9. Chapter 9
Mariana
On a day that could have turned into another long, boring photoshoot, it's Dom's friends that rescue me again.
We're in a repurposed warehouse. It's retrofitted to hold the staged set ups we planned for the charity calendar.
By the end of the first day of shooting, it was all a blur.
At some point, watching hyperactive men be directed to pose and change clothes loses its thrill.
Put on the suit, take off the jersey. Imagine a roaring crowd, pretend you scored a touchdown.
That is, until a group of them decide to make a joke of it.
Evie is here in her role as the PR department coordinator.
She'a also recording casual videos of the experience— and of the athletes— for her social media campaigns.
I don't know if it was on purpose, but Logan, Saint, and Dom are scheduled in a row.
After Saint finished his turn, he stuck around and made so much fun of Logan and Evie, it distracted me enough I didn't see Dom arrive.
I'm cackling when we first lock eyes. Even through the distance, I recognize the tension on his lips. He's bothered by my laughter.
I mentally shrug and turn back to Evie, Logan, and Saint.
It's been two weeks since Dom and I had our conversation…
argument… discussion in the club. I'm not sure what shocked me more.
The way we devolved into rough banter yet again as soon as we were alone, or how it turned into dangerous territory so quickly.
Or worse, the moment he said my name at the end.
Whenever I think about standing next to him waiting for my car, I think about the way he said Mari. Like somewhere inside, in a corner so deep, too far away to reach, a part of him still sees me the way he used to back when we were in love.
I bite my lip. My body softens. Vulnerable feelings push to the surface, regardless of how hard I keep fighting them.
What a foolish fantasy to pop into my head.
"Hello, Dom." Saint grins. "Perfect timing. You're the man I'd rather be teasing now."
"Finally a break," Logan says. "I was getting tired of Saint's jokes."
"Why?" Dom asks Saint. "Seeing Logan get frownier by the second is endlessly funny."
"He already has gone through all the stages," the wide receiver explains. "From disinterested frown, to annoyed frown, to 'I'll mock you in my most deadpan tone' frown."
Logan rolls his eyes. Evie and I laugh.
Dom ignores us and nods solemnly. "He's reached the final form."
"I should have been tougher with you all," Logan says.
Saint slaps his back. "Too late, Logan King. Too late."
A producer shows up and leads Dom to get ready for his shoot. I chat with his friends for a while, before Saint and Logan say goodbye and leave. I remain behind with Evie, casually chatting with her, until Dom appears from the changing room wearing only the knee-length pants of the Strike uniform.
I don't stare. My eyes stay glued to Evie. If in the periphery I track how two assistants help him spread some kind of liquid on his skin, it's just because it's unavoidable. And annoying. It has to be.
"Oh, this is good material," Evie says, and makes a gesture toward Dom.
She takes her phone out of her pocket and smiles mischievously at me. I follow her to him.
He's massaging oil over his chest. All over his stomach.
The view is just as good as it was when we were together and oh, so delicious.
Wide, thick shoulders. Pecs that shift as he moves.
No six pack, but no one could miss them when the iliac furrow above his narrow hips— I looked up the medical term, back in college when I got to use them as love handles— is as glorious as Dom's.
Overall, some padding has found its way to his torso.
It makes his shape more interesting, softening muscles he's further developed since the last time I got to run my hands all over him.
It's two assistants who have their hands on him today.
They help spread oil over his shoulders.
His back. The ceiling lamps paint highlights on his skin, the more the liquid covers the territory.
Now my eyes latch onto his tattoos, thirsty for what is on display before me, making me wish I could count every single piece of ink on his skin.
If only to check which ones might be new, of course.
Ahem. I cast my eyes to the floor. It's standard industrial flooring, and a better target than staring at my ex's chest for way too long. Thinking things I don't want him to see on my face.
"You don't mind, do you?" Evie asks Dom. "I'm sure the video will go viral and then you can bug everyone that you must be the fans' favorite."
"I don't mind. Objectify me as much as you like."
I snort, but hide it. I clear my throat for good measure, but let them get into it. From the tone of their voice, they're having fun.
Evie chuckles. "That's exactly what I'm doing, but it's for a good cause."
