“Yeah,” I yell. She showed up at my place with a driver exactly when Tinnie said, two hours after the game. She’s been holding my hand ever since—not patronizing, but like she’s adopting me. She’s nice. Too nice, especially when I think about who her brother is.
We squeeze between a group of girls hyped up on tequila and a guy who’s definitely doing something illegal behind a column. I can’t help studying Dom’s little sister—the easy smile, warm eyes, the way she knows how to make you feel comfortable. You’d never guess she was raised under the same roof as Captain Doom-and-Gloom himself.
We finally break through the dance floor and reach the stairs to VIP. Melody tosses her curls over one shoulder, still dragging me along.
“I’m really glad you came.”
“I’m glad you kidnapped me,” I tease, squeezing her hand.
For a moment, I forget why my stomach’s been doing gymnastics. Then my brain, rude as ever, reminds me: Dominic is here. I have no idea where we stand. My heart kicks, my palms sweat, and my dress suddenly feels too tight. I’m nervous—did-I-put-on-enough-deodorant nervous.
Melody squeezes my hand, tugging me toward the velvet ropes. The hostess steps in front of us with a clipboard, her eyebrow arched like she invented bad attitude. The velvet rope blocks our path like it’s guarding the pope. She plants a hand on her hip and looks us up and down, lip curling as if she smells something suspicious.
“VIP is full, girls,” she says. “You’ll have to go back downstairs.”
“We’re with the team.” Melody steps forward, still holding my hand.
That earns us a once-over. “Honey, go enjoy the dance floor. The team doesn’t want groupies up there.”
Groupies. As in we’re whores. Wonderful.
Before either of us can respond, the energy shifts and a familiar face appears—unfairly handsome, devastating. Dominic’s in a fitted T-shirt that clings to carved muscle. Veins on his forearms stand out like rope. His hair is pushed back in that undone, devastatingly hot way. Tall enough to block the hallway, broad enough to make the walls feel too close. His eyes lock on mine, and my heart collapses.
He towers over the hostess, yet she still doesn’t notice him behind her.
Melody exhales, “Oh shit.”
“Is there a problem?” Dominic’s voice booms.
The hostess jumps, spinning so fast her ponytail lags. “Captain! No problem at all. These two,” she motions dismissively at us, “were trying to get in, but I told them the team doesn’t need any more groupies.”
Melody inhales sharply. I’m ready to jump the rope and make the hostess swallow that ponytail.
“Groupies?” Dominic’s voice is like ice. “Are you calling my girlfriend and my sister groupies?”
The hostess’s eyes widen, glancing frantically between Melody and me, clearly trying to figure outwho’s who. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize who they were—”
“Let them in,” Dom tosses his chin at us, casual.
The hostess scrambles, almost tripping over her heels as she unhooks the velvet rope. Dom doesn’t wait for us to cross; he steps forward and slides a large hand around my waist, pulling me to his side. I bite my lip to keep from gasping at the sudden, electrifying contact.
Melody ends up on his other side, and he leads us into VIP—a huge balcony overlooking the club.
The second Melody spots Jace across the lounge, she gasps and shakes Dom’s hand off her shoulder. “Jace! I’ll be right back, Jess!”
She leaves me stranded with six-foot-seven inches of glaring testosterone who might or might not still be upset. Dominic’s hand at my waist is a good sign.
“Come here.”
He doesn’t wait. He guides me to the bar overlooking the club. The music thrums beneath our feet; lights flicker over the crowd below.
At the bar he turns, eyes dragging down my body slow and shameless. His gaze feels like a physicaltouch—caressing my thighs, the hem of my dress, my waist, my breasts, my neck. By the time he reaches my face, I’m certain I’m hyperventilating.
“You’re staring,” I say, trying to sound casual.
He leans in closer, eyes flicking right, left—quick, deliberate. A small smile pulls at my lips before I can stop it.
“What?”
