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Thankfully, both of us stay quiet as we near a closed door at the end of the long hallway. I go to reach for the handle, but Dom pulls back, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. He fixes his eyes on me. I’m not exactly short, standing at five-six, but with Dominik so close, his towering presence makes me feel like a small animal staring up at the clouds.
“You seem sad,” he says, his eyes fixed on my lips.
“I’m not. You’re just drunk.”
He huffs, offended by my words. “I’m not that drunk. And stop changing the subject.”
This is turning out to be the longest night of my life.
“I’m not. I promise. Now, can you please go to bed?”
Opening the door, I step inside another bedroom similar to mine.
“You’re always trying to get rid of me. Always running. Leaving before things get hard,” he mumbles from behind me.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? It’s late. I’m tired, and it doesn’t matter what Dominik decides to throw my way while intoxicated off his ass. I’m on a mission, and I plan on getting back to my own bed as soon as possible.
Also, that statement made no sense.
Dominik has always been reserved around me. I saw how he was with other kids at school and around my brother. Outgoing, extroverted, and full of zest. It was addicting to watch him, even from a distance. But he’s never been that way around me. He has always acted…uncomfortable. On edge, as if he’s trying to hold back.
I hear Dom shuffling behind me, and I turn just as his body sways into mine, pushing me backward, my hands gripping his solid forearms for support.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Hi.” He smirks down at me right before he lays his forehead against mine.
I pull away instantly, irritated by the sudden closeness of our bodies. “Okay, Casanova, that’s enough. Let’s get you to bed.”
He exhales deeply, and I feel his warm breath scatter across my scalp. A tingling sensation trickles down my spine and settles deep in my core. Grabbing his arm, I nudge him down onto the bed, and he flops onto the mattress, staring up at me through half-hooded, alcohol-soaked eyelids.
His shoulders sag. “I’m sorry…for everything. It’s my fault.”
“What?”
“You hate me,” he sighs, his words almost inaudible in the quiet night. “And I don’t blame you. I’ve been trying to get you to hate me for so long.”
“What are you talking about? Do you think I’m someone else?”
He shakes his head, his face drooping like a wilted flower.
I crouch down, bringing myself to eye level with him, a sense of uncertainty washing over me as I offer him comfort. Maybe it’s the sorrow in his eyes that’s stopping me from leaving his room this way.
“I don’t hate you, Dominik.”
You’re the one who hates me, remember?
Some inexplicable impulse drives me to reach out and brush a loose wave of hair away from his eyes. I regret the decision as soon as my fingertips graze his skin. His eyes close, and his body tenses up as it has so many times before. My touch acts like a sobering jolt, reminding him that it’s me he’s talking to, causing him to raise his guard...or whatever that was. I quickly withdraw my hand, recalling the strange, nonexistent nature of our relationship and recognizing that I have no business touching Dominik Lewis.
My hand is still midair when his fingers wrap around my wrist. Searing heat radiates from him, digging into my flesh and marking the spot like the sting from a tattoo gun. There is something familiar about his touch, something comforting I can’t put into words. It somehow feels like an echo from a distant memory.
I should move. Leave and go back to my room.
I should do a lot of things…
Instead, I gaze down at him, finding his multicolored eyes already glued to my face as he studies me, as though he’s allowing himself to fully drink me in for the first time. Too scared to move, I stare back at him, getting lost in the heat of the moment as his eyes start to travel down my body. It feels like he’s undressing me, taking his time as he soaks in every inch of my bare skin.
I lean in, and his reaction is swift, dropping my arm as though he’s holding on to something scorching.
