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Every time he looks at me, he takes my breath away. Both eyes are so vivid, so beautiful. Each tells a different story. Stories I have never been able to read and likely never will. Dom and I coexist, both tolerating one another for the sake of Aaron.
“I wouldn’t be leaving, but apparently whatever it is can’t wait.”
“It’s fine. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I intended to spend the entire day with you.”
I extend my hand, gently placing it on the back of his. The moment our skin touches, a familiar sensation surges through me, one that I can't quite pinpoint. It feels as though his touch is encompassing my entire being all at once. Dom's gaze falls upon my hand, his eyes widening in surprise. His jaw clenches, revealing a flash of anger before he swiftly withdraws his hand. I instantly regret my attempt to connect with him, feeling like a complete fool. I’d hoped we had moved past all the unresolved issues and unspoken resentment he has toward me, but apparently I misread the entire day.
I won’t be touching him ever again.
I won’t be spending any more time with him, actually. The man has some serious issues, and I don’t have the patience to get tangled up in his nasty web.
He is Aaron’s problem, not mine.
When the cab pulls up at our apartment building, I slip out quickly, not looking back as I beeline for the tall, glass doors. Unable to hold back any longer, I allow a single tear to skate down my cheek. It disappears down my neck by the time George appears outside.
CHAPTER 23
DOMINIK
“Do you care to explain to me what the fuck this is, Lewis?”
Coach Bradley forcefully places his iPad on the table in front of me, capturing my attention. With unwavering eye contact, I lean in and swiftly glance at a substantial online forum thread. To my surprise, my name is prominently displayed in bold letters at the very top.
I scroll through hundreds, maybe thousands of posts directed at me, filled with spiteful words and labeling me as a despicable person. According to these posts, I’ve been deemed the ultimate NHL fuckboy, a notorious player who exploits women solely for my own fun. There’s not a single mention of the number of times I’ve been begged to take a woman to bed or the number of orgasms I’ve handed out. They fucking wanted me.
All the posts are anonymous, allowing users to post openly.
His one-night rule is bullshit, and it’s only there to get him off the hook.
Dominik Lewis is a prick and hates women.
Verbal consent can be removed, and I wanted to remove it after the fact, when he didn’t even cast me a sideways glance before handing me my dress and telling me to have a good night.
Are you kidding me?
I tried contacting him, but he wouldn’t answer me, and then the fucker blocked me!
He’s a fuckboy, and the worst part is he doesn’t give a shit who he hurts. Also, what the hell is up with the no-kissing rule? It’s the biggest bullshit I have ever heard.
The man has no heart.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms across my chest. “What’s the problem?”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to swallow them and punch myself in the face. The vein in Coach’s forehead triples in size as he pins me with a terrifying look. I’m tempted to turn around and call for backup, but I keep my composure, knowing weakness is exactly what he’s looking for right now and I can’t show my cards until I know exactly what’s going on. This isn’t good, but I’m not the first guy to have a bad reputation as a player.
Coach Bradley is the best coach the Slashers have had in a long time. He is known in the industry for being an amazing tactician on the rink, skilled in every way to bring a team together and have them working as one smooth machine. He has never failed, and he isn’t about to start now. He believes this sport can change lives and shape the future of so many people outside of the team. He was an unstoppable player in his time, until an unexpected injury cut his professional hockey career short. But he didn’t let that setback stop him. He used it as fuel to become the best coach around, and we were lucky enough to have him join our team last year.
“Keep reading,” Bradley bites out, dragging out every word.
I bring the iPad onto my lap and keep scrolling through the comments, determined to brush off all the insults being hurled my way. My sole concern at the moment is avoiding further aggravating Coach, as he has no issue benching problematic players.
One comment in particular stands out to me, and it has the most likes and replies.
Dominik used my sister and me at the same time, made us feel safe, but then as soon as he had his fun, he discarded us like trash.
“What the fuck?!”
