Carter #2
“You didn’t seem to mind when I paid for your buy-in the other night at the beach,” he said, his voice a low, smooth vibration.
I paused, my retort dying in my throat. The memory of the sand rigs and the floodlights flashed through my mind, making my pulse jump in a way I hated. I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already nodding to the kid behind the counter.
“Keep the change,” Dominic said easily. He didn't wait for a receipt or watch the kid’s hands; he simply turned back to me, the currency already forgotten the moment it left his touch. The worker looked like he’d just been handed a gold bar, stuttering out a thank you.
I scoffed, looking at the rings and then back at the person who seemed to own the very air I was breathing. “I only did that because you were being stubborn like usual. I was just making you pay the tax for having to listen to you.”
Dominic didn't bristle. Instead, his mouth curved into a look that lacked its usual serrated edge. It would appear that tonight, he wasn't looking for a fight; he was looking at me like I was the only thing that wasn't scripted.
“Is that the excuse we’re using?” he asked. He stepped a fraction closer, invading my space with a closeness that was impossible to ignore. “Because if you’re that worried about the debt, you should probably know I’m a very expensive habit to keep, Shortcut. Most people can't afford the interest.”
His gaze swept over my face, dark and clinical. “You’re acting like a buy-in is a life debt. It’s boring.” He leaned in just enough that the noise surrounding us seemed to hit a wall. “What’s the real issue? Your last boyfriend too broke to handle the check, or just too small to handle you?”
The words hit like a physical weight, dropping right into the pit of my stomach.
It wasn't just the arrogance of the assumption; it was the way his voice dropped an octave, turning the question into something that felt less like an insult and more like a challenge. He sounded entirely too convinced that anyone who had come before him was just a footnote he’d already finished reading.
I didn’t blink. I didn’t give him the "fine" or the "he was okay.
" I just matched his stare even as the blood began to hum in my ears, a frantic, heavy rhythm that mirrored the vibration of the generators nearby.
My skin felt suddenly too tight, a sharp spike of something blooming in my chest that had nothing to do with the air outside.
He was a nightmare, a polished menace on legs, and currently, the only person who could make me feel like I was standing in the middle of a live circuit without a car.
“My personal life isn’t for sale,” I said, my voice clipped.
He leaned back only a beat, looking entirely too comfortable. “So that’s a ‘no’ then,” he murmured, his eyes tracking the slight tension in my lips.
I said nothing, forcing myself to look anywhere but at the dark, knowing light in his eyes.
I fixated on the plastic rings, my pulse still thrumming a frantic rhythm against my collarbone.
He was too confident, too observant, and in this moment, it felt like he knew exactly how much space he was taking up in my head.
“It’s for charity,” he added, his voice regaining that smooth, challenging edge. He nudged the rings toward me with one finger. “Unless you’re against helping people now, too? Or are you just afraid you’ll lose?”
I rolled my eyes. “Why are you even here bothering me? This is your circus, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be on a stage somewhere, posing for photos or signing someone’s forehead?”
I meant it as a jab—a way to point out how much of a performance this all was. But Dominic didn’t scoff. He just tilted his head toward the massive platform draped in black banners, where a sea of fans was currently being held back by security.
“I was,” he said simply.
I paused, my irritation faltering.
“Caught me,” he murmured. “The view was better from up there. I saw you.”
A strange, chilling shiver raced down my spine. I didn't have a witty comeback for that. I didn't have anything.
“Hard to miss the girl looking like she wants to set the event on fire,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine with a predatory stillness. “I saw you the second you walked through the gates. Took me a bit to find a gap in the crowd to get over here.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy and charged.
I felt my breath hitch—a tiny, traitorous break in my rhythm that told him his honesty had landed like a physical blow.
He’d just admitted to hunting me down through a crowd of thousands, and for a second, the predatory stillness in his gaze seemed to flicker into something almost... human.
I was frozen, the gears in my head grinding to a halt. He must have seen it—the deer-in-the-headlights look I couldn't hide—because he didn't double down. He didn't lean in or press the advantage. Instead, he made a sharp, dismissive sound—a half-scoff—and turned his attention back to the counter.
