Chapter 22
Mila
I don’t even have to turn around to know that Dom’s watching me. I can feel it.
I turn the page in the book I’m reading; it’s a thriller. I can’t help but smile while I lie on the couch snuggled up with my book. I am struggling to focus on the words, though. That’s saying a lot since I am in the middle of a massive who-done-it plot twist.
But in my defense, Dom has been acting differently today than usual. Actually, he’s been acting differently all week. Ever since that night he stormed into my room, verbally ripped into me and then physically did the same, he’s been acting differently.
I catch him looking at me or watching me all the time. He doesn’t say much, but I can feel his eyes on me; checking me out. He is looking at me in a way he hasn’t before, and I don’t hate it.
“What’s your book about?” he asks. He’s standing over me now, staring down with a water bottle in his hand. His other hand rests on the back of the couch, right next to my head.
“A girl,” I answer. “And a guy.”
“Oh. A love story, then?” he asks, and his finger inches over ever so slightly, reaching for a couple strands of my hair.
My heart jackrabbits in my chest. “Not exactly,” I answer.
“No?” he asks, twirling the hair around his fingers.
“No. He’s planning on killing her,” I say.
“Oh,” he says, and I giggle.
“It’s a thriller. I don’t read books about love.”
“That surprises me,” Dom says as he rounds to the front of the couch, taking a seat close to me. Not close enough that we are touching, but close enough that we could if we wanted to.
“Why’s that?” I ask with intrigue.
“You always struck me as a romantic,” he says.
I swallow, my smile subtly tipping downward. “I haven’t experienced many happy endings in my life,” I say.
“You say that like your story isn’t still being written,” he says.
I say that because my parents died when I was in high school.
“I wish I had more time to read,” he tells me. He shifts on the couch to face me, and as he does, his knee brushes my thigh, pressing into it. Neither of us re-position.
I dog-ear the page I am on and set the book down. “What would you read? If you had the time, I mean.”
Dom settles deeper into the couch, resting his hands behind his head. “Whitman, I think,” he says, and I snort.
“Oh, come on,” I say.
Dom’s eyes dart to me. “You don’t believe that I like poetry?” he asks.
“I don’t believe that classical literature would be your go to,” I say.
“The rich coverlet of the grass, animals and birds, the private untrimmed bank, the primitive apples, the pebble- stones. Beautiful dripping fragments, the negligent list of one after another, as I happen to call them to me or think of them. The real poems, what we call poems, being merely pictures. The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me, this poem drooping shy and unseen that I always carry and that all men carry,” he recites, and my mouth drops.
“What did you go to school for?” I ask, and Dom smiles. Not a smirk. A real smile, lazy and amused.
“I think the real question is what didn’t I go to school for?” he asks. “If you can believe this, my father was a bit of a hardass and had no qualms dumping money into my education. It was not for my own personal benefit, but so he could say he had a son who went to Duke.”
“You went to Duke?” I ask, picking up all the little gems of information about him. He rarely shares, so when he does, I tuck the little tidbits away like sea glass on a beach.
“My father was born and raised in Charleston,” he says.
“I didn’t know that,” I say.
“Most people don’t,” he adds, shifting again. Now his thigh is resting against mine, and we are officially sitting right next to each other. We have to turn our heads to look at one another.
“What brought him here?” I ask.
“He fell in love with a girl who was going to Berkeley,” he says, and my heart drops in my chest at the mention of the school.
“Your mom?” I ask softly, and he nods once, the smile still playing on his lips.
“He was insistent I go to Duke because that’s where he went,” he says.
“That’s a jaunt from here,” I say, and he smiles again.
“Best four years of my life,” he adds.
“You enjoyed college?” I ask.
“I enjoyed being twenty-two hundred miles from my father,” he jokes, but we both know he’s not kidding.
“Really? And here I thought he was such a lovely man,” I tease, and it earns me a chortle.
“Well,” I say, turning to face him. “I hope someday you have time to read Whitman.”
When Dom turns to face me too, it puts us about two inches apart. Our eyes lock and by default wander to each other’s lips.
“I hope someday I have time to do a lot of things I daydream about doing,” he says, his voice low and gruff.
I can literally feel the magnetism between our mouths, and I don’t fight it, not even a little. Before anything can happen, his phone rings. We both pull back, silently cursing.
