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“It’s not pity, Zoe. It’s me trying to make amends. Now get into the fucking tub.”
And he’s back.
He leaves quickly, and I hear his footsteps retreating down the stairs before I shut the door and turn my gaze on the mirror. I stare at my own reflection, stripping off my clothes quickly before sinking into the warm tub.
God, this feels nice. I can’t even pretend like his bath game isn’t strong, because it’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
It seems like my entire life is falling apart one piece after the next. First with Greg and my job in Boston. Then moving to New York and living with my brother. Dominik and his playboy act. My disastrous career. And now my parents showing up unannounced.
Groaning, I take a deep breath and sink to the bottom of the tub.
Dominik has the best bath towels.
They’re double the size of normal bath towels and the softest things I’ve ever wrapped around myself. Screw clothes, I want to live in this. Whoever said money can’t buy happiness never experienced these comforts.
Actually, I might have to sleep wrapped up in this tonight since I forgot to bring my bags up.
Securing the towel around my chest, I open the door leading to my room, and the first thing I notice are my bags propped up next to the bed.
Rushing over, I open my tote and pull out some leggings and a sports bra. Towel-drying my hair, I try to make out any noises coming from outside my room, but it’s dead silent.
Grabbing my phone, I notice it’s almost midnight.
He’s probably asleep by now.
It’s aggravating remembering that my parents are upstairs, peacefully asleep, completely unaware that I’m here. I wonder if Aaron told them I’m staying with him. Probably not, considering how effortlessly he sidelined me, shoving me off for his best friend to handle. At the same time, it’s not fair of me to be angry with Aaron. He’s in a difficult situation too and wants to shield me from the confrontation with our parents. Our reunions are never pleasant, and the last one ended in a huge argument.
The scent of lavender clings to my skin as I tiptoe through the unfamiliar apartment. Moonlight filters through the big, open windows, casting shadows along the clean, hardwood floor. These late-night cravings for ice cream are starting to get annoying. I need to start hitting the gym regularly and give up the sugar, but tonight…I’m going to take all the comfort I can get. I’m praying Dom has something in his freezer, because there is no way in hell I’m venturing outside after that bath.
I hesitate for a second, glancing behind my shoulder as I stand in the middle of his kitchen. I feel so out of place, intruding on yet another person’s life. The difference between Dominik and Aaron is that Dom doesn’t want me here; he’s only putting up with me because he loves my brother.
Aaron is everyone’s favorite.
He’s the favorite child. The better looking one. The most successful. The one with the faithful friends who always show up for him. It seems like Aaron was just handed the luck card from birth, and I was…I don’t even know.
Too lost in thought, I prop open the freezer and stand there, staring in utter shock.
I’m not sure I believe what I’m seeing.
He didn’t.
There is an assortment of ice cream pints spread across every shelf. Every single shelf is just ice cream after ice cream, in every flavor imaginable. Neatly lined up beside one another, as if I’ve just walked into a shop and am trying to decide what I’d like to order.
There are classic choices like vanilla and chocolate, but also exotic ones like salted caramel drizzle, raspberry ripple, rocky road extreme (whatever that is), mint chocolate chip, mango supreme…the list goes on and on.
My lips curl into a smile. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
I don’t even know which one to reach for.
Reaching for rocky road extreme, I close the freezer door and turn, nearly jumping out of my skin.
Dominik is sitting at the island, mostly naked with his tattoos on full display. He looks pleased with himself as he watches me, like he’s enjoying a funny sitcom special on TV. His unruly, black hair is damp and curled, adding to his effortless charm. His eyes hold a mixture of surprise and amusement, one brow tilted up and a stupidly large grin on his face. He is loving the fact that he just caught me red-handed, knowing I’m dying a little on the inside.
I’m trying really fucking hard not to stare at his bare chest, but the tattoos draw me in. He’s got a massive lighthouse in the center of his chest, with scribbles along the side of his arms. A text I can’t read from here on his rib cage. And what appears to be edges of black wings curling around the top of his right shoulder.
And is that a nipple ring?
Lord, have mercy.
