Chapter Nine
Dominic
“So you mean to tell me that your neighbor caught you spying on her private mop concert and you stayed for … water?” Derrick’s face takes up my entire phone screen.
“I wasn’t spying.” I glare at him. “Her music was rattling my walls. I was being a good neighbor by warning her before someone else filed a noise complaint.”
“Uh-huh.” My brother’s not buying it. “And the water? Was it, like, special celebrity water? Imported from the Alps or something?”
“It was just water,” I mutter. “From a Brita pitcher.”
“And you stayed for that.”
“Yeah.”
“For water.”
“Yes.”
“Which you have in your own apartment.”
I throw my hand up. “What do you want me to say, Derrick? It would’ve been rude to leave after she offered.”
My brother’s grin widens. “You like her.”
“I don’t even know her.” I stare at him.
“You’re a bad liar, bro. You clearly like—”
“Shouldn’t you be doing something more productive? Like, I don’t know, parenting your actual children?”
“They’re in bed.” He leans back in his chair, looking smug. “Besides, this is way more entertaining. My brother, the NBA star, getting all flustered over a girl.”
“I’m not flustered.” I am definitely flustered. “And I’m not a star. I’m barely hanging onto my spot in the rotation.”
Derrick’s expression softens. “How’s that been going? Really.”
I exhale slowly, grateful for the subject change. “It’s … challenging. I’m still the new guy. Still trying to figure out how I fit into the system. The guys aren’t exactly unfriendly, but…”
“But they’re not your boys from Alabama.”
“Exactly.” I rest my chin on my hand, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake coming here.”
Derrick’s quiet for a moment, which is unusual for him. When he speaks again, his voice is gentler. “You didn’t have much choice, Dom. The trade happened. It wasn’t your call.”
“I know.” I run a hand through my hair. “I just … I miss having you guys close by. I miss being able to drive home for the weekend. I miss barbecue that doesn’t cost twenty dollars a plate.”
“We miss you too, man.” Derrick’s smile is warm. “But you’re doing what you’ve always dreamed of—playing at the highest level. Making the family proud.”
“Yeah.” I try to sound convinced.
“Look, I know LA isn’t like the South. It’s never going to be. But maybe you need to stop fighting it so hard. Try to find things you like about it. People you connect with.” He raises a brow. “Maybe starting with Mop Concert Girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Her name is Nicole.”
“Nicole,” he repeats, grinning. “First name basis. That’s progress.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, you can’t spend every day holed up in your apartment.
You need to get out into the world. And I promise, making connections helps.
When I moved to Austin for college, I hated it for the first three months.
Then I met your sister-in-law, made some friends, found my favorite taco truck, and suddenly it wasn’t so bad. ”
I know he’s right, which is annoying. “Fine. I’ll try harder to engage with the local culture, or whatever.”
“That’s the spirit.” He yawns, checking his watch. “I should probably go. Early morning tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” I nod, feeling the familiar pang that always comes when we have to hang up. Like I’m being left behind again. “Tell everyone I said hi.”
“Will do. And Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“Give LA a chance. And maybe ask Nicole out for something other than water.”
I shake my head, fighting back a smile. “Goodbye, Derrick.”
“Later, little bro.”
My sneakers hit the pavement with intention. The ocean view’s a nice change from the basketball court. I mean, today’s the one day we don’t have practice, so basically, I had no choice but to find something else to do.
And my brother’s right—no matter how tempting, I can’t just hide away in my apartment on every day off.
Though that might be better than this.
I let my eyes wander around the park, and really, I have no idea whether to be mortified or amused. It’s so different from home.
It feels like everyone here is documenting something.
The grassy field—probably meant for pickup soccer games or family picnics—is dotted with tripods and phones balanced on backpacks. More people seem focused on their phones than each other.
Two girls stand side by side, backs arched, faces tilted at impossible angles, filming the same lip-sync in perfect synchrony.
They don’t even look up as I run past.
I dodge a trio of shirtless fitness guys mid-pose, their camerawoman calling out cues.
Maybe I’m supposed to feel inspired by all this hustle, this drive, this entrepreneurial energy. But I feel like I’m the only guy here not entranced by a tiny screen.
As if I’m suddenly missing out, I glance down at my phone. Nothing. No new texts, no calls, not even a meme from my brother.
“I’m not lonely. Just bored,” I tell myself—like that distinction matters.
My sneakers scuff the gravel as I jet out along one of the dirt paths. There’s a little hill with a view of the city, so I stop to catch my breath and lean against the railing, taking it all in.
City of Angels. Endless opportunities. You can be whoever you want to be.
I stare at it for a second longer and then take off again, this time at a walk. I let my mind wander as I finish the loop, circling back to what my brother said. I have to learn to survive this place at a minimum…
But maybe the problem isn’t the city. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s that I keep expecting it to be something it’s not. Maybe I’m trying to make California into a Texas or Alabama…
Maybe I just haven’t figured out how to live here yet.
