Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Mazagran
Celeste
“I’m awake!” I gasp from a very deep slumber, my body lurching upright off…wait, where the hell am I? I quickly take in my surroundings and feel the softest velvet under my fingers, a cozy blanket thrown over my lower body, and the subtle aroma of coffee awakening the fogginess of my brain.
Right, Dominic’s apartment. Tattoo. Shower. Jaws. Sleep. Oh, God.
“Morning, Hoot.” I hear Dominic’s low and scratchy sleep voice come from his kitchen area.
He’s leaning against the island, taking a swig of coffee from a chunky mug.
For a brief moment I let the richness of his voice settle over my skin like the morning sun and I want to stretch like a cat to loosen my stiff muscles from sleeping on Dominic’s—
“Oh, fuck. Did I sleep here all night? Oh my God, I have to—” I start, rustling out of the blanket to get my body vertical.
“I texted Delaney for you. I figured if she knew then she could always tell…anyone else who needs to know. You talk in your sleep by the way,” he says casually as if that isn’t the cutest thing ever. The texting that is, not so much the attentiveness to my sleep habits.
“I do not,” I retort.
“You also farted.”
“I did not!” My mouth hangs open in objection but my shoulders shake in silent laughter. “That’s not fair! Unconscious farting should be completely untalked about, mums the word, silent…” I feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment.
“But deadly?” he offers, with the most feline smirk I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I think it’s his mission to make me feel discombobulated.
“I’m so done with this conversation. Give me your coffee. You don’t deserve it.” I march toward him, scrubbing my hands over my face and feeling just exactly how ruffled my hair is and what are clearly couch lines embedded on my cheek. I wince slightly at the ache of my shoulder.
“To be fair I gave you the couch, which is a thousand times comfier than my bed,” he says.
I feel my cheeks flush a shade of crimson at the thought of his bedroom, at the memory of us sitting together snuggled up on the couch last night.
The evening rewinds through my brain in rapid succession leading me right to the moment where I groggily kissed Dominic.
Oh my God, I kissed Dominic. I try not to spiral.
As a friend. As a thank you, to a…friend?
Play it off, Celeste. He was there for you and you felt extra special. Meant nothing.
He probably forgot, so pretend you did too.
I huff, raise my chin a little in feigned confidence and snatch his coffee out of his grasp. He lets me, our fingers overlapping around the cup for a singular moment before I pull the mug away. I place the cup down momentarily to hop up and sit atop the island.
Higher ground, Celeste, well played.
“Please tell me you have some sort of sweetener to add to this bitter stew,” I chide, gently swaying my bare legs over the island. Dominic turns to the back counter across from where I sit, a small smile playing on his full mouth.
The mouth I kissed last ni—
“Here.” He abruptly hands me a cup of my own coffee, clearly lighter in colour from some sort of creamer added to it, “Looks like chalk and tastes like a candy bar, just how you like it.” His face contorts in genuine disgust.
I take a tentative sip and raise my eyebrows at him.
“Colour me impressed, Peggy. Although I could do without your coffee snob judgement so early in the day.” I greedily gulp down a few more sips while gently swinging my legs again.
The cold countertop sends goosebumps over my bare legs and I shiver in response.
I catch Dominic’s gaze over the rim of my mug waiting for his typical witty retort, only his eyes are not meeting mine.
His focus is unwavering on my bare legs.
I see a flash of something pass his eyes before he looks up to me, clears his throat, and turns away towards the fridge.
I swear it was lust that flashed through his eyes just then, but I must be mistaken.
Heat grows in my belly then sinks a little further between my thighs and thank God he’s turned away because I squeeze them together on reflex.
Why am I so fucking horny? It must be the new environment. Bachelor pad vibes.
I hop off the counter and sip from my mug as I amble aimlessly around Dominic’s apartment. For some reason I want to go through all his things, find hidden treasures, dig up the skeletons he has in his closet.
Hopefully not real ones, put down the stalker romance novels Celeste.
I go to the shelves of books he has on either side of his TV. He has every genre possible, from Shakespeare to…
“Oh my God, is this a stalker romance novel?” I gawk, pulling out the book with the blue skull on it, and run it over to the kitchen to show Dominic even though he clearly knows the contents of his own library.
