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It forced me to recognize all the little signs that I overlooked, the hints that I didn’t bother to add up because I was too busy crushing on my hot, slightly older, dominant boss. But now that I’m forced to acknowledge just who Dominick truly is, he honestly scares me a little bit. The fact that he’s not of the Mob but actually is The Mob tears at me.
He’s not someone to mess with, and I’m not sure I should involve myself with him. But with everything on the table, more or less, I can’t help but admit that the twinge of danger he has only adds to his charms, attracting me more even as my mind wars with the stupidity of it.
He’s the walking, talking, sexy epitome of the bad boy you know you should stay away from but want desperately anyway, even knowing it’s going to end poorly. And even knowing the risk, I couldn’t help but say yes to our dinner-not-date, despite the pretty blatant and cheesy segue.
Surprisingly, Dominick was easy to open up to about my past. I’d told him things I hadn’t said aloud in years, and even then, only to a therapist. Perhaps even more shocking was the lighter conversation while we ate. He’d listened attentively to my gushing plans for the business with Encore, never once making me think he was bored of my excitement or thought my plans were silly.
If anything, he seemed quietly supportive, making insightful commentary and offering advice that actually helped my thoughts.
He also hadn’t zeroed in on my eating after I’d dropped the eating disorder bombshell. It’s not exactly top-secret or something I’m ashamed of, and I have told friends and boyfriends before, but there’s always that adjustment period where they’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything I eat.
Not Dominick. He was already hyper-aware of me, and that little factoid in my history didn’t add or detract from his attentiveness.
But his willingness to move our orbiting interest in one another into a different path is both terrifying and thrilling. He’s not a man to get involved with casually or thoughtlessly, but I guess on some complicated level, I’ve already been entangled with him.
Lord knows, I haven’t dated, or dined, with anyone else in ages. It’s not because I haven’t been asked. I can barely go a shift at Petals without some guy dropping a note with his phone number or something on stage along with his money. Some have even had the guts to approach me in person. I’ll give them credit, considering how protective Dominick’s security is over me.
But I know where my heart lies and didn’t want to disrespect Dominick by giving the guys more than a polite refusal, even if Dom was keeping his distance. That time seems to be over now, I think, and though my stomach has been doing little backflips that have nothing to do with the delicious food we shared, my heart races.
My thoughts are interrupted by a little voice at my side, and I look down to see Cindy, one of the five-year-olds, looking anxious and doing the pee-pee dance at the same time.
“Miss Allie? Isn’t class over? The big hand is past the one again?”
I shake myself out of my reverie and glance at the clock, seeing that it’s 7:08, eight minutes after class was supposed to end.
“Oh, thank you, Cindy. Yes, class dismissed. Thank you for the extra work tonight. Beautiful job, everyone.”
They shuffle out, and luckily, I don’t see any upset moms from keeping them over time. I clean up the studio quickly, making sure all the lights are off. The only other classes tonight are advanced classes that Donna’s teaching to her students.
I give Donna a wave as I pass by her studio, where she’s stretching out and preparing herself for teaching. Outside, the lot is well-lit, but there are still darker shadows where SUVs, trucks, or just the arrangement of poles mean the light doesn’t quite reach.
I scan my surroundings like I’m supposed to, but I’m still surprised when I see Cindy’s dad, Mr. Duncan, sitting on the trunk of his car, his head in his hands. He watched his daughter’s class today, but . . . where is she?
“Mr. Duncan? Sir, are you okay?” His head pops up, and I see him sweep a quick finger under each eye, making me think he’s crying or at least tearing up for some reason.
He stutters a bit and hops off the trunk, clearing his throat. “Oh, Allie! Sorry, I thought I was alone.”
“No problem. You okay?”
He nods, but it seems more like he’s trying to convince himself than telling the truth.
“Yeah . . . we’re going through some stuff, and watching Cathy drive off with Cindy, knowing they’re going home and I’m heading to one of those extended-stay studio hotels is rough. I just miss her.”
