1. Carter #3
My first thought, traitorous and involuntary, was that he was unfairly attractive. He had the kind of dark brown eyes that looked like they hadn't seen a no in years. Up close, the superstar from the billboards looked less like a star and more like a fallen angel with a king complex.
Dominic Valerio didn’t move. He just stood there, watching the way my breath hitched and my pulse hammered against the hollow of my throat, a slow, sinful smirk curling his mouth.
"You look lost, sweetheart," he drawled. His voice was a low, dark purr that felt like a physical vibration against my skin. "Or maybe just surprised to see someone who actually fits the decor."
I gripped the creamer carton until the cardboard buckled, the dampness of the container the only thing keeping me grounded. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Get out of here."
Instead of backing off, he stepped into my personal space, forcing me back until my spine hit the edge of the island. He slammed both hands down on the counter on either side of my hips, pinning me in. He was a wall of damp skin and heat, smelling of expensive soap and the clean burn of adrenaline.
"I live here," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned down, his face inches from mine. "The real question is, which one of my father’s little tramps are you? He usually has better taste in morning-after attire, but I suppose the disheveled student look has its own… gritty charm."
His gaze dragged down the length of my oversized gray tee and bare legs in a slow, deliberate appraisal that wasn't a compliment—it was a mapping.
"Trust me, if I wanted your attention, you’d know," I fired back, my voice low and vibrating with a fury that burned right through my grogginess. "And I'm not here for your father. Or you. I'm here for a degree, and currently, I'm here for coffee. So move."
"A degree. Right. Because my family’s estate is famous for its tutoring services.
" He leaned in even closer, so close I could see the golden flecks in his dark brown eyes.
"There are only two reasons a girl like you is in this kitchen. Either my father finally followed through on his threat to bring in outsiders to monitor me… or he’s gotten desperate enough to let his flings stay the night in the pool house. "
His smirk sharpened, becoming something lethal.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice a dangerous murmur. "Or should I just call you 'Temporary'?"
"Bold of you to assume you’ve earned it. I usually prefer a tone that comes with better manners," I snapped, trying to shove against his chest. It was like trying to move a mountain of granite.
"Carter?"
The voice cracked through the tension like a whip. My dad rushed into the kitchen, his shirt half-buttoned and a look of sheer panic suddenly taking over his face. He froze, his eyes widening as they landed on the towel-draped disaster looming over me.
Dominic didn’t jump. He didn’t even look startled. He slowly—agonizingly slowly—straightened up, pulling his arms back but leaving the memory of his body hanging in the space between us. He turned his head toward my father, the smug smirk still playing on his lips at the sound of hearing my name.
But as he looked past me and locked eyes with my father, that sharp smirk faltered.
The arrogance didn't vanish, but it hardened into something severe and impenetrable. He looked at the weariness in my father’s face, the professional set of his shoulders, and the realization finally snapped into place.
"Dominic," Dad said, his voice regaining its footing as he stepped between us. "I’m Landon Hayes. I’m your new coach. And this is my daughter."
The word daughter barely landed before Dominic’s attention twitched—subtle, instinctive. His gaze skimmed back over me, quick and assessing, like he was recalibrating something he hadn’t planned on before snapping his attention forward again.
Dominic didn't shake his hand. He didn't even acknowledge the gesture. He just stared at my father with a look of pure, unadulterated venom. The previous personality was gone; in his place was a person who looked ready to burn the whole estate down just to see the sparks.
"Huh," Dominic said, his voice full of bored spite. "So my father wasn't kidding. He really did hire… you."
He said "you" like it was a dirty word. Like my father was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his racing boot.
Dad faltered, his hand dropping to his side. "I’m looking forward to working with you. We were excited for the call."
I stayed quiet, holding the words back so hard it hurt.
I looked at Dominic—at his dark hair, his dark eyes, and the sheer, unearned confidence radiating off him—and I realized I didn't just hate him.
I hated everything he represented. The waste.
The arrogance. The way he looked at my father—who had more talent in his pinky than Dominic had in his whole, sculpted body—like he was the outline for failure.
"I'm sure you were," Dominic said, his voice smooth enough to cut.
"A comeback must feel… exciting. Even if it’s a desperate one.
" His attention settled on me again, the smirk returning sharper than before as he glanced toward my dad.
"I apologize about the noise last night.
Didn't realize the help was sleeping so close to the action. "
Dad blinked, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "Noise? What noise?"