Chapter Nineteen #2
The wine is rich and smooth, perfectly complementing the steak as I take my first bite. “Oh my goodness,” I murmur after swallowing. “If his job with the Comets doesn’t work out, you should definitely hire this guy full-time.”
Dom chuckles. “I’ll let him know.” He cuts into his own steak, his movements precise and careful. “Speaking of the Comets, today’s practice was actually … good.”
“Yeah?” I pause with my fork midair. “Tell me about it.”
Something shifts in his expression, a quiet pride that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t know. Something just clicked. I finally found my rhythm with the team. Even Coach noticed.”
“That’s fantastic,” I say, genuinely happy for him. I know how much he’s struggled to feel like he belongs here.
“Marcus thinks it’s because of you,” Dom says, a hint of color rising in his cheeks.
I nearly choke on my potato. “Me? What did I do?”
“Apparently, I play better when I’m…” He trails off, searching for the right words. “When I’m happy.”
The simple admission hangs in the air between us. I take another sip of wine to hide my smile. “And are you? Happy, I mean.”
Dom looks at me directly, his golden eyes serious. “Happier than I’ve been since moving to LA. Maybe longer.”
My heart does a somersault. “Me, too,” I admit. “Though that’s probably not saying much, considering my track record here.”
“There’s nowhere else to go but up,” Dom says, leaning forward slightly.
“Ain’t that the truth.” I chuckle and take another bite.
“Everyone expects me to be this pampered trust fund baby who just dabbles in business for fun, and maybe that’s what I’ve been up to now.
Trying things, failing, moving on without any real consequences because there’s always the safety net of my dad’s money. ”
“But that’s not what you want.”
“No,” I say firmly. “I want to succeed on my own terms. I don’t want to just be Nikko Farrarah’s daughter. I want to build something that matters. Something that’s entirely mine, not just an extension of my father’s success or my family name.”
Dom’s expression is thoughtful as he reaches for his wine. “I get that. The need to define yourself outside of someone else’s shadow.”
“Is it like that with basketball?” I ask. “Trying to make your own name?”
He considers this. “In some ways. Though it’s different—no one in my family played professionally. But there’s still this pressure to live up to expectations. To justify being chosen, being here.”
“And now you feel like you’re starting to do that?”
Dom nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “Today felt different. Like I wasn’t just going through the motions. Like I belonged.”
“That’s really great, Dom,” I say, meaning it completely.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the city humming below us, the lights sparkling against the darkening sky. It strikes me how easy this is—being here with him, sharing food and thoughts and pieces of ourselves.
I twist my fork in my hand, then set it down. “Can I ask you something?”
Dom looks up immediately. “Yeah.”
“At the party,” I say carefully. “I overheard something.”
His expression stills. “Okay.”
“They were talking about the front office,” I continue. “Nothing specific—just…” I hesitate. “…your name came up.”
He exhales slowly. “What did they say?”
“‘They really like Neelson.’ And then someone else said it was early. That nobody’s untouchable. Especially in LA.”
Dom nods once, like he’s heard a version of this before. He takes a sip of water, buying himself a second. “That sounds right.”
“So, what does that mean?” I ask. “For you?”
He leans back slightly, eyes drifting past me toward the city. When he speaks, his voice is even—but honest in a way that tightens my chest. “That’s the part people don’t always understand,” he says. “Want doesn’t really factor in much. You play. You show up. You do your job.”
He pauses.
“The rest usually gets decided without you.”
I nod slowly. “And Texas?” I ask, keeping my voice light even though my heart isn’t. “If they ever called?”
His gaze comes back to mine, steady. “They haven’t.”
Relief flickers through me—brief and guilty.
“But,” he adds quietly, “earlier this season, I did tell my agent to keep an ear open there.”
My breath catches. “You did?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t look away. “At the time, I didn’t know where I was going to land. I was protecting myself. Making sure I had options.”
His words land deeper than I expected.
“I didn’t expect LA to stick,” he continues. “That part caught me off guard.”
“So, if they called now?” I ask.
The thought of him leaving—of this fragile, beautiful thing between us being cut short just as it’s beginning—makes my chest ache.
Dom reaches across the table and takes my hand. His palm is warm against mine, his touch gentle despite his evident strength. “It would suck,” he admits. “Especially now.” He gestures between us with his free hand. “With this.”
“This,” I echo, a smile tugging at my lips despite the heaviness in my chest. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?” he asks, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm that send tingles up my arm.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Something good. Something I don’t want to end.”
“Me neither,” he says softly. “And look, I can’t promise I won’t get traded. That’s not how this works. But I can promise that if it happens, we’ll figure it out. Together.”
