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By his reaction, I’d say my dear brother failed to inform his best friend I was coming to town. That’s going to be awkward for them later.
“I hear you’re a hockey superstar,” I say, extending an olive branch as I reach for my glass of wine.
Dominik forces a smile and pulls out a stool tucked underneath the island countertop.
He doesn’t respond or ask me how I’m doing. Eventually, the three guys break into easy conversation, and I allow my eyes to roam over him.
He’s changed so much since high school. He’s always been strikingly good-looking, even before he fully grew into his adult self, but this current version of him is on an entirely different level. His hockey pictures online do not do him justice. He’s a thing of masculine beauty, even in casual clothing, the mop of damp hair sitting on his head, and his relaxed smile with a beer in his hand.
He exudes a powerful masculine energy and intense charm. It’s hard not to be captivated by it, even for someone like me who wants nothing to do with him. His towering presence and imposing physique dominate the room, they always have. He sure is dominating my attention right now because I’m ogling like an idiot. I would bet money other people stare at him like this though. How can they not? I’ve heard the rumors about him, and he isn’t discreet about his extracurricular activities with all types of women.
The man gets around.
A sensation resembling jealousy pools in the pit of my stomach, but deep down, I recognize it for what it is. It’s simply my urge to explore him for myself, to peel back the layers and find out if he’s truly as impressive as they claim.
I doubt it. I bet he wouldn’t be able to satiate my impossible tastes.
Stop it.
I know, I know—look, but never touch. My brother would have my head, and Dom made it abundantly clear over the years that he never viewed me in that light. I’m well aware that he’s completely out of my league.
Not like my traitorous eyes give a shit as they scan his athletic physique, which is proudly showcased despite the hoodie that conceals most of it. I catch glimpses of the intricate ink covering his forearms. A tantalizing trail extends up his neck, piquing my curiosity more and more. I just want to strip him naked and see where his tattoos end. I’ve always had a thing for tattooed men, and all that ink wasn’t there when I knew Dominik. We were too young.
His jet-black hair is curled and long enough to brush against the nape of his neck. It’s the perfect length to run my fingers through while being…
That’s enough of that.
Freckles line his high cheekbones and dark brows, and his full, plump lips look as though someone was just sucking on them. I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. What his hands would feel like fisting my hair. Seriously, when did he get so hot? Is it all the training and hours spent at the gym?
I need to meet more hockey players, Jesus Christ.
You’re drooling.
I tip my glass up, my eyes still fixed on him, savoring him as easily as the wine gliding down my throat. Suddenly, his gaze shifts to mine, a deep fusion of hazel and blue. One eye reminds me of the warm sun at dusk, while the other makes me think of the ocean at night. A perfect blend of light and dark. His eyes pull me in like a magnetic force, and in this moment, everything fades as I stare into his eyes, feeling an enigma squeezing my lungs tight.
We remain frozen like that for what feels like an eternity before his brows bunch in confusion and he glances away. I could swear his breathing is labored as he looks back at my brother.
Well, that was fucking obvious and awkward as hell. Way to go, weirdo. Now he’s going to think you’re a complete nut job.
I turn around, taking a moment to catch my breath. I try to focus on Aaron’s espresso machine, sitting on the counter right against the exquisitely expensive-looking marble backsplash that runs down his long and spacious kitchen. While I haven’t had a full tour of his penthouse yet, it’s clear that not a single detail went unnoticed during the design process. I feel a hint of disappointment that he didn’t involve me in the process, but I was just a junior in college at the time. Everything I knew was pulled from Pinterest boards.
“You seem off tonight. Is everything okay?” Aaron’s voice piques my attention as I begin sifting through cabinets, looking for his glasses. How much stuff does one single person need that would require this amount of kitchen space? A lot of these cabinets are empty.
“I’m fine,” Dominik answers. His voice is low and deep as it brushes against me from across the room.
I either need to stop drinking or leave this room before I say something stupid.
“No, you’re being weird. Was practice shit?”
Pause. “No. It was great, as usual.”
“Did you look at the portfolio I sent you today?” Aaron finally asks, seeming to drop the conversation. A sliver of disappointment weighs me down. For some reason, I feel like I’m the reason for Dom’s sour mood tonight. I saw the way he looked at me, and I can’t help but place the blame on myself. Perhaps that’s me overthinking things per usual, but I’m with Aaron on this one. He’s acting weird.
I open another cupboard, finding rows of crystal glasses in all shapes and sizes. Some are stacked so high up that I’m not sure anyone in this room would be able to reach it. Although, Dominik is crazy tall, so maybe he would be able to?—
“So, Zoe…how are you liking New York?” Turning my head, I see Tristan leaning against the edge of the island, grabbing a handful of chips from the porcelain bowl and studying me carefully.
Tristan is a different type of beautiful, a captivating blend of model-like charisma mixed with the confident aura of a billionaire. He looks like he just stepped out of an Armani photoshoot. I assume the suit he’s wearing is worth more than any condo I could ever afford. He gives off an air of pure control while remaining entirely approachable.
