Chapter Fourteen
Nicole
“Okay, Cocoa.” I meet my little terrier’s eyes. “ Please don’t make me look bad in front of Dom today. We need his help.”
His tail slaps the ground, and he tilts his head up at me as if I’m the crazy one in our duo. I scan the apartment courtyard, where Dom told me to meet up with him.
And he’s nowhere to be found.
The only person here is a woman I don’t recognize doing yoga in the corner, under the shade of one of the trees. I wipe my sweaty, nervous hands on my faded jeans and then take a seat with Cocoa on one of the benches.
I glance at my phone. I’m exactly seven minutes early.
He’s just not here yet. I can wait.
Cocoa sniffs a discarded vitamin water bottle, drags it beneath the bench, and immediately starts disassembling the cap with his teeth.
I guess that’s one way to floss.
I rest against the wood, which is warm against my back. The breeze is nice, though. And if I close my eyes, I can pretend that I’m living my best Los Angeles life and not about to be humiliated by my rescue terrier and my neighbor, who is pretty much the hottest guy around.
I’d just obviously never tell him that. I wouldn’t even know how. I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, and that was my freshman year of college. I’m not even sure he liked me. I think he just liked my dad’s wallet.
I frown at that. Reason one thousand to figure my life out.
Cocoa senses weakness and takes the opportunity to leap onto the bench, planting both paws in my lap and staring directly into my soul, his little brown eyes full of emotion.
“Don’t even,” I warn. “You’re the reason we’re here.”
He wags his tail, then sneezes twice and headbutts my sternum.
Five minutes pass, then ten. I check my phone.
Nothing.
Maybe he bailed. I take a deep breath, a wave of disappointment hitting me in the chest. I spiral for exactly ninety seconds before my phone vibrates with a text.
Dom: Running late, Coach added more cardio. Sorry. Promise I’ll be there.
“See? It’s totally fine,” I assure Cocoa, patting his head. I give Dom’s text a thumbs-up and try not to let my bouncing knee jar Cocoa too much.
Ten minutes of doomscrolling Instagram later, I hear the heavy slap of Dom’s sneakers on the concrete. He’s still in workout clothes, hair wet, and holding what appears to be a gallon-sized bag of dog treats and a small clicker.
“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin. “Coach’s new thing is making us run suicides if we lose a scrimmage. And those things are way worse than losing.”
“It’s totally fine.” I grin up at him and then shift, standing to my feet and dusting Cocoa’s fur off my jeans. “For a second, I thought you might not show up.”
Dom gives me a funny look. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve actually been looking forward to it all day.”
His words land warmer than they should. Like he didn’t just squeeze this into his schedule—like he chose it. Like I’m not an errand.
Dom gestures to the treats in his hand. “You think Cocoa will like these? They’re not organic.”
Cocoa hops off the bench and starts spinning in circles, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in two years.
“I think that means he’s good with it,” I say, letting out a laugh as I reach down to untangle his leash from under his paw.
“We can work with this,” Dom says, and then kneels to Cocoa’s level, which is a good foot lower than I would’ve expected. “Hey, bud,” he says, voice low and calm. “Wanna learn to not embarrass your mom?”
Cocoa responds by flopping over onto his back and exposing his stomach.
Dom gives him a single pat, then holds up the clicker. “Okay, so first thing,” he breathes out. “You want to click the moment he does what you want. Not a second after. Otherwise, he thinks you’re rewarding whatever he’s doing next. Ready?”
I nod, tempted to salute him or something.
“We’ll start with ‘sit.’ You say it once. If he sits, you click and treat. If not, just wait.” Dom gives me a look, and I turn to my dog, my heart thumping nervously.
Please don’t embarrass me.
“Cocoa, sit,” I say, trying to put some bass in my voice to sound more dominant.
Cocoa stands perfectly still, then turns and sprints for the fountain, jerking the leash right out of my hand.
“Okay, so … he’s not a wait kind of dog,” I call back to Dom as I chase after my little tyrant.
Dom jogs after me, not even winded. He points the clicker at Cocoa like it’s a plastic gun. “Let’s try something easier. Maybe we can teach come.” But as the words leave his lips, my dog is already leaps and bounds ahead.
Cocoa is in the fountain, all four paws paddling furiously. I reach for his collar, but he swerves and does a lap around the frog statue, coming out the other side with his tongue hanging out and his fur dripping.
Dom hands me a treat and says, “Watch. Cocoa, come!” His voice booms in a way mine never could.
