I nod. “When I moved here, I felt the exact same way. It’s part of the reason why I adopted Cocoa. Well, that, and I saw his face on the Fur-Ever Homes Facebook page and couldn’t resist bringing him home with me.”
“And now you have a built-in dance partner.” He meets my gaze, and I’m certain my cheeks are still bright red. “You know, you could easily be the next Taylor Swiffer.”
We sit in silence for a second and then both burst into laughter. It might be the lamest joke I’ve ever heard, but it feels like it’sexactlywhat I need right now—even more so than the jam session itself.
As our laughter fades, it leaves this …thing, this awkward and surprisingly pleasant moment, hanging between us. I study him as his eyes drop away, the way he takes a careful sip of water, and the way Cocoa seems blissfully content at his feet.
Seeing Dom like this makes him appearalmostirresistible. I don’t know how the ladies aren’t going crazy over him.
Wait… They probably are.
I swallow the thought and decide to press further since he appears to be in a good mood. “Okay, so where did you learn the dog whisperer stuff?” I ask. “Did you intern at a wolf sanctuary as a child?”
He chuckles, swirling the glass in his hand. “Unfortunately, no wolf sanctuaries were involved. They were farm dogs.”
“In Alabama?”
“Texas, actually. I got drafted in Alabama, but I grew up in Texas.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Yeah, so my granddad had a bunch of farm dogs. Border collies, mostly. He’d rescue anything that remotely resembled one, and I’d help train them. Then my parents fostered a bunch of rescue dogs growing up, too.” He shrugs one massive shoulder. “Animals are easy. They don’t pretend to be something they’re not.” His eyes flick up, meet mine, and then skitter away.
“I’m pretty sure there area lotof people in Los Angeles pretending to be something they’re not.” I let out a blast of air. “But I think at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to find our place in the world.”
His gaze hangs on mine. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” He downs the rest of the glass and then sets it on the coffee table. “Well, thanks for the water.” He stands to his feet. “And for turning down the music.”
“Of course,” I say, jumping up. “You have that early practice.”
He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, I do. I really need to get some sleep.”
I follow him to the door, Cocoa hot on my heels. “Is, um, is all that going well for you? The Comets?”
“It’s …going.” Dom’s lips flatline, pressing together. “I’m sure it’ll get better, though.”
“Yeah, for sure,” I reassure him, struck for a moment by his golden irises and the scent of his cologne. “But at least you have clean shoes now?”
“Goodnight, Nicole.” He chuckles, shaking his head and stepping out into the hallway.
“Night,” I say, but he’s already disappeared across the hallway. I close the door behind him and then take in my apartment, my eyes going straight for the mop leaning against the corner wall.
I seriously amsoembarrassing.
It’s a miracle Dom even stayed for a glass of water. I pull my phone from my pocket and take a look at the missed notifications, one being from my sister.
Nora:I’m up late making cupcakes for Nellie’s soccer team. Are you awake? Please, please, PLEASE bug me.
I smile, suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation for my big sis. Sometimes it feels like she’s the only person who actually wants to talk to me—out of something other than pity. I hit the call button beside her name and wait for her to answer.
“You’re awake.” She beams on FaceTime.
I plop down in the spot where Dom just was, the scent of him lingering. “Hey,” I say to her, smiling as I see my own messy ponytail reflected in my sister. “How’s the late-night bake session?”
“It’s a disaster,” she groans, holding her phone at a catastrophic low angle so all I see is her chin and a swirl of blue buttercream. “I have blue frosting in literal places that should not be blue.”
“Yum,” I say. “Smurf cupcakes?”
“It’s for the Blue Team,” Nora says, rolling her eyes as she sets the phone back down. “The only problem is that half of these kids are allergic to dairy, and the other half are apparently paleo now, so I’m making three separate frostings, and two are questionable.” She pauses, examining the tip of a piping bag before looking back at me. “Want to swap lives? I’ll trade you for a night.”