With a casual flick of his wrist, he didn't even look as he tossed a ring. It sailed through the air, looping with a lazy, effortless arc before snapping onto the neck of a pylon with a sharp clack.
He was letting me off the hook. He was shifting the gravity of the moment back to this stupid, rigged carnival game, giving me a second to find my feet. Even this, I didn’t understand.
“You’re still just standing there,” he noted, his voice dropping into that intense, suffocating weight. He held out the second ring toward me, the plastic circling his thumb. “Don’t tell me the wannabe arsonist folds this easily.”
I didn't take it. I couldn't even find my voice to tell him to shove it. I just leaned back, before giving a sharp, dismissive wave of my hand—a just-get-it-over-with gesture that felt weak even to me.
Dominic’s mouth quirked into a tease of a smirk. “Fine. Have it your way.”
He didn't aim. He didn't even settle into a stance. He simply tossed the remaining rings in quick succession, one-handed, like he was throwing away trash.
Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.
Five for five. The kid behind the counter looked like he was about to faint. “Five! That’s—that’s a clean sweep!” He scrambled toward the back wall, tripping over a crate of stuffed animals. “You get to pick your prize! The Team Bear or the Limited Edition Carbon Pillow! Which one?”
Dominic didn't look at the prizes. He was still anchored to me, his head tilted as if he were waiting for my brain to reboot. “Which one, Shortcut?”
The worker held up the two prizes, but the sight of it felt surreal. The lights around us were suddenly too bright, the noise of the crowd too distant. The fact that Dominic had abandoned his own stage just because he saw me through a gap was a thought my brain couldn't begin to process.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just blinked at him, then at the options, and then I simply turned on my heel. I walked away, my shoes shuffling on the ground, my mind a static-filled mess of why and how.
“Hey! Wait—you forgot your—” the worker shouted, his voice high-pitched and confused.
I heard the heavy sound of something being snatched off the counter. I kept walking, but the steady, rhythmic sound of Dominic’s stride caught up to me in seconds.
He didn't grab my arm or block my path. He simply fell into step beside me, the ridiculous stuffed bear tucked under his arm like a trophy he hadn't even tried to win.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he said calmly, as if he hadn't just upended my entire night. “The exit is that way.”
“Right over there,” he pointed after another second, a low pull of amusement in his voice. “Unless you were planning on sleeping on the sidewalk? But I’m not sure the security team is prepared for a squatter that looks good in denim.”
I wasn't listening. I couldn't. My mind was stuck on the loop of him looking down from that stage, seeing me, and leaving.
“Why did you plan this?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could filter them. I stopped walking, forcing him to halt too. “This is your event, right? This whole thing is for you.”
“Dominic!” a voice shrieked from our left. A female with a lanyard was staring at him, her eyes wide with total shock. “Oh my god, Dominic Valerio? Can I just—one photo?”
Dominic’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of raw annoyance crossing his features before he smoothed it out.
The polished, PR-ready version of himself took over, that practiced charm sliding over him like a second skin.
It was a flawless performance, even if the warmth didn't reach his eyes.
“Just one,” he said, leaning in for a half-second as her phone flashed. “Enjoy the night.”
Before she could even stammer a thank you, he was moving again, pulling me back into the sides of the tents. Once the crowd muffled our voices again, I pressed him.
“Why did my father and Marco have to lie to get me to come here tonight?” I demanded, my voice tight. “What’s the point of all this?”
Dominic kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, his profile sharp against the glow of the event. “Maybe I wanted to impress you.”
“Impress me?” I swept a hand toward the gaudy lights and the row of booths. “You thought throwing a hundred dollars at a rigged game was the way to do that? Do you really think I’m that easily dazzled by a bank statement?”
Dominic angled his chin. He didn't smirk. He didn't give me that lazy, arrogant tilt of the head. He just looked at me, then let his gaze drift slowly—pointedly—past my shoulder. He took in the sprawling event, transformed into a high-octane carnival. The air was a thick blend of burnt rubber from the display tires and the cloying sweetness of blue cotton candy. Everywhere I looked, the university’s brick buildings were draped in his team’s sleek banners.
“I wasn’t talking about the game,” he said, his voice level and dangerously quiet.