Chapter 5 Dominic
Dominic
“Are you saying he’s a sweet potato hog?”
Briar freezes, her fry halfway to her mouth, and then starts laughing. “Yes, I guess I am. Though technically Snuffles is part of the rodent family, not the Suidae one.”
Somehow, I’m enchanted as Briar tells us a story about a capybara from work that likes to hoard his sweet potato treats, hiding them from the rest of the herd.
I didn’t even know what a capybara was until five minutes ago, but apparently, they’re huge rodents that break the norm of “the bigger the rat, the scarier they are.” With these guys, they get so big, they’re suddenly somehow cute enough that people want to pet them and curl up with them in their laps like puppies.
I’ve been learning a lot from Briar. Like that she works at the zoo, which is where she met Snuffles.
She hates pickles on her burgers, but will eat one by itself, and she draws a ketchup happy face on the top bun before smooshing her burger together because it makes her smile.
Her favorite hobby is kitchen dance parties while she waits for the microwave timer to beep, especially when she’s cooking popcorn because it gives the microwave noise an extra beat.
Oh, and socks make the best dance shoes for this activity.
“Technical or not, these fries are mine.” I grab a bundle of four big sweet potato fries from the basket in the middle of the table and shove them into my mouth all at once.
Like a mini-mimic, Harley follows suit, though he doesn’t do it quite as neatly and one falls into his lap. Thankfully, Briar is pressing her lips together, fighting to hold back a giggle at our antics. “Manners at the table, please.”
“Mooom,” Harley grumbles, looking embarrassed, not about his mild misbehavior but at Briar calling the two of us out.
I swallow the wad of mostly chewed spud, and back Briar’s parental limit. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a bad example. I’ll behave appropriately.” I wipe my mouth with my napkin and then set it in my lap, an epitome of etiquette my mother would be proud of.
Harley watches me closely, scrubs the back of his hand across his mouth, and then sheepishly says, “Sorry, Mom.”
“Thank you. There’s a time and place for properness, and a time and place for more relaxed dining.
” Briar daintily reaches for a fry as though eating with royalty, then pointedly grabs three and chows down on them T.
rex–style, growl and all. Grinning around her mouthful, she mumbles, “I’m not really a five-star restaurant kinda girl anyway. ”
Harley and I both laugh, but what I’m really thinking is that she’s a great mother. She’s obviously taught the kid how to behave, but she’s fun and silly with him, too, not making anything too serious.
“Could’ve fooled me,” I tease. “Everything about you says fancy-schmancy.”
She strikes a pose, her hand placed beneath her chin as she bats her lashes. “It’s the unwashed hair, bare face, and sloth shirt, isn’t it?”
I choke on my tea as a laugh bursts out. “It’s definitely the shirt. Who’s your tailor?”
She’s kidding, but the truth is, Briar might not be red-carpet ready, but she does look hot.
Her hair is pulled up into some sort of floppy style that makes me want to run my fingers through it and make it a bit messier, her face being bare lets me see the frequent blushes that sweep across her cheeks every time I look at her a little too long or a bit too directly, and her shirt, which proclaims “Hang In There” with a sleeping sloth barely gripping the letters, hugs her chest and stops just shy of the waist of her jeans.
When she walked into the arena earlier, I’d had to recite old game stats—in reverse order, mind you—to get my dick to settle down.
Even then, I’d had to sternly remind myself that she’s Coach’s daughter, and while I don’t care too much about what he says, giving his daughter sexy eyes is probably a no-no I should mind.
Briar chuckles. “My entire wardrobe consists of shirts from the gift shop that I bought with my employee discount and the occasional animal-themed gift.”
“So what I’m hearing is that you sleep in one of those oversize T-shirts with a giraffe body on it where your head sits at the top of the giraffe’s neck.”
Briar gasps in shock. “How did you know that?” I’m truly not sure if she’s kidding or if I hit the nail on the head. In a stage whisper, she adds, “Do you know about the matching giraffe knee socks too? Très chic.”
“She’s so weird,” Harley declares, but I’m picturing Briar fresh from bed with sleep-drunk, soft eyes, in what amounts to a giraffe costume, and instead of looking strange, it’s doing unexpected things to my face. I think I’m smiling . . . a lot.
