She blushes, taking my face in her hands. “This is why we should stay at my house. I need to talk to you and I need to be able to express myself.”
“It’s one in the morning. We can talk tomorrow,” I yawn, pulling her down beside me.
As she nuzzles under my chin, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
“Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“You were wrong when you said I don’t want you.”
We lie in the quiet, the fan swirling above us.
“Cam?”
“Yeah?”
“You were wrong when you said we’re free to do whatever we want.”
My cheeks break into a smile as I say the words because I’m mostly sure she’ll still be here in the morning. Maybe even next week. And when she curls her leg around mine and crushes her body against me, I close my eyes and fall into the best sleep of my life.
Camilla
“YOU CAN TELL NATE LIVES here,” I laugh, peering into the refrigerator. “You have eggs, ham, some vegetables. There’s even juice!”
“I have food,” Dominic sighs, pouring a cup of coffee. “You act like there was nothing here before.”
I look at him over the refrigerator door. “A pound of bacon and a bag of cheese fries doesn’t count as food, babe.”
“I happen to really enjoy a good cheese fry.” He tips some creamer in his mug and settles at the table.
“That’s a snack,” I say, pulling out the eggs and ham. “Not a meal.”
I work around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. I thought for sure he was supposed to be at the gym this morning, but he hasn’t said anything. He doesn’t even seem rushed, which is odd for him when he has to train. It makes him antsy and irritable, but today he’s as calm as can be.
Looking up, I catch him watching me. Sticking my tongue out, I shake my knife at him. He laughs easily, happily, and picks up a magazine and leafs through it.
I cut the ham and beat the eggs, all the while keeping an eye on him. He seems different today. The lines on his face seem less carved and there’s a softness to his frame that is unusual for him straight out of bed when he’s still mentally going through his day.
It’s a good look on him, one that tugs at my heartstrings. I imagine this is what he would be like if he was in college and just getting up in the morning for class and not the laborer-turned-fighter. Or is it the other way around? Did he take up fighting as a coping mechanism for his father’s death or did he learn to fight because of his dad?
My knife clamors against the counter.
“You okay?” he asks as I scurry to pick it up
“Yeah. Sorry. I dazed off.”
His brows furrow, but he doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, he looks towards the door as Nate walks in with Ryder on his shoulders.
“Look who’s here, Ry!” Nate looks at me and grins.
“Camilla!” He holds his arms out to me, his little blue eyes sparkling.
“Hey, Ryder,” I say, wiping my hands on a towel. Lifting him off his father’s shoulders, he wraps his arms around my neck. “How are you, buddy?”
“Hungry.”
“I’m making breakfast. Want to help?”
“Yes. I missed you,” he says, pulling his face away from mine. “You’re so pretty.”
“Easy there, Ry,” Dominic says. “That’s my girl.”
“My girl,” he says, burying his face in my neck again.
“Looks like you have some competition,” I wink, carrying the boy to the kitchen counter. I sit him next to the cutting board, hand him a strip of ham, and go back to preparing breakfast.
Nate walks behind me, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “I had a deposit pending in my account today, Priss. Seriously. Thank you.”
“Shhh,” I say, keeping my head down. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome for what?” Dom asks, looking at us over the top of the magazine.
“For not beating his door down last night,” I say. “Did you hear him snoring?”
A small smile crosses Dominic’s face. “No. I slept. Strangely.”
“Well, he snores. Prepare yourself.” I look at Ryder. “How do you sleep with him sounding like he’s sucking in the house like that?”
Ryder giggles, holding the half-eaten ham in the air. “He is loud!”
“You little snitch,” Nate laughs, picking up his son. “Let’s get you in the bath while we wait on breakfast.”
They trample off down the hallway, Ryder’s laughter making the apartment seem so much brighter. I watch them until they’re out of sight. When I look back at Dominic, he’s watching me.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, setting the magazine down.
“I don’t know. Just what a little piece of sunshine that boy is.” I pick up the knife again. “I love how happy he is to see me. It makes my day.”
“Everyone is happy to see you.”
My cheeks flush. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah. I might not answer, but you can ask.”
“Jerk,” I laugh. “Were you supposed to go to the gym this morning?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
He kicks back in his seat, the sunlight highlighting the ridges in his stomach and the lines on his arms as he grips the back of his seat. “I was gonna go. Yeah. But I changed my mind.”
Looking down, I pour the beaten eggs in a skillet and arrange the ham in another. I don’t want him to see the smile drawn deeply across my lips.
“Does that surprise you?” he asks.
“Kind of. You usually go on Saturdays.”
“Maybe I needed a break.”
“Maybe I’m glad you took one.”
The air between us changes. The levity from Nate and Ryder are gone, as is the easiness of the morning before their arrival. Now we’re sitting a few feet from one another, albeit on opposite ends of the smallish kitchen, waiting out the other’s next move.
The story he told me has been on my mind since the moment he delved into the tragic events of that night. Even after he fell asleep, which was odd in and of itself, it was me that laid awake. I rolled away from him and cried. Then I moved towards him and held him tight, hoping some of my energy would pass into him as he slept.
I couldn’t tell him that it was him, not Nate, that snored. I’ve barely seen Dominic sleep, much less that deeply. But last night, he did. And I held him, prayed for him, wondered how much that devastating night impacted the man that has turned from an easy date to something that might be so special it scares me.
“You know, sometimes when I’m sleepy, I say shit I don’t mean.” His voice cuts through the air like a sharpened knife.
“Okay.” Forcing a swallow, I keep my back to him. Running a spatula along the bottom of the egg pan, I watch them puff up into golden pillows. “You didn’t talk in your sleep, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
Flipping off the burners, I turn to face him. His features are pressed together as he surveys my reaction.
“Then what are you saying, Dom?”