The ocean crashes behind us. The salt wind whips my hair into our faces, but he doesn’t let up until we’re both out of air. When we finally do break apart, I’m at a total loss for words.
Dom rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his breathing as uneven as my own. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the laundry room,” he admits, his voice husky.
I laugh, remembering how we crashed into each other chasing Cocoa. “Even with all the flying towels and Cocoa chaos?”
“Especially then,” he says, pulling back slightly to look at me. “You were so … real. Not trying to be anything but yourself.”
I reach up to touch his face, my fingers tracing along his jawline. “You make me feel like being myself is enough.”
Dom’s eyes, those remarkable golden eyes, hold mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “You’re the first person who’s made LA feel like home to me,” he whispers.
The simple honesty of his words brings a rush of emotion that makes my eyes sting. I blink rapidly, not wanting to ruin the moment with tears.
“Really?” I ask, needing to hear it again.
“Really,” he confirms, brushing his thumb across my lower lip.
He kisses me again, more confidently this time, his arm wrapping around my waist to pull me closer. I melt against him, enjoying the most perfect kiss of my life on a moonlit beach. His arms around me feel secure, grounding, like I’ve found an anchor in the constant storm that’s been my life in LA.
I taste him, savor him. I inhale the clean scent of his cologne mingled with the ocean breeze. Every sensation—from the rough texture of the sun-bleached driftwood beneath my thighs to the gentle pressure of his calloused palm against my flushed cheek—feels heightened, electric, like someone turned up the dial on my nervous system.
As he claims my mouth with a confidence that makes my toes curl against the sand, I let out a soft moan that gets lost in the crash of a nearby wave. His lips are warm and firm against mine. The stubble on his chin grazes my skin, sending tiny shivers down my neck.
When we finally break apart, I’m dizzy with happiness, my lips tingling and my heart thundering so loudly I’m sure he can hear it over the waves.
“Wow,” I whisper, unable to form a more eloquent response. My brain seems to have short-circuited, vocabulary reduced to monosyllables.
Dom’s smile is soft, intimate, reserved just for