us. I study him as his eyes drop away, the way he takes a careful sip of water, and the way Cocoa seems blissfully content at his feet.
Seeing Dom like this makes him appear almost irresistible. I don’t know how the ladies aren’t going crazy over him.
Wait… They probably are.
I swallow the thought and decide to press further since he appears to be in a good mood. “Okay, so where did you learn the dog whisperer stuff?” I ask. “Did you intern at a wolf sanctuary as a child?”
He chuckles, swirling the glass in his hand. “Unfortunately, no wolf sanctuaries were involved. They were farm dogs.”
“In Alabama?”
“Texas, actually. I got drafted in Alabama, but I grew up in Texas.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Yeah, so my granddad had a bunch of farm dogs. Border collies, mostly. He’d rescue anything that remotely resembled one, and I’d help train them.
Then my parents fostered a bunch of rescue dogs growing up, too.
” He shrugs one massive shoulder. “Animals are easy. They don’t pretend to be something they’re not.
” His eyes flick up, meet mine, and then skitter away.
“I’m pretty sure there are a lot of people in Los Angeles pretending to be something they’re not.” I let out a blast of air. “But I think at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to find our place in the world.”
His gaze hangs on mine. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” He downs the rest of the glass and then sets it on the coffee table. “Well, thanks for the water.” He stands to his feet. “And for turning down the music.”
“Of course,” I say, jumping up. “You have that early practice.”
He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, I do. I really need to get some sleep.”
I follow him to the door, Cocoa hot on my heels. “Is, um, is all that going well for you? The Comets?”
“It’s … going.” Dom’s lips flatline, pressing together. “I’m sure it’ll get better, though.”
“Yeah, for sure,” I reassure him, struck for a moment by his golden irises and the scent of his cologne. “But at least you have clean shoes now?”
“Goodnight, Nicole.” He chuckles, shaking his head and stepping out into the hallway.
“Night,” I say, but he’s already disappeared across the hallway. I close the door behind him and then take in my apartment, my eyes going straight for the mop leaning against the corner wall.
I seriously am so embarrassing.
It’s a miracle Dom even stayed for a glass of water. I pull my phone from my pocket and take a look at the missed notifications, one being from my sister.
Nora: I’m up late making cupcakes for Nellie’s soccer team. Are you awake? Please, please, PLEASE bug me.
I smile, suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation for my big sis. Sometimes it feels like she’s the only person who actually wants to talk to me—out of something other than pity. I hit the call button beside her name and wait for her to answer.
“You’re awake.” She beams on FaceTime.
I plop down in the spot where Dom just was, the scent of him lingering. “Hey,” I say to her, smiling as I see my own messy ponytail reflected in my sister. “How’s the late-night bake session?”
“It’s a disaster,” she groans, holding her phone at a catastrophic low angle so all I see is her chin and a swirl of blue buttercream. “I have blue frosting in literal places that should not be blue.”
“Yum,” I say. “Smurf cupcakes?”
“It’s for the Blue Team,” Nora says, rolling her eyes as she sets the phone back down.
“The only problem is that half of these kids are allergic to dairy, and the other half are apparently paleo now, so I’m making three separate frostings, and two are questionable.
” She pauses, examining the tip of a piping bag before looking back at me.
“Want to swap lives? I’ll trade you for a night. ”
I pretend to consider it, tapping my finger against my chin. “Tempting, but only if I get to keep your queue of weird Netflix documentaries. And your children. But just for a day. Then you have to take them all back.”
She giggles and then lets out a sigh. “How was your day?”
“Do you ever have one of those days where you feel like every single thing you try just … doesn’t work?” I ask, propping my feet up and letting out a sigh as I rub my forehead.
Nora gives the screen a look. “Nicole, you’re talking to the woman who had to sew four different Elsa costumes by hand because the ones from were too itchy.
” She pauses, then narrows her eyes, reading me in that special way only big sisters can.
“What happened? Did your dog ruin another pair of Hot Guy’s shoes? ”
“Not today,” I say, and then can’t help but laugh. “But I did just have the most mortifying experience of my entire life.”
She perks up. “Ooh, tell me. Make me forget I’m up to my elbows in fake butter at two a.m.”
I launch into the story, the whole humiliating way that Cocoa let Dom walk right in on me, the way I was singing my heart out with the mop, and the way he chose to stay.
“Wow,” Nora hums, licking some of the icing off her finger and then cringing. “I think … I think I like this guy.”
My brows skyrocket. “You like him?”
She shrugs. “I do. He totally could’ve turned you in for a noise complaint and didn’t. I mean, your dog let him in, too. They say dogs are a great judge of character.”
“I don’t know if I trust Cocoa’s judgment of character,” I say, crinkling my nose. “He also ate his own—”
“I don’t need details,” Nora cuts me off. “I’m just saying, I get that you’re embarrassed, but honestly, that was so sweet of him to come over and tell you to turn it down without getting the property manager involved.”
“Right,” I breathe out, nodding. “I guess I just wish I wasn’t so … messy.”
Nora gives me a soft smile. “Nic, you’re literally perfect just the way you are.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, Mom.”
“Hey, now.” She points her spatula at me. “I’m no licensed therapist like her.”
“You could be.” I wink. “I’d totally come and talk to you.”
“You already do.” She giggles, and just as she does, my phone buzzes with a notification. I squint at the invitation.
“What in the world…” I mumble. “Hang on.” I pause the video and shift to the email, opening it up.
You’re Invited: Entrepreneur Networking Brunch hosted by Alice Ketchling
My stomach drops, and for a second, I freeze. In the world of big dreams, Alice Ketchling is at the top when it comes to startups. She’s the founder of a direct-to-consumer dry shampoo line that’s literally outsold competitors worldwide.
The invitation shimmers on my screen, and I scroll down further.
This exclusive experience for LA’s finest female innovators will feature curated connections, concept pitch roundtables, and a keynote from the legendary Alice herself.
“Wow,” I mumble, letting the full weight of imposter syndrome land. “This must be a mistake.”
“What?” Nora’s voice startles me, me having forgotten she was still on the phone.
“Alice Ketchling invited me to a networking brunch,” I say, my voice flat. “There’s no way I can go to this. The last time I talked with her, she made fun of me for a solid half hour because I can barely communicate under pressure. Plus, given all my bad reviews? I absolutely can’t go.”
My sister is quiet for a split second. “Actually, you should totally go. And own it. You’re Nikko Farrarah’s daughter, smelly moisturizer or not.”
I sigh. “But I’m not practiced enough at those kinds of events. I flop at them every time.”
“So, practice. Set up your own networking brunch, right there at your building. Practice makes perfect. Just ask your hot NBA player friend—he practices all the time. You gotta practice to be good.”
I nod slowly. “You know what? That’s not a bad idea.”