“Says Mr. Spider-Man pj’s,” Briar teases Harley, and then she turns to me. “And you probably sleep in team gear, right?”
I arch a brow and deadpan, “I sleep naked.”
“Oh!” Briar squeaks as that pretty pink blush colors her cheeks once more. I’m 99.4 percent certain she’s imagining me, bare-assed and hopefully hard. But she quickly points at Harley and says, “Don’t even think about it, mister.”
The boy instantly slumps in disappointment, and I can’t help but chuckle. “I bet Snuffles gets to sleep naked,” I stage-whisper to him.
Briar’s mom voice returns as she declares, “Snuffles is responsible for an entire herd. He gets to do whatever he wants. You have to be reminded to brush your teeth every day and pick up your dirty clothes from the floor.”
I pull a face, cringing, and say to Harley, “Your mom’s got a fair point. Definitely need to brush morning and night. And clean up after yourself. Morning breath and dirty drawers are a big no-go.”
“But if I slept naked, I wouldn’t have laundry to pick up,” Harley counters, but he’s joking with his mother. She gives him one of those trademarked mom looks, silently saying so much, and he shrugs. “It was worth a try.”
I like how comfortable they are with each other.
It reminds me of my parents, who are amazing.
If you looked up mom and dad in the dictionary, their pictures would be there.
Loving and supportive, they are the foundation on which my success is built, and I’m grateful for them every day, especially after seeing how fortunate I am to have them in my corner.
Not everyone is so lucky. Harley’s lucky, too, at least with his mother.
“How’d you end up taking care of animals?” I ask curiously. “It’s not exactly the usual nine-to-five.”
“And hockey is?” she challenges. But she explains, “I loved science as a kid. Every animal show I could watch, I did . . . on repeat. The plan was to go to college for a zoology degree, but plans changed.” Her eyes drop to Harley for a split second, but there’s only affection in their depths, no regret over her changed course.
“When Harley was little, I would take him to the zoo in his stroller every chance I could. I’d walk him around all day, teaching him about the animals, and eventually, I got to know the keepers.
That grew into volunteering, and when we moved here, I applied for an entry-level job, mostly cleaning habitats and helping with the education programs like I’d done before.
I did finally get my degree, just an associate, but because the zoo is so small here, that’s been enough to let me move up the food chain so to speak.
Now, I get to work directly with the animals, which is exactly where I belong. ”
“Dream come true, I guess,” I summarize, and she smiles happily as though she truly believes that.
Caretaking seems to be her nature, something I can relate to.
I took care of my sister, mostly protecting her from herself, for my whole life, then added on taking care of Griffin through his rough patch, and now, I’ve been tasked with taking care of Kipson the same way.
It might not be my career choice the way it is for Briar, but I understand what it takes.
“Was hockey always your plan?” she asks.
Nodding, I say, “Plan A, B, C, and every letter to Z. There was no alternative. It’s all I ever wanted.
Dreamed about it as a kid, focused on it through high school and the minors, and now that I’m living it, I still have to put in the work every day to keep the dream alive.
The guys coming up are younger, hungrier, and sometimes stronger.
I used to be like that—on that side of the team equation,” I say wistfully.
“But now, I’m on the other side, as the grizzled veteran, which means I have to be smarter.
” I tap my temple, emphasizing that so much of hockey is mental, not only physical—a lesson I’ve seen play out in front of me too many times.
“Things can go sideways in a blink, and you end up somewhere you never expected to be.”
I’m referring to my detour to the Blizzard team, but I see Briar’s smile fade slightly as she unconsciously leans toward Harley.
“Unexpected can be good, though. It’s the surprises that life throws at you that make it fun.
When things get too boring, I always try to sprinkle a little ‘unexpected’ in on my own.
Like we’ll head out on a road trip with no destination in mind, and every once in a while, we’ll stop and decide ‘left, right, or straight’ and see where we end up. ”
“Last time, we ended up lost and Mom had to go into a sketchy gas station to ask for directions because there was no phone signal,” Harley informs me.
Briar laughs. “And we got the most delicious saltwater taffy we’ve ever had at that gas station, didn’t we? So it wasn’t all bad.”
I think that’s how she sees the world. Nothing is bad, it’s just good that hasn’t happened yet. Even the way she talks about being a single parent, which can’t be easy, is kindhearted.
