Chapter 8
Mila
“Dang it, they forgot to put nuts in my noodles!” Lainey pouts as she stares into the Chinese take-out box.
“I think I have some cashews in the pantry,” I say. She hops off the couch, container in one hand and chopsticks in the other.
“You are the best,” she says. “Pan fried noodles are so plain without nuts.”
“As are most things in life,” I say, and she laughs.
She’s already two glasses into the boxed wine she brought over.
It’s a Thursday, and Lainey and I both have Thursdays off.
For one, it tends to be one of the slower days at the Cockpit, and we both work weekends, so it’s kind of like our Sunday. As usual, she is ready to party.
“Alright,” she says, padding back over to the couch. “We got noodles with nuts; we’ve got boxed wine.”
“Only the best,” I say.
“We’ve got Bridgerton Season Four.”
“All cued up,” I say, pointing at the TV with the remote.
“And we have ice cream in the freezer for when the noodles are gone.”
“Nuts and all,” I say with a firm nod, and she smiles, stuffing noodles into her mouth. Then she narrows her eyes at me.
“Why aren’t you drinking?” she asks with a full mouth.
“I’m strangely not in the mood,” I tell her, and her eyes narrow further.
“Since when are you not into wine? I know we can’t afford the good stuff, but after the first two glasses you feel good enough not to care,” she giggles.
“I don’t know. I’ve just felt a little off recently, but I’m fine,” I say.
“You promise?” she asks.
“Pinky swear,” I tell her, and that seems to be a good enough answer because Lainey grabs the remote and presses play. By the end of episode one, we’ve destroyed the Chinese food. And by the end of episode two, we’ve dug our way halfway through the quart of Rocky Road ice cream.
Lainey presses pause on the remote and gets up from the couch with a grunt. “Why can’t we find men like that?” she asks as she walks into the kitchen with her wineglass.
“Men like what? The Bridgerton's?” I ask.
“Yeah! I mean they’re handsome, rich, witty, and every one of them is all about pleasing the woman,” she says as she squeezes another glass of wine from the box.
“They’re also fictional,” I say, licking my spoon before closing the container. I could eat the whole thing, but I probably shouldn’t. Niko isn’t a fan of anyone over a size eight at his bar. Thanks to my inherited hips, I am on the verge of breaching that line.
“Still. Real men could learn from fictional men,” she says.
“Yeah…but at the end of the day, most average guys don’t.
They definitely don’t look like them either,” I sigh, and then stop as my brain rephrases that.
Most men don’t look like fictional men. Tall, built, handsome, with brooding eyes and grins that hint at a dormant playfulness, suggesting that they are capable of feelings like joy and love.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Lainey smiles mischievously with her lips pressed to the rim of her glass mid-sip.
“Thinking about who?” I ask.
“The Duke,” she says with an eye roll. “No. Your boss. You’re thinking about Dominic.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but suddenly realize that I can’t; not with Lainey.
She’s been my best friend since I moved to LA.
My parents had recently died, and I was broke.
Turns out they were upside down in debt and not hanging off the top rung of the upper middle class.
My dreams of being a dance major at UC-Berkeley had just been crushed, and I was truly on my own.
Until I met Lainey, a community college dropout turned waitress who loved me before she knew me.
She took me into her life and showed me the ropes of navigating Los Angeles penniless.
I guess that is why I’m incapable of lying to her; she’s already seen every side of me there is to see.
“I…maybe…” I say as my defense mode melts into a sheepish smile. “But what’s new? I’ve had a crush on him since I took the job as his maid,” I say the last word with some spice. I prefer the term housekeeper, but Dominic has always referred to me as the maid.
“What’s new is he saved you from an altercation at the fight ring and then gave you a ride home in his Benz,” she says.
“It’s a Maserati,” I mumble.
“Jesus Christ,” she blurts, and my smile returns to my lips, unavoidable at this point.
