Chapter 11 Dominic
Dominic
Then
My plan for the next four years was simple: go to college, room with Eric, and graduate with a degree that would allow me to make enough money to never have to go back to living in a house with Gabriel Alexander again.
The last part is kind of irrelevant given the sizable life insurance check that’s been sitting in my bank account since last year when Mom died, but I’m still not taking any risks, because ending up in a house with my dad would cost me what little sanity I have left.
The past twelve months have been hard enough, but living with the piece of shit who might as well have put her in the grave himself made it all unbearable.
Listening to him weep over pictures of her and romanticize their history.
Sitting through his attempts to try and walk me down a rose-colored memory lane like I didn’t live through all of their dysfunctional bullshit.
The lies.
The cheating.
The slaps across her face.
The bruises from his hands around her neck.
It all slowed down when I got old enough to shield her body with mine.
And then when she got sick, breast cancer in the advanced stages, it stopped altogether.
He just transformed into this loving, gentle man who doted on his sick wife, tending to her every need with the kind of devotion he refused to give her for years.
It was sickening to watch him, knowing all those years of abuse could’ve been avoided if he hadn’t woken up every day and chosen to be a mean, heartless bastard.
For all of those reasons—and a few I’m probably not far enough along in therapy to fully understand—I have to stick to my plan.
A plan that didn’t include attending frat parties with Chris, the resident assistant on my hall, or being brought to my knees by the walking contradiction that is the woman sitting on my lap right now.
I came out here to avoid her. To get away from the white dress, long legs, and sexy mess of curls flowing down her back.
To avoid the inevitable moment when the air around me was replaced by her heavenly scent and the sweet, fruity notes wafting up from her skin mixed a little too well with the smoky flavor of the liquor on her breath.
I don’t know how, but the moment I saw her, I knew she would spell disaster for the plan.
Probably because none of the bullet points included feeling this way about a stranger.
Except she doesn’t feel like a stranger.
She feels like home. She feels like the only person who has ever looked at me and known me in a single second.
She feels like every dream I’ve ever had, every wish I’ve ever made, every oath I’ve ever sworn to keep all rolled up into one perfect being.
All real, and all mine from the moment she sat her perfect ass on my lap and dared me to come and burn the world down with only her eyes.
Fuck the plan.
I curl my arm around her waist, pulling her deeper into me and inviting her to continue the conversation she started when she sat down and told me I looked like trouble. She smiles and tosses back the rest of her drink. “Well, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Trouble.”
“That depends, angel.”
Shit. I didn’t mean to let the nickname slip.
I don’t even know her real name, so it’s strange to already be giving her one.
There’s something overly familiar and possessive in my tone that should scare us both, but I can only think about how right the word feels on my tongue and how pleased she looks because I said it.
She bites her lip. “On?”
“What kind of trouble you’re looking for.”
She leans forward and sets the empty cup on the windowsill behind me.
The movement causes her breasts to come dangerously close to brushing my cheek.
I stay still, not wanting to startle her by nuzzling into the most inviting cleavage I’ve ever had the pleasure of being this close to.
When she settles back into my hold, she sighs audibly and tilts her head back to look up at the stars.
“This is going to sound weird, but there’s this girl who lives inside of me.
She spends all of her time trying to be perfect and do everything right so everyone else can be happy with who she is, how she looks, and what she does.
I’ve spent my whole life letting her drive the bus because I thought she knew what she was doing, but she doesn’t. She really fucking doesn’t.”
In some ways, this whole monologue does sound weird, but somehow it also doesn’t.
I get what it’s like to push down all of your true thoughts and feelings so people only get the most palatable version of you.
Going through your life and only showing one part of yourself to the world seems exhausting.
“And now you’re trying to make up for lost time by doing all the things she would never do.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. “Yes. Exactly.”
I consider her for a moment, trying to convince myself I’m not already caught up in her spell, like I won’t do, or be, whatever she asks me to.