I double back toward the apartment, and as soon as I exit through the gate, I immediately pick up on the commotion ahead. At the intersection, a dog is dragging its owner toward a sausage cart, barking. Even from a hundred feet away, I know exactly who it is.
I can’t help but break into a grin.
And run.
Cocoa lunges for a fallen slice of hot dog on the sidewalk, nearly sending Nicole flying face-first into the gutter. I gasp as the leash tangles between her legs.
Our eyes meet just as she starts to go down, and thankfully, all those sprints at practice pay off. I make it to her just in time for my long arms to catch her, saving her from eating concrete.
And smashing her BBQ sandwich against my chest.
“Oh my gosh,” she breathes out as I pull her upward, the scent of her vanilla lavender perfume mixed with sauce hitting my lungs. Something about the warmth of her against me sends a tingle down my spine, but I ignore it, making sure to release her as soon as she’s stable.
I mean, it’s probably just the pulled pork.
“I think Cocoa needs to learn to heel,” I tell her, my voice coming out stilted as she uses my arm to steady herself while she gets untangled, her dinner splatting to the ground.
She laughs, shaking her head. “I think Cocoa needs a lot of things.” Nicole’s eyes drift to her dog, who’s now chowing down on her sandwich.
“But I can’t blame him for wanting that.
It’s from the best BBQ place in the city, and…
” Her voice trails off as she looks at my shirt.
“Oh no! It’s all over you.” A hand flies to her mouth. “I am so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say, plucking at the front of my shirt with two fingers. The sauce is already seeping through to my skin, warm and sticky. “Really, it’s just a cheap shirt.”
“But I ruined it!” She looks genuinely distressed, which is kind of endearing considering it’s literally a three-pack Hanes t-shirt. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. Or a new one. Or both!”
I can’t help but laugh at her panicked expression. “Nicole, it’s a ten-dollar shirt. It’s not even worth dry cleaning.”
She bites her lip, looking from my shirt to my face, then back to my shirt. “Are you sure? Because I feel terrible. First we ruined your shoes, now your shirt…”
I shrug. “At least you’re consistent.”
She almost smiles, but her lips clamp shut to keep it in. “It’s really not funny. I don’t blame you if you hate me. I’m the worst neighbor ever. Sorry.” She places her hand against her forehead, smearing BBQ sauce across it.
“It’s fine,” I assure, stepping around Cocoa to the hot dog cart. I grab a few napkins and return to Nicole. I dab at the spot on her forehead, my throat growing dry as her eyes hold mine. “You got a little something on your face.”
She squeezes her eyelids shut. “Oh my gosh, I’m such a train wreck.” Nicole laughs and for the first time since moving here, I actually don’t feel like an outsider.
I feel like myself.
Cocoa, tail thumping, looks up at me and gives a single, content bark, having fully finished Nicole’s sandwich.
“You ate my lunch, you little menace…” Nicole groans.
“Looks like someone’s going hungry.”
She sighs dramatically. “The story of my life lately. Nothing ever goes according to plan.”
“Well,” I find myself saying, “since your dog ate your lunch, do you want to go grab something to eat? There’s gotta be a place nearby that’s not just for Instagram photos.”
Nicole looks up at me, surprise flickering across her features. “You want to … have lunch? With me?”
I shrug, immediately feeling self-conscious. “I mean, if you want to. Or not. It’s just a suggestion.”
“No, I’d love to!” The smile that spreads across her face is different from her usual polished grin. It’s a little crooked, a little uncertain, but somehow more real. “I know a great place just around the corner.”
She chatters as we walk, gesturing with her free hand while keeping a firm grip on Cocoa’s leash with the other. He trots along like the best boy ever, probably because his stomach is overloaded with his snack.
“I don’t know why these things only happen when you’re around. My life is ninety percent less chaotic when I’m alone. I swear.” Nicole looks up, blushing.
“Must be me, then. I’m a chaos magnet.” I gaze down at her, noticing the way she still has BBQ sauce on the corner of her mouth. Honestly, it’s adorable.
She laughs. It’s soft, and maybe a little sad. “You know, it could be your overtly manly cologne. I bet Cocoa’s just trying to establish dominance or something.”
Cocoa, as if on cue, leaps up and tries to lick my stained shirt, then resumes strutting like he owns the block.
“You know he’s not sorry at all, right?” I smirk.
Nicole rolls her eyes. “He’s never sorry. He’s basically an agent of destruction. He has zero remorse.” She lets out a sigh as she watches him for a few moments. “But I love him.”
In the sunlight, with her hair coming loose from her bun and a smudge of barbecue sauce on her own shirt, Nicole Farrarah looks nothing like the spoiled neighbor I pegged her as on the day we met.
She looks like someone I actually want to know.