14. Chapter 14
Mariana
Cora: Hermanita, you were distracted again this morning. I thought you'd be excited for our upcoming work trip together! But you kept staring out into space. Our weekly breakfast is too far away. What's up? Come clean now and we can discuss further over eggs and toast on Monday.
Mariana: You've been saying that for days and the answer is still the same. Nothing is going on. I'm good, I promise! Just getting busier prepping all the December stuff. It's October already! How is that possible?
Cora: This is why I haven't had much time for fun either. For me it's the first year of many so it needs to go well. And for you? I was worrying you were getting anxious about making the next few months a success.
Mariana: I can't say my anxiety isn't flaring up again, but it's not too bad at the moment. All my work plans are going well— I think. Unless you've heard otherwise?
Cora: The opposite which, ironically, might be a problem. Did you talk to Selena yet? She wants to invite Mom and Dad to the gala.
Mariana: What?!
Cora: Sigh. Come have lunch with me and we'll talk.
Mariana: I bet this is what the meeting Selena's office added to my calendar tomorrow is about.
Cora: I'll tell you what I know over lunch.
I sit at my desk the next day, watching the night fall outside my window and twirling my pen between my fingers.
My sister was right. I've been distracted.
And even though I was able to redirect the conversation back to work, I haven't been as successful with my thoughts.
In fact, all that's happening is I'm adding more and more worries to my mind.
While I'm proud of how I walked out of the university two weeks ago, I'm not proud of being the one who pushed for what happened. I keep going back to that study room in my mind, rewinding and slowing down the tape, checking it frame by frame trying to decipher who truly initiated.
Who broke? I'm afraid it was me. I think I moved first, going for that kiss. And I definitely was the one to push for more.
My stomach twists. I said I would never, but I did. I so did.
It's okay. I asked no questions and he gave me what I needed.
I've been craving casual sex, right? Dom is a good time, guaranteed, and I've just been too busy to go meet someone.
This high should last me a while. It better, because work won't slow down for some time, and having so few opportunities for bars and pubs and clubs is what got me in this situation in the first place.
Right? That has to be it. Please, tell me that's what it is.
The only thing I should really be concerned about is the evidence I can't deny. The one proving that despite our arguing, there's at least one area where the magic between Dom and I remains.
I didn't even need a lot of foreplay to come fast.
That's why I've avoided Dom for two weeks. If I don't want to confront my confusing feelings about Dom, isn't steering clear from him the logical answer? Too bad I've learned that avoiding things just makes the fear stronger, and now the idea of seeing Dom again forces me into shallow breaths.
Unfortunately, after the meeting with Selena this morning, my luck disappears.
I take air in, counting to four, letting it out in six.
I repeat it a few times and leave my office for a quick trek to the training area.
The halls at the TD have begun to empty, with the official working hours now past. I walk through white and blue halls that echo the team's branding.
The elevator takes me down to the first floor.
Half the offices' lights are off, but I make my way toward the locker room anyway.
The large, open space is mostly empty as well.
Secretly, I'm hoping Dom is gone and I'll have to try again.
But I remember where his cubby was, and under the label with his name, there are way more things than in other ones.
Two sets of shoes wait on the floor, like he's not wearing any at the moment.
He could be in the shower and I could just wait…
A player I'm not familiar with comes out with a towel around his hips.
"Can I help you?" he asks.
"Hi, I'm looking for Dom. Have you seen him?"
"Pool room. He likes to stay there longer if he can."
I thank him and find my way through the gym to the back, where I think the wet room is. Because that's my kind of luck. I'll have to have this conversation with him while he's barely clothed.
I could send him an email, except this is going to be a personal conversation and I don't want it on the Strike's servers. I could unblock him and text him… except who knows if he still has the same number.
All right. I won't avoid this. Or him. I'm a determined woman on a mission.
The pool room has three narrow, long windows on the wall. They help bring in natural light to the tiled space, and I stand outside to look through them and study the view before going in. I find Dom right away. He's sitting in one of the pools. He's smiling, holding his phone to his ear.
The expression on his face strikes me. Before his call woke me up that morning, this is how I would see him in my memories.