The simple certainty in his voice eases some of the tension in my shoulders. “Together,” I repeat, and I like the sound of it.
Dom squeezes my hand once more before releasing it to uncover two plates of chocolate cake under silver domes at the side of the table. “Dessert?”
I laugh, grateful for the lighter turn in conversation. “Always.” The cake is rich and decadent, the perfect ending to a perfect meal. As we eat, Dom steers the conversation in a new direction.
“So, what’s the status of that athlete housing idea of yours? Have you reached out to any investors yet?” he asks, taking a bite of his cake.
I shake my head. “I’ve been working on a proposal, but I haven’t had the courage to send it out to anyone.”
“Why not?”
I shrug, trying to appear casual even as my anxiety flares. “Fear of failure, I guess. My track record isn’t exactly stellar.”
“Nicole,” Dom says, his voice gentle but firm. “This isn’t just another idea. It’s solving a problem people like me actually have.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself,” I admit. “But then I remember the rotten egg debacle, and my confidence takes a nosedive.”
“One failure doesn’t define you or your abilities.”
His words echo Nora’s from earlier, and something inside me shifts slightly. Maybe they’re both right. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself.
“Actually,” I say, pulling out my phone, “I have a draft email to Cityscape Investment Group. I’ve been staring at it for three days without hitting send.”
Dom’s eyebrows rise. “Cityscape? They’re major players.”
“Too ambitious?”
“No,” he says quickly. “Just impressed. Can I see it?”
I hesitate only briefly before unlocking my phone and navigating to the draft email. I slide the device across the table to him, watching nervously as he reads.
His expression is serious, focused, as he scrolls through my detailed proposal. I’ve included preliminary market analysis, potential locations, financial projections, and concept designs. It represents weeks of research and planning, far more preparation than I’ve put into any of my previous ideas.
“This is really good,” he says finally, looking up at me. “You’ve thought of everything.”
Relief floods through me. “Really? You don’t think it needs more work?”
“It’s solid. Professional, thorough, and addressing a real need in the market.” He hands my phone back to me. “You should send it.”
“Now?” I ask, my voice pitching higher with anxiety.
“Why wait? You’ve clearly put in the work. The worst they can say is no.”
I stare at my phone, at the email that represents so much more than just a business proposal. It’s a chance to prove myself, to build something meaningful. It’s also terrifying.
“What if they hate it?” I whisper.
Dom reaches across the table and takes both my hands in his. “Then you find someone else who gets it. But they won’t hate it. It’s too good.”
His confidence in me is both touching and empowering. I take a deep breath and, before I can talk myself out of it again, hit send.
“I did it,” I breathe, staring at the confirmation message as if I can’t quite believe it.
Dom grins and refills our wine glasses. “That deserves a toast.” He raises his glass. “To taking chances.”
“To taking chances,” I echo, clinking my glass against his.
The wine tastes even better now, rich with possibility and the sweet relief of action after hesitation. We finish our drinks in companionable silence, both looking out at the city lights.
“Want to see the view from the edge?” Dom asks, standing and offering me his hand.
I take it without hesitation, allowing him to lead me to the rooftop’s perimeter.
From here, Los Angeles stretches out in all directions, a vast sea of twinkling lights against the dark canvas of night.
The air is cooler now, and I shiver slightly in my dress.
Dom notices immediately, slipping off his button-down to reveal a fitted t-shirt underneath. He drapes the shirt around my shoulders, his hands lingering there. The fabric is warm from his body and smells like him—like clean laundry and subtle cologne.
“Better?” he asks, his voice low and close to my ear.
“Much,” I murmur, turning to face him.
We’re standing so close now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
The string lights cast a golden glow across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
His dark hair looks almost bronze. His hands move from my shoulders to my waist, gently pulling me closer.
“Nicole,” he says, my name soft on his lips.
“Yes?” I breathe, already knowing what comes next, already wanting it with an intensity that surprises me.
“I’m really glad you sent me that meme.”
I laugh, but my entire body warms at the realization that somehow, even my most embarrassing moments feel safe with him.
Dom lowers his head and captures my lips with his once more. The kiss is so sweet, so tender, and the best thing in the entire world.
I lean into him, my hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders.
His arms tighten around me, drawing me closer as the kiss deepens.
I taste chocolate and wine and something uniquely Dom.
I feel the solid warmth of him against me, steady and sure.
The city continues to buzz below us, but in this moment, the entire world has narrowed to just this rooftop, just this man.
Against his lips, I smile, thinking of Nora’s teasing comment about wedding bells. I’d never admit it to her, but in this perfect moment, with Dom’s arms around me, it doesn’t seem like such a ridiculous idea after all.