Later that night, I throw on my favorite jeans, a black halter top and heels and go to the Cockpit. Lainey perks up when I walk in and then waves me over to the bar top. She’s actually working behind the bar instead of on the floor.
“Are you guys short-staffed?” I ask as she whips up a martini.
“Nope,” she grins as the blond locks of her wig bounce with the movement of the shaker in her hand. “I work back here now.”
“You’re a bartender?” I ask excitedly.
“Yep!” she grins with all the pride in the world.
“How did that happen?” I ask as she sets a water in front of me.
“I guess Niko finally realized that I’ve been waitressing long enough, and it was time for a promotion,” she answers. She garnishes the martini with two bleu cheese olives and reaches for the next ticket.
“Well, it’s about damn time,” I tell her, setting my clutch bag on the bar top.
“Either that, or he was desperate after you left without giving him any notice. I was a better option than any of the new girls, especially since they’re all under twenty-one,” she jokes at her own expense, as Lainey often does.
“We’ll pretend it’s the first one,” I say with a wink.
“You want a drink?” she asks.
“I’m alright,” I say.
“What is it with you lately?” she asks. “You never turn down a cocktail. At least have a glass of wine, sheesh.”
“I’m alright, I promise. I’m not in the mood for alcohol.”
Her eyes narrow suddenly. “Is it Dom? Does he not let you drink?”
“Dom has nothing to do with it,” I assure her. “I’m just watching my weight, that’s all.”
“A hard seltzer then,” she insists. “The lemon one has under a hundred calories and no sugar.”
“I’ll take a diet soda,” I say, and she sighs.
“Fine,” she says, giving up and reaching for another tray. “I miss you. It’s not the same since you left.”
“I miss you too,” I tell her, my heart swelling into a knot in my chest.
“Seriously. It’s just me and Brynn’s group of witches. Spelled with a capital B,”
I smile at that, and so does she, but then her smile fades.
“Ugh. Speak of the devil…”
“Mila!” Brynn suddenly appears next to me, wrapping her arms around me in a tight, plumeria-scented hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t allowed…”
“I think you guys have a misconception of my relationship with Dom,” I say with a smile.
“Because it’s not a relationship…” she says quietly, but not quietly enough, and I swat at her. Meanwhile, I can’t help but notice the look on Lainey’s face. But I decide to play along with the banter.
“Don’t remind me,” I say. “And also don’t be so loud!”
Brynn just smiles devilishly. “Listen,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “My friends and I are going out tonight. You should come!”
“Seriously?” Lainey asks, making no attempt to hide her tone. Brynn just ignores her.
“Yes. Seriously. We have wanted to hang out with you ever since you danced in the ring the other night. It’s all anyone ever talks about now. How cool the new girl is.”
“You mean the night you almost fell off the stage?” Lainey says with a fake smile, and Brynn shoots her a look to kill. “How is your ankle, by the way?”
“Perfectly fine,” she says. “It was just a bruise.”
Lainey makes a judgmental Mm sound, and Brynn turns her full attention to me.
“So what do you say, Mila? We’re going to The Blue Olive and maybe Club One O’ One after.”
“I don’t know,” I say, checking my phone, though I’m not sure what I’m checking for.
Usually my excuse would be that I have to work, but now that I’m not waitressing anymore, I literally have no excuse.
It’s an odd feeling having nowhere to be and not being stressed about money.
It’s almost unsettling, to be honest. I’ve never been without those stresses, not since I was about sixteen.
“Girl, you need to loosen up,” she says. “Come with us. That’s not a suggestion. You need to get out, and you know it.”
“I mean, I haven’t been out in a long time,” I admit.
“Neither have I,” Lainey says.
“You should come too,” I say, and she frowns.
“I’m working the bar all night,” she says flatly.
“Oh, right,” I nod. Then I bite my lip as Brynn does a little shoulder shimmy with a smile. “Alright. What the hell. I’ll go,” I say, and she squeals.
“Yes! Meet us at the Blue Olive at 10:30,” she says before bouncing off.
I turn to Lainey, but before I can say anything, she is taking a tray of beers to a table on the other side of the room. I feel bad. But it’s not like she’s my only friend.
“So then I told him that unless he gets the Chanel, not the Kate Spade, there was no way I was going out with him,” Rachel says, and the rest of us laugh.