Relaxed. Kind eyes. Bright, generous smile.
So approachable. Incredibly hot and confident for it all.
Tonight, he looks exactly like that, except a slightly-older version of the man I fell in love with.
That vault I built inside of me after we talked on the phone years ago— it cracks. A simple hairline fracture that steals my breath.
I don't get a chance to look at it or panic. He lifts his eyes at me, feigning the ability to sense my presence. The mix of memories and his eyes on me— they harpoon into my chest. It twists, when his smile loses several degrees of warmth.
My stomach drops but I make myself open the door and go through it.
"Qué? No, tranquila," he says to the phone. "But yeah, I have to go."
I bite my bottom lip. He's not looking at me anymore. With his free hand, he's rubbing his scalp.
"No, mamá. Don't worry. It's, err… someone from work. Doesn't matter."
His words add a full punch in the middle of my chest. Even if I deserve it, after the way I talked to my mom about him. Except I didn't think he'd hear me, so why should I have censored myself? Unless talking about him like that behind his back makes it worse, rather than better…
Okay, now I'm at risk of spiraling. I'm overthinking everything. My anxiety is really starting to act up.
"Te hablo manana?" he continues. "Or I can come have dinner with you and abuela. Yeah? Perfect. Text me. Bye."
He places his phone on a towel folded on top of a stool. The water covers up to his shoulders, once he puts both arms back in the pool. His eyes are on me, tracking me like he believes I might jump in the water with him.
"Still close to your mom?" I ask, standing somewhere between the doors and him.
I met her a few times, alongside his grandmother.
They were kind people, even if they would give me suspicious looks, and seemed to think I was from another planet.
I was rich and they weren't. According to Dom at the time, they couldn't make sense of it.
Of us. Regardless, I'm sure she would have recognized my name, had Dom chosen to tell her about me.
But he didn't, and I don't want to be hurt by it.
He nods. "It's just the three of us."
"You brought them with you to Seattle?"
He nods again. "Of course. We have always stayed together."
Even back then, his dad wasn't in the picture, and Dom didn't keep in touch with the man who gave him nothing more than a last name. Maybe that's why he has trouble accepting when people leave. Huh. I wonder if he's made that connection.
"Can I help you?" Dom asks.
The question holds as much reluctance as it does careful politeness.
I laugh. "Who the hell knows, Dom. After what we did…"
"So we're talking about it."
He gets out of the pool. I let the sounds of cascading water be the only thing I notice about the moment, and stay put while he dries. Okay, I notice the sounds, and the way light hits a patch on his chest in such a way, I know he has a transparent bandage on his pec.
He got a new tattoo.
"We must talk about it," I say.
"It's not happening again."
"Absolutely not. But Cam and Luke are playing here next week, and my mom is asking again to tell her how many friends I'm inviting, and I can't show up with no friends, so I'm inviting yours.
They're so nice, and I know you don't want me getting too close, but I don't know anyone else yet, so we can cope, right? "
I'm rambling, which is anxiety showing up again but, dammit. If I'm having this conversation, I'm not worrying about that too. One concern at a time, please.
"If I'm inviting your friends," I continue, "I can't not invite you. My mom knows you're a part of the group. But the whole thing is going to be too awkward, and we can't even let some steam off with bickering because now we know where that leads us. So what can possibly be the plan here?"
"Easy." He clears his throat. "I'll be busy with something else."
He's not paying much attention to me. He hangs the towel from his shoulders and collects his things, the picture of nonchalance.
I narrow my eyes. A long time ago, Dom told me he liked to appear as if things couldn't affect him, when he didn't like what was going on around him.
It made it hard to read him back then. Or at least, that was until I got to know him really well.
But even if I look for the tell— a slight raise of his right eyebrow— I can't see it right now. He's back to being hard to read.
Fine. I'll learn to live with that.
"Right," I say. "Like you being busy on that one night wouldn't be totally obvious to everyone. And didn't you say we didn't want anyone suspecting anything?"
"I'd rather they suspect we don't want to spend time together, than suspect we're so fine with each other we'll end up friends one day."