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“I wasn’t.” I was partially glad I couldn’t see his face, because I was afraid the expression on it would have me regretting this decision. I constantly found myself struggling with my words when it came to Dom in a way I never had with anyone else, but now was not the time for that. Now, I needed to be honest. “Dominic,” I said, “can you turn around and look at me?”
“I don’t want to leave you with dirty dishes.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the dishes.” The demand in my voice had him pausing, before reluctantly turning to face me.
I really wish he were wearing a shirt.
I shook that thought away. “Last night was incredible. I mean,” I exhaled, shaking my head, “it was amazing.” If I continued to elaborate, I might’ve found myself pushing to repeat it. “But we’re barely friends. And I think that trying to add…benefitsto this friendship is only going to complicate things.” I shrugged. “I’m at a point in my life where I want to focus on finding something serious, and I don’t want to do anything now that might end badly later on. I don’t want fuck up the dynamic of our friendship, and that’s not even to mention what could happen once Carter and Penelope find out, and–”
“I know, Mace. I get it.”
I didn’t buy the smile he gave me for a second. I could tell he was hurt. Or possibly embarrassed. I felt the same way, and I figured that was only another reason why this shouldn’t happen again. I, somehow, found myself feeling more comfortable around Dom than I had with most others. Even though we’d only started this friendship a couple of weeks ago, it was already something I knew I didn’t want to lose. I think that may have been the real reason I swore to him it’d never happen again after I blew him in that Brentwood house. I could tell there was something deeper brewing between us, and I needed friendship more than I needed a casual hook up. So, I could only hope that this awkward feeling would be temporary, and after a couple of weeks we could pretend this never happened.
I realized that while I’d been talking, he’d been continuing to clean the kitchen. He said nothing as he walked past me and over to the couch, slipping the sweater he’d worn the day before over his head. As he reached me again, he stood in front of me as I sat on one of the barstools. He towered above me, so much so that I had to bend my neck to look up at him. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
As if my words were some kind of permission, he wrapped his arms around my shoulder and folded me against his chest. I placed my hands against his lower back, letting myself savor the warmth of his body and the spice of his scent one more time. “Don’t be sorry,” he said against my hair. “Do not ever be sorry for telling me how you feel.”
He released me, stepping back and squatting down so we were at eye level. “I was thinking about what you said about planning the dances at your last school, how you enjoyed it.” I looked at him questioningly. “I have a friend, an event planner, I’d like to introduce you to.” He smiled. “If you’re interested?”
I didn’t doubt he’d been thinking of this before this morning, before last night, even. One thing he’d proven to me in the last two weeks was that he was thoughtful, and once he set his mind on something he didn’t let it go. I realized that he was deeply invested in those he cared for, and I may just be one of those people now. I also realized how honored it felt to be cared for by someone like him.
In this moment, though, his question felt like an olive branch. Like a promise that it wasn’t about sex, and it had never been about sex. That I need not worry about this budding friendship withering after last night. That he was still here for me.
The smile I gave him was genuine when I said, “I’d love that.”
He nodded, but something about his returning grin didn’t feel convincing. I could almost feel the radiating emotion coming from him, and I didn’t think it was a positive one. He stood, and quietly said he’d text me more about meeting his friend later. Just as he was shutting the front door behind him, he whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
Chapter 17
Ispenttwohoursbiting on my nails as I waited for it to be late enough in Hawaii for me to call Penelope and Carter. I told myself I’d wait until nine o'clock Hawaiian time to call, but only made it until eight-thirty their time before I couldn’t stand it any longer.
Penelope answered, and there was a bit of shuffling on the screen, flashes of cream and white before her squinted eyes came into view. “What?”
“You’re worse in the mornings than I am,” I said. She grunted in response. “Where’s Carter? I need to talk to him.”
“Then call his phone?”
I blinked, unsure why I hadn’t thought of that to begin with. My instinct was always to call Penelope, assuming he’d be right next to her.
She shuffled again. “He went surfing.”
I groaned. “I need to talk to him.”
She rapidly blinked a few times, seeming to clear the sleepy haze from her mind, before sitting up and brushing her hair out of her face. “Is this about Dom?”
I wrapped a curl around my finger and avoided looking directly at the camera. “Yeah.” Penelope’s lack of response was one in itself, a request for me to continue. “We’ve just been hanging out. We’re…” I sighed. “Friends.”
“Okay,” she drawled. “So, what do you need Carter for?”
“I talked to Dom this morning and he was acting kind of weird.” I made sure not to disclose the fact that I was talking to Dom face-to-face, because that would raise the question as to why he was over so early, which may turn into me needing to explain why he spent the night, and I really didn’t want to go there. “Every time I bring up Christmas around him, he gets weird, actually.” I realized it when he whispered those words to me as he left this morning. How strange he’s acted any time I asked him about the holiday. “And we kind of got into an…” I stumbled on my words, trying to explain myself. “Argument. I forgot today is Christmas Eve and with how weird he’s being, I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
In the words I couldn’t tell her, I think Dom might hate Christmas, and not in a Scrooge or Grinch sort of way, but in a real way. As much as it hurt me to think about it, I may have been serving as a distraction for him from whatever is really going on. Forgetting it was Christmas Eve, I kicked him out of my apartment this morning after a night of the most incredible sex I’ve ever had. Now, I was ten levels of confused, and I couldn’t imagine how he was feeling about it, but I was too afraid to ask him myself.
Penelope’s lips clustered to the side of her mouth, telling me she was thinking about something. “Dom didn’t tell you anything about Christmas?”
“Just that he doesn’t celebrate it anymore.”
“Did he tell you it’s his birthday?”