I am only laughing because the idea of using a man for his money sounds insane to me.
At least in the way she’s talking. I suppose it could appear to some people that I’m using Dom for his money, but it’s a contract.
He’s getting something out of it, and I’m getting something out of it.
If the thing I am getting out of it happens to be money, well, that’s just a detail.
Also, I feel like we both know I am getting more out of it than that. Multiple orgasms are a real thing, and they don’t suck.
“Gosh, it’s been such a long time since I’ve been on a real date. I’d be happy if a man got me something from Goodwill,” Amanda says, and everyone laughs again. They’re all about three cranberry vodkas deep at this point, and while I can’t partake, I’m still having fun.
“Listen, I’ve found some good things at Goodwill,” I say. Rachel crinkles her nose and shakes her head as if my words were tangibly sour.
“Well, at least you won’t be shopping there anymore, not now that you’re with Dom,” Brynn says with a smirk.
“I can’t believe you’re with Dominic Wolfe,” Rachel says with a sigh.
“Isn’t he kind of old?” Amanda asks, and while that should be a dig, I don’t take it personally. Amanda is probably the nicest girl in the group, and it’s not her fault that all the air in her head doesn’t leave much room for anything else.
“Upper forties, right?” Brynn asks.
“Something like that,” I answer, taking a sip of my mocktail.
“Listen,” I tell them. “Just because there’s silver on the hood doesn’t mean there isn’t horsepower in the engine,” I whisper, and everyone shrieks.
I take a sip of my mocktail, smiling against the rim of the glass.
It’s in that moment that I realize I am having a good time.
While Lainey is my best friend, these girls remind me of girls I hung out with in high school.
There’s a sisterhood, a camaraderie. Even though I don’t think I am as concerned about looks, dating, or name brands as they are, it feels good to laugh like this again.
I like feeling like I’m part of something again.
I feel like I have a little piece of who I used to be before the accident robbed me of everything in an instant.
“I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t really care about his money,” I say, and then all roll their eyes.
“Oh, please,” Rachel says. “Every girl says she’s not a gold digger, but come on! Even if we are, where is the shame in it? For real?”
“I would never want someone to think I was a gold digger,” Amanda says with a look of bewilderment.
“No, I mean it,” Rachel says. “We do so much for men. We dress up, we work out, we watch our weight. Every movement, every expression, every word we fucking speak, all to appease men and feel worth something. A constant show, and for what? To be told that all we care about is money? So maybe we do like when they spoil us. Everything we do, everything we are, is for their benefit. If I want some Dom Perignon and a pair of Gucci sunglasses at the end of the day, I think that’s reasonable. ”
“Cheers to that,” Brynn says as she takes another sip from her glass. And I can’t help but think about that. These girls may not be everyone’s favorite, but it’s not like they don’t struggle.
“For once, I would like to have a job where how much money I make isn’t dependent on how much ass I show,” Amanda says.
“Or how much I flirt with greasy old men,” Rachel says.
“You’re lucky you don’t have to do it anymore,” Brynn smiles over at me. I smile back, but something feels off.
“I miss it, honestly,” I admit.
“You miss being smacked on the ass and being called pussycat?” Amanda asks, and I chuckle.
“No. I miss working. I miss being around people. I miss having friends,” I say.
“Well, you have us,” Amanda says, and I look up at them.
“She’s right,” Brynn says. “I wasn’t so sure about you at first, but I think you might be one of us.”
“And you’re a great dancer,” Amanda says.
“Yeah, you are,” Brynn agrees, her eyes locked on me intently as she smirks.
“I was in school for dance. But that was before,” I say, leaving it at that, and luckily, they’re too preoccupied to question me.
“Well, I’m bored,” Rachel says. “The two blonde boys at the end of the bar stopped buying us drinks, so I say we move on.”
“Yes,” Brynn agrees, finishing her drink. “Club One O’ One is supposed to be on fire tonight. And so are we,” she grins, and they all get up. I finish my mocktail, and as they grab their things, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Lainey.
Lainey: Hey girl. I miss you. We really need to hang out soon.
My heart swells in my chest. I’m about to answer her when Brynn grabs me by the hand, tugging me off the stool.
“Come on, sweetie. You’re about to see how Ring Girl’s party,” she says, and I shove my phone in my pocket as we tramp out the door.