“Mmm,” I groan dramatically, patting my stomach. “I love saltwater taffy. I don’t think I’ve had that in ages. Where’d you say that gas station was?”
Harley looks at Briar, who laughs. “Sorry, I have no idea. We were so lost I couldn’t even tell you what part of the state we were in. It was just a one-and-done experience to be appreciated for what it was.”
“Then, to the unexpected,” I conclude, raising my tea in the air.
Briar and Harley pick up their sodas and clink the plastic glasses to mine. “To the unexpected,” Briar echoes.
She gives me a questioning look, like she hasn’t quite figured me out yet, but is definitely trying.
Unfortunately, she’s looking for schemes and strategies where there are none.
I’m a “what you see is what you get” type of guy, with no dark depths to plunge into and explore.
I’m a simple man—I want to play hockey, spend time with people I love, and make the best of the life I’ve been given.
I think Briar wants that last one, too, but she’s got infinitely more layers than I do.
Her glowy, bright exterior and quick smiles make it seem like she’s had it easy, but there’s so much hurt inside her.
She’s covered it up with big mom energy and magic, but it’s there. I see it. I see her.
“Like getting to practice with my favorite nine-year-old,” I tell Harley, and his eyes almost pop out of his skull. I tilt my head, adding out of the side of my mouth, “To be fair, you’re the only nine-year-old I know personally.”
“The guys are going to be so jealous,” he whispers in disbelief. “Especially Connor.”
“Just a bit of ice time between friends,” I say with a shrug.
It’s no big deal to me. I had fun with the kid (and his mother), but I can remember being his age and know how much it would’ve meant to have the opportunity to play with a professional that I looked up to.
“And who cares what Connor thinks? Not you.” I plant that little seed in the kid’s mind, hoping to get the chance to water it and see it grow.
Harley grabs Briar’s hand, shaking it, and therefore her, wildly. “Mom, did you hear that? Dom says we’re friends!”
She smiles at him, but her eyes cut my way for a split second. I swear she can see right through me, so it’s a good thing there’s nothing but good intentions in my heart. “I heard. That’s really nice of Dom, isn’t it?”
Fuck.
She pointedly refused to call me Dom at the bar, and now that she has, I like it. A lot. Especially with that little glint in her eye that says she knows it’s an intimacy she declined before and is giving me now.
She might be the only friendly face I’ve met since getting to town, but I’m not feeling particularly friendly right this second.
I clear my throat, telling myself again that she’s not looking for something romantic, and she’s especially not wanting anything like the dirty thoughts running through my mind—of my hands threaded into her messy hair as she sucks my cock or her giraffe sock–covered feet on my shoulders while I lick her pussy.
Or even a sweet little kiss where I can taste the spicy ranch she’s been dipping her fries into.
Be cool, Dom. Be chill. Breathe. Don’t be one of the assholes she’s dealt with before.
“Yeah, kid. We’re all friends. You, your mom, and me.” The words are sawdust on my tongue, but a necessary reminder. Mostly for me, considering Briar seems to be laughing behind her blue-eyed stare, all too aware of the effect she has on me.
“Unexpected friends,” Briar declares as she reaches for another sweet potato fry.
“Much like capybaras and crocodiles, who get along surprisingly well considering one is the prey and one is the predator.” Briar meets my gaze directly, a question hiding in the science lecture–toned words.
“Capybaras will even ride on the crocodiles’ backs, floating along on the most dangerous paddleboard in existence.
” She moves the fry through the air like the swimming crocodile and then snatches it between her teeth.
Does she think I’m the predator? If anything, I’m her fucking prey, embarrassingly at her mercy.
I even skipped out on postcamp dinner with Rodney and Tomville to meet her and Harley tonight.
I would’ve skipped out on a hell of a lot more, too, without her even asking me to.
I wanted to see her, wanted to meet the son that is the center of her universe, and wanted to find out if the spark I felt at O’Neal’s was as real as it felt to me.
It is. It absolutely is.
“How does that work? Do the crocodiles just not like the taste of capybara? I’d think it’d be like chicken,” I surmise thoughtfully. I’m only half talking about the actual animals. The rest of me is drawing some straight-line similarities to the woman across the table from me.
“Probably saltier,” she quips with a raised brow.
Grudgingly, I admit, “And tougher.”