He looks over his shoulder, taking the attention away from his scrambled eggs, and nods indifferently.
I blink, “I’m sorry, did you just casually dismiss this dark romance?”
His laugh is low and deep and maybe it’s because I’m holding such a deliciously depraved book, but I can’t help the shiver that runs up my spine.
“I’m not dismissing it, it’s actually a very good book.
” He turns fully towards me, “Have you read it, Celeste?” he asks, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip before he pulls it into his mouth, holding back a smile.
There he goes again, using my name. He doesn’t use my real name very often, preferring Hoot, which I’ve never minded.
I kind of like it, if I’m being honest with myself.
But now, the way he calls me by my name feels taunting, tantalizing.
It’s like every syllable runs over my spine like a finger trailing down my back.
I shake off the feeling and focus my attention to the question asked.
“I have, actually.” I say, raising my chin a little.
“And?”
“I preferred the audiobook,” I confess, feeling a little squeamish under his scrutiny of literature choices.
The fact that he bought the book, read it, and kept it on his shelf tells me enough.
I walk over to put it back on the shelf.
“So you have kinks then.” I remark as casually as I can while skimming other titles in his collection. Time to throw him off his game.
A loud clang clatters in the kitchen and my head snaps in his direction quickly to see Dominic fumbling with a frying pan.
Luckily not the one he was cooking with.
It’s my turn to bite my smile back. My chest inflates, feeling like I just won something, what exactly I’m not sure but the victory fills me with more confidence.
“Your bachelor pad is…bacheloring. Do you bring girls here often?” This question, although less jarring than asking about his kinks, somehow pulls my stomach into a knot as I wait for the answer.
“To rummage through my book collection?” he retorts, looking up from plating our eggs, breakfast sausages and toast. “No, I…um, don’t date a lot.
” He averts his eyes, bringing our plates over to the couch to sit.
I slowly spin in a circle just then realizing he doesn’t have any table or chairs for eating.
He must read the question on my face because he settles into the corner spot of the couch saying, “Why need a dinner table if I never have guests?”
“Okay. But seriously, you’re hot, you’ve got your own place, why are you single?” I ask. I know I’m being intrusive, I know I’m being obnoxious, but my brain won’t let the questions stay safely behind my teeth.
“Did you just call me hot?” he asks mockingly, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I laugh around a mouthful of eggs.
“Dominic!” I chide, then groan around my food, “God, even these eggs are good.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly, then takes a long slow inhale. Shit, maybe I hit a nerve with the past relationship talk.
He takes a moment to think, the corners of his mouth pulling downward and I can see something more…vulnerable, there. This is yet another side to him that I don’t think many people see.
With a big sigh his shoulders drop a little and he looks down at his plate, “I guess it’s just never been on my mind.
I’ve had girlfriends growing up but nothing super serious.
I didn’t have a lot of chances to date in high school because I was moved from foster home to foster home.
I didn’t feel comfortable bringing someone back to a house full of misfits.
Most people don’t understand anyway.” His head tilts downward and to the side, not meeting my gaze.
He rolls his shoulders back as if his emotions were just water off a duck’s back.
“I’m sorry,” I say reflexively, reaching out a hand to put on his arm in empathy.
“I kind of know what you’re going through.
I went through a lot in my childhood that not a lot of other kids understood and I didn’t date much until I started here at RHU, really.
” I shrug, pulling my hand away from his arm.
His other hand thrusts out, catching mine in its grasp, my breath hitching at the contact.
He slowly looks up, meeting my eyes, as he says, “Thank you.” The anguish in his pale blue eyes rips something inside of me apart. My stomach hollows out as guilt worms its way through me. He still has no idea about my childhood, the hospital stays, my dad leaving us…
Here he is letting down his walls, letting me into his home.
And here I sit, not willing to share any part of that life with him.
Hell, he doesn’t even know that his matchmaking is all just an experiment for my medical school applications.
Things feel different now though, it feels like there’s more at stake than just an essay question.
Last night feels like a line crossed, the experiment muddled with real feelings that I can’t pin down, analyze, or confirm or deny a hypothesis from. It’s too messy.