“That man is like the Bridgerton’s,” she says. “Rich, angsty, undeniably gorgeous. Fuck, it’s like a woman wrote him.”
“No,” I point at her in an attempt to diffuse her notion that Dominic is perfect. “If a woman wrote him, he wouldn’t be such a dick. You know he didn’t even know the color of my hair?”
“Seriously?” she asks.
“I went into his office on Friday to ask if I could leave, and he just stared at me for the longest, most uncomfortable moment before asking if my hair has always been this color.”
“Only since birth,” she snorts.
“Exactly. Soy costarricense,” I sigh.
“Maybe…he just…thought…” she stutters and then shakes her head. “I don’t know.” Then she sits up. “Oh! Maybe he recognized you from the other night!”
“See, that’s what I thought, but nothing about his expression suggested that,” I say. “I practically live at his house, and he has no idea who I am.”
“Well, to be fair,” Lainey says. “He’s usually working. Running that big-ass security firm while you’re buzzing around his house cleaning and cooking. I mean, unless you’re actively dusting around his feet, it’s not like you two spend that much time together getting to know each other.”
Except that we have gotten to know each other. In a way I will never forget and would have assumed he couldn’t either.
“What is it?” she asks.
Fuck.
“What?” I ask, playing dumb.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Sigh.
I look over at her, and she raises her eyebrows, encouraging me to go on.
“So the night he drove me home…”
“Yes…?”
I bite my lip. “Before I got out of the car…”
She gasps. “He kissed you!”
I nod, still biting my lip. “And…more…”
“How much more?” Lainey asks, her eyes the size of saucers.
“All of it?” I say, scrunching my face.
“You had sex with him?!” she asks and I nod. “In his car?!”
I nod again, and Lainey screams. Meanwhile, I slink down into the couch, covering my face with my hands.
“Oh. My. GOD!” she lets out. “How did that even happen? You have to tell me everything!”
“I don’t even know!” I admit, and I don’t.
“One minute we were driving home, and it was awkward. He was asking me a million questions, and I was just trying to avoid looking at him because I was worried that he’d know who I am and fire me.
But the next thing I knew he was kinda flirting with me, and of course I started flirting back because, well, DUH.
And then, he just kissed me, and then he was on top of me and well… yeah.”
“You fucked your boss,” she says.
“Yep.”
“In a Maserati.”
“Yep.”
“Those cars are so small.”
“They’re roomier than you’d think,” I say, pulling my hands from my face so I can breathe, and Lainey laughs.
“Geeze, girl! You really are living the life.”
“Except that I work for him, and he still doesn’t seem to know I am alive. I guess the experience was subpar for him,” I grumble.
“How was it for you?” she asks.
“Incredible,” I admit.
“Yeah?”
“He is such a good kisser.”
“I mean, he is like fifty years old,” she giggles. “Bro has had a lot of experience, if I had to guess.”
“And he’s really good with his hands, if you know what I mean,” I add.
“Of course he is. And how is his…” she bites her lip, points down, and wiggles her eyebrows.
“Glorious,” I say, grabbing a throw pillow and pressing it to my face.
“Amazing,” she sighs. Then she perks up and says, “We should go out tonight.”
“Out where?” I ask. “Thursdays are always our girl’s night in. I’m already in my fleece pj pants and have all my facial products lined up on the bathroom counter.”
“Your pores can wait! Let’s get all dressed up and go to the fight ring.”
“We can’t just go to the fight ring,” I tell her.
“Why not? No one will recognize us from the Cockpit. Not without our uniforms and wigs. You know they’ll let us in too. We’re young and hot.”
“Not without skincare routines,” I mutter, but she stands up and pulls me with her.
“It’ll be fun. We can sit in the back and watch sexy, sweaty men beat the ever-loving shit out of each other.
It’s very Bridgerton Season One if you think about it.
Maybe you’ll even get to watch Dom be a dom, if you know what I mean,” she winks.
As much as I think it’s a bad idea, I can’t resist the idea of watching him fight again.