Cocoa freezes, his ears cocked. He takes three slow steps toward Dom, then stops and shakes, flinging water across the tile.
“Click,” Dom says.
I shake my head. “What?”
“Click!” he repeats with a laugh, and I fumble with the little blue clicker until it makes a sharp snap.
Cocoa immediately sits, then jumps up onto Dom, searching for the treat.
Dom kneels again, holding the treat just above Cocoa’s nose. “If you reward him now, you’re rewarding the jumping. You have to wait until he’s calm.”
I try to memorize everything he’s doing, the way he never raises his voice, never gets frustrated, just keeps repeating the steps until Cocoa finally sits, tongue lolling.
“Now treat,” Dom says, and I hand Cocoa the little cookie, which he gobbles up.
We repeat the process a handful of times. Every time I forget to click, Dom gently corrects me. Every time Cocoa misbehaves, Dom resets with mind-boggling patience.
It’s… disarming. The way he keeps resetting without making me feel stupid, like he’s decided I’m worth the extra minute.
A cyclist zips by on the path outside the courtyard, and Cocoa explodes into a bark so loud it echoes off the marble fountain. He lunges for the fence, dragging me with him, and in the process, I drop the treat bag. It hits the ground, bursts open, and showers bone-shaped cookies everywhere.
“Oh my gosh!” I shriek as Cocoa goes full vacuum and starts inhaling every single one. I try to scoop them up, but he’s still getting enough to give him a stomachache later. “This is so bad.” I shake my head.
Dom doubles over laughing. It’s not polite laughter. It’s real—messy and unguarded—and seeing it makes my chest feel oddly tight, like I’ve been let into something. “He’s like a Roomba with fur.”
We both crouch, grabbing handfuls of treats and trying to keep Cocoa from choking. I glance at Dom and, for a second, he’s not just my neighbor or a basketball player or a guy doing me a favor, he’s my … friend?
The thought should feel harmless. But it doesn’t.
“Is there a world record for how fast a dog can eat?” I ask, out of breath as I scoop up the last one.
Dom chuckles, meeting my gaze as he straightens and stands to his feet. “Not sure, but I think Cocoa just broke it.”
“I think we should probably call it a day,” I say, brushing off my jeans and the disappointment at the same time. “I don’t want him to get too bad of a stomachache.”
Dom nods, and there’s a pause between us, his eyes looking anywhere but at me. My hands start to do that weird sweating thing, and I brush some of my hair out of my face, gathering up the courage to keep the conversation going.
“Thanks for helping.” I give him my best smile. “Seriously, I would’ve given up after the whole swim in the fountain. I really… Um…” My voice trails off as I feel my face growing hot. “I really enjoyed it.”
“Me, too. I’ll walk you to your apartment?” He rocks back on his heels, and then shoves his hands into the pockets of his gray joggers. “If you want, of course.”
My heart does a flip-flop in my chest. “Yeah, that would be super nice.” I inwardly cringe at how ridiculous I sound, but make it a point to not show it on the outside.
We walk side by side to the apartment building, Cocoa trotting between us, occasionally bumping against Dom’s leg as if they’re old friends now. Our shoulders brush a few times as we navigate around the planters lining the path, each brief contact sending little sparks along my skin.
I’ve spent most of my life feeling like I have to earn space beside people. With Dom, it feels like he makes room without even noticing he’s doing it.
“So,” Dom says as we step into the elevator. “Have you given any more thought to that athlete housing idea?”
“Actually, yes,” I reply, suddenly energized. “I spent most of today researching and running numbers. It’s kind of taken over my brain.”
Dom presses the button for our floor, then turns to me, looking genuinely interested. “What have you found out?”
“Well, for starters, it’s way more viable than I initially thought,” I say, the words rushing out now that I have an audience. “There are over five hundred professional athletes just in Los Angeles across all the major leagues, who all would need housing.”
The elevator doors open, and we step into the hallway, but I barely notice, too caught up in sharing my findings. “I looked into what it would take to convert an existing apartment complex versus building something new.”
Dom nods, his eyes never leaving my face as I speak, like he’s memorizing me, not the math. There’s something about the way he listens—fully present, engaged, as if what I’m saying matters—that makes the words flow more easily.
“And I think starting with a conversion makes the most sense for a proof of concept,” I continue as we walk to my door. “Lower initial investment, faster turnaround.”
“That’s amazing,” Dom says, and the genuine enthusiasm in his voice makes my heart swell. “You’ve really dug into this.”
I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Well, it’s just preliminary research. There’s still a ton to figure out.”