His presence reminds me of life. When he sleeps, I watch him, doe-eyed and curious. I miss Dominic the second he leaves my sight. My heart swells in my chest. The images of him in my mind become a reality on painted canvas.
The soft rays of a vibrant morning sun beam down. Seated on a stool on my balcony, I lose myself in the vivid image of Dominic being fleshed out in front of me. The lust-hooded gleam in Dominic’s eyes. The ripples of muscles along his chest.
I stop short of drawing erotica by depicting an altered rendition—linen covering a huge cock, hard, worthy of worship and praise.
Like before, when I fixated on him as El Santo, I get so wrapped up in blending the gold hues I’m surprised when my alarm beeps.
Earlier morning has faded. The sun has transitioned higher into the sky.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself, rising off the stool. Luckily, I had already showered and dressed in a flowing, ankle-length number of shades of blue. Today, I have a work outing. Dominic can play all the games he wants with me in this ensemble.
In my walk-in closet, I match a creamy white cardigan and jeweled sandals. Then I slide into the bathroom and scrub the excess paint off my hands. Though I completed my facial regimen this morning, I re-moisturize and tussle my hair.
I place the tip of my index finger into my mouth, chewing on the nail. It’s been eleven days since Dominic and I played his little game—yeah, I count it. Though he’s worked my tension out, I have the faint feeling he’s holding something in.
I close my eyes in contemplation. He slides the conversation toward his twin every once in a while. To me, it has been the olive branch to signify how I’m in safe territory to mention ReAnna. But I sense there’s more there, on his part. Lord knows, there is so much more on mine.
One morning, a while back, I shared a little about ReAnna. I said the name Sarah Beckett out loud. Open-heart surgery had seemed more comfortable in the moment.
“Ari’,” I groan at myself in the mirror. Months ago, I stood in this very spot, letting my lips flip around like a dead fish in an attempt to learn how to smile—alone. Now, I’m happier than my wildest dreams, but I’m holding in shit, and he has to be too.
“Maybe I’ll see him out today . . .” I stop talking. Okay, Aria, you aren’t crazy. Your therapist thought sharing your emotions in the mirror was your safe zone. Hell, you didn’t fully engage until Issa from Insecure gave the okay.
I chuckle. “But she was rapping.”
Folding my arms, I say, “If I see Dominic out today before dinner, for his crazy game . . .”
I pause. Damn, when we chatted this morning, I didn’t tell him where I’d be today. I snatch my phone, then second guess it. “Eh, I’ll seem desperate for some lunchtime dick if I text him where I’ll be. But he has popped up, without reason on occasion.”
How.
I scoff.
Stop it, Paranoid Patty.
Then it clicks. Roslyn tagged me in an Instagram post at the gym and a few other places where we were. And the first time?
You invited him to lunch, Dum Dum.
I laugh at myself. Maybe internal dialogue has me sounding as crazy as chatting to the mirror. And I sure as hell can’t rap. So, I do the next best thing. I text Dominic that I’ll be at the smoothie bar and add a wink emoji.
Fingers crossed. He can fuck the wires in my brain loose. Hopefully, I’ll open up to him, and he will open up to me.
In the furthest section of the parking lot at the pier, I pull forward from one spot to the next. When I leave, I can simply drive away. At least I’m not backing into a spot, banging my Leaf on both sides.
Satisfied with the small miracle, I climb out of my car prepared for the long walk. A car swoops in behind me. Closing the door to my car, I bristle. It rubs me the wrong way, almost like when someone who has a persistent cough decides a half-filled movie theater is the perfect destination to cuddle strangers. The entire last two rows of the parking lot are virtually empty. But right behind me?
I stride toward the trunk of my car to grab my equipment. I attempt to catch the eye of the driver, but the sunlight hits the windshield. He or she left enough room for my kneecaps to squeeze through. I’ll have to hitch my rollaway toward the side of the car instead of pulling it straight out.
The door of the other car opens.
“Hey, if you wouldn’t mind—” I begin.
“Aria?” My name is called from about ten yards away. Behind me, the driver’s door slams shut. The engine sputters on. I suck on fumes from the engine as the bumper taps the back of my calves. The car skids backward, and the driver zips recklessly out of the lot.
“What the fuck just happened?” I mouth it, disturbed by the twenty-second encounter.
“Aria?” The person calling to me draws closer.
I whip around.
“Is this a bad time?” A pretty, young lady who modeled for me at the smoothie place arches a brow.
“No.” I manage to respond right above a whisper. “Some asshole probably driving his or her dad’s BMW . . . Um. How are you?”
“Not sure how to answer that question anymore.” She snorts.
I cock an eyebrow. She sounds as confused as I do on occasion.
“Do you happen to remember my boyfriend? I told you about him during our photo session?”
“Couldn’t forget him.” I tug my top lip into my mouth. The guy called repeatedly. His persistence made me wonder if he doubted her competence. Such as, if he’d assumed that she’d answered a creepy flier about meeting a strange photographer at a sleazy motel for headshots. Or I wondered if it was his way to control her.
Shaking out the rest of my jitters, I start to walk with her, assuming we’re both headed to the smoothie stand. “How are things going with him?”
“He’s dead.” Her face pulls into a frozen grimace. She looks like this is something she has attempted to wrap her brain around for ages.
Though I’m still reeling about the BMW, I gasp. “I’m so sorry.”
“I broke up with him the same day of our photoshoot. He was murdered a couple of weeks later at the park.”
“At the park, you say?” An unsettled feeling tears at my gut.
“Two months or so ago. Did you hear about it?”
Yup. “It was on the news.”
“Apparently, my ex had a lot more enemies than me. He even had photos of me with an X on them. Sort of like he meant me more harm than he had always dished out.” She fidgets with her fingers. “I’m still in shock. But I had to thank you again.”
My head bobs slowly. Trepidation ignites tiny goosebumps over my skin. As she talks, I attempt to stay in reality, wondering if I should have gotten the license plate number for the BMW.
Pressure builds in my chest as we start down the boardwalk, threatening to overwhelm me. The past struggles to break through, but her touch anchors me.
“Well, I couldn’t have done it without our chat. My friends and family have said the same thing for years. Sometimes it takes someone on the outside looking in to put things into perspective.”
For the next hour, I sip champagne during a press-release event for the smoothie bar. Still frazzled, I grab champagne flutes anytime my boss, Jack, isn’t around. As he stands at the head of the chic health bar with the owner, my cellphone pings on the metal tabletop.