But just a little.
Chapter Five
Dominic
I hate Los Angeles.
I flop onto the couch, long legs stretched out, shoulders aching as I stare at the ceiling. Here in my apartment, there’s no team chatter, no whistle shrieks, not even the hum of a neighbor’s music.
Thank goodness.
My phone buzzes with a FaceTime request, and I groan, then answer my brother.
“Hey,” Derrick says, then cocks his head with concern. “Bro, you look dead. Is practice kicking your butt?” His face appears blurred at first, half-obscured by the brim of a ball cap and a haze of barbecue smoke.The background’s my family’s backyard in Texas, where it’s already nighttime, but the porch lights make everything look golden and warm. I can practically hear the cicadas.
And my heart lurches in my chest.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, still rough from stubble I didn’t bother shaving this morning.
“You okay?” he presses.
“I mean…” I consider telling him the truth—about not really fitting in here, feeling suffocated, and desperately missing home—but instead, I just shrug. “Yeah, it’s fine. Just trying to settle in. You know how it goes.”
He nods. “I know it’s a big change. But how’s practice? They treating you like a rookie?”
“Not officially,” I say. “But the rumors about Coach Ellis are right. He pushes us pretty hard.”
He whistles. “Pressure city.”
I shrug. “Maybe just old-school. No free passes. But it’s weird…” I pause. “The rookie point guard’s streaming his own highlight reel between drills. No one calls anyone by their real name. I’m officiallyNew Guy.” I cringe at the admission. But it’s better than being nicknamed something to do with those dang shoes.
“Honestly, sounds like my kind of place,” Derrick says, which is a joke, because Derrick’s never left Texas and never will. He’s got a coaching job at my old high school and a wife who can deadlift more than I can.
Before I can say anything else, there’s a knock on my door, and my heart flip-flops in my chest.
“Who’s that?” my brother asks. “Already having a party with your team? I thought you said—”
“It’s probably the neighbor needing eggs again,” I grumble, shaking my head and absolutely ignoring the weird feeling in my chest. I swing the door open, expecting to see Nicole, but instead…
It’s a Tupperware full of cookies.
I pluck them up from the ground and read the sticky note on the top.
Since Cocoa ruined your shoes, here’s some Cocoa-nut peanut butter cookies to make up for it. :) -Nicole
I almost laugh. It’s kind of …cutethe way she signs it with a smiley face.
But I’ll sure as heck never tell her that.
Derrick squints as I hold up the container. “What’s that? Some sort of fancy DoorDash order? Or are you secretly baking?”
I chuckle. “Nah. Neighbor dropped them off. Apparently this is what ‘making amends’ looks like in LA.”
He leans closer to the screen. “That the dog chick?”
“Yep.”
He goes still. “Is she—?”