"Fan engagement drives ticket sales."
"Yes, right, ah-ha. That's why you do it."
"It also gives me another bet to win on the Hypersquare."
"I almost forgot you got the crown last season. It's not like you've mentioned it a hundred times since."
"I can win it again." His eyes sparkle. "Especially with a video like this one. All I need to do is bet I'll get more comments from fans than anyone else."
"Go right ahead. Then the other guys will let me record them more, just to shut you up."
"It's all to help you in your projects, Evie."
"And I'm sure you don't mind the attention."
Dom lifts a shoulder, no concern on his features at all. "Let a man enjoy some adulation wherever he can get it."
"Except there's a point where it gets into someone's head." I keep my gaze above the neck, unashamed of getting in the middle of their playful banter. "Wouldn't you say?"
The smile he had on his lips disappears. A bland gesture takes over his face. Now that he's talking my way, I get Dull Dom.
He raises an eyebrow. "At the end of the day, this is for a good cause. This calendar is a Strike Foundation project, too, right? That's why you're here."
I smirk. "That's why I'm here, yes."
With Evie's eyes on us, I should play the game and be just as insipid. But I recognize the challenge hiding in his dark brown eyes, and the barely-there tension in the line of his shoulders. It stings. If I look closely, he's implying he didn't need me around this much.
It makes me want to fight him, for the part he's played in where we are today. Back in the good old days, we bantered rather than bickered, and it led us to laughter and kisses and fun in bed more often than not. A piece of me misses that, but I refuse it.
I make my face take on a bored gesture.
Until Evie's phone rings.
"Oh! I need to take this." She looks at me. "Record for me please?"
"I'm not good with a camera…" I try.
She grins. A twinkle appears in her eyes when Dom clears his throat.
"Sorry." She doesn't sound apologetic. "You guys will survive it, right? You seem so well… adjusted. And this call is really important. Thank you both."
She puts her phone to her ear and leaves.
"All right, then." I lick my lip and tap a few times on my screen.
Pointing the camera at Dom, I take over the recording. It forces me to pay attention to the hard curl on his mouth, and the serious eyes tracking my movements.
One of the assistants has a bottle of shimmering liquid. They use it in strategic places to highlight the dips and swells of his body. I zoom in on the way she runs her fingertips on his clavicles. The swell of his pecs. The round of his shoulders. Slowed down, it could look like a sensual caress.
Evie can probably do wonders with videos like this.
Me, I… I purse my lips as I come closer to pan over some tattoos.
That's how I find the first one I don't remember— a geometric bee.
He got two tattoos while we were together.
The carnations on his back were special to us.
To me. I can't see them from this angle, but I'm dying to know. Did he get them covered?
The assistants say they'll be right back, leaving us alone for a minute.
I don't think I'm reacting, but I must be, because Dom frowns at me.
"Careful," he mutters.
"What?"
Is he still hot to the touch? Not that I can check. Not that I can enjoy it again, like when he used to hold me for hours just because it made me happy. Not that I can run my fingertips over his body, testing the way each pass would go from hot to scolding, the more heat bloomed between us.
"Don't look at me like that," he growls.
I'm saved from having to respond by the assistants, who come back and study us. I have no idea what our faces tell them, but they don't comment. They guide Dom to a side of the set. They point studio lamps at him, measure lighting, do technical things.
I'm recording everything, just in case. At this point, the phone in my hand is an anchor to reality, and the excuse I can cling to if I get called out for whatever my face is doing.
Someone comes to talk about the poses, involving the Swedish ladder behind Dom.
I used to work out a lot but, even then, I wasn't familiar with this contraption.
A metal railing screwed into the wall, with bars coming out at the top in ninety degrees, and crossbars at the end.
From the sounds of it, Dom will have to show off his strength by moving with the kind of flow other people might use on a pole.
The kind that requires a core of steel, and muscles hard as iron, working like he doesn't struggle at all.
Just trying to imagine it has me warming up. The power, the ease, the sexiness factor…
Damn. I need to stop. Filming for Evie isn't a good enough excuse, when it's making me feel this much. He and I had such powerful chemistry. It was a foundation in the love we shared. But these days, it can only give him too much power over me.