And it’s a waste of energy, because I already know I will.
I knew it the moment I saw her standing in the doorway over an hour ago.
She was surrounded by a group of people coming into the party, but I could only see her.
My fingers flex, digging into the soft flesh at her side, and the fire in her eyes burns brighter.
“Why do you think I can help you with that?”
“I saw the way you looked at me when I walked in.”
“You and your friends walked right past me.”
She giggles and even the sound is heavenly. I want to soak it up, pull every note out of the air and absorb it into my being. Jesus, this girl is already in my fucking blood. When she realizes I’m not amused, her lips push out into a faux pout.
“I’m sorry. They asked me to stay close until they tracked down the guys who invited us. Then they left me, and I came to find you because I knew you were the only person who could help me check the last two things off of my trouble list.”
“What’s on your trouble list?”
She shifts around, and suddenly she’s straddling me.
Those long arms looping around my neck and the hem of her dress riding up her thighs as she makes herself at home on top of the erection I’ve been dealing with since she walked out the back door and set her sights on me.
Both of my hands come up and grip her waist; she smiles triumphantly at me.
“I can’t tell you until you say yes.”
I shake my head in disbelief. I don’t know if I’m more shocked by her audacity or the fact I’m considering saying yes even though I have no idea what she’s going to ask of me.
“Who are you?”
She bites her lip, and for the first time tonight, she doesn’t look so sure of herself. Her fingers ghost over the back of my neck, and my dick twitches. A small gasp leaves her lips, and I swallow the urge to capture the sound with my mouth.
“That’s such a loaded question. I think I’m going to need you to be more specific.”
My lips quirk as I fight back a smile. She’s such a smartass. “Let’s start with something simple, like your name.”
“You call me angel.”
A jolt of electricity passes between us. Satisfaction swells in my chest, spurred by her repeating the nickname I gave her. “True, and I probably still will after you tell me what everyone else calls you.”
She leans back and extends her hand. “Sloane.”
Shaking her hand while the heat of her body is pressed against my erection is almost laughable, but the serious look on her face demands I do it anyway. Her hand is small and fits perfectly inside of my palm.
“I’m Dominic, but all of my friends call me Nic.”
Her head tilts to the side, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Does anyone ever call you Dom?”
I can’t stop looking at her mouth. “Nope, not until now.”
The statement wins me another brilliant smile that hits me right in the chest and makes me wonder how I went through my entire life without this impossibly perfect girl looking at me like her shadows were made for mine.
“Good,” she slurs, leaning in closer until her lips are hovering over mine and her breasts are grazing my chest. “Do you want to know what’s on my list, Dom?”
“Yes.”
“Number one: Get drunk for the first time. Check. Number two: Wear a dress short enough to make a stripper blush and go to a party. Check. Number three: Shake my ass for the sexiest guy at the party.” An adorable, but undeniably drunken, hiccup escapes her as she wiggles her brows at me.
“Number four: Go home with that guy and spend the night in his bed doing everything but sleeping.”
“Sloane—”
“Do you want to dance with me?”
Everything in me is telling me to walk away right now, to run from her like I did earlier, because her drunken recitation of the running list in her head proves that my instincts about her being a source of disruption in my life were spot on.
Still, I can’t bring myself to move. I’m too intrigued by her and the tangle of emotions swelling in my chest just from being close to her.
“Tell me one thing first.”
Sloane blinks several times to focus. Her eyes have that glassy look to them that indicates major alcohol consumption, and I wonder exactly how much she’s had to drink.
“What do you want to know?”
“Can’t you just tell whoever pissed you off to go screw themselves?”
Her brows dip together. “What do you mean?”
“This list isn’t about you. It’s about proving something to someone else, so why don’t you just tell them to go screw themselves and move on with your life?”
“She’d just see it as confirmation that she’s been right about me all along. Her twisted mind will find a way to make her the victim even though she called her own daughter an ungrateful little bitch and a constant source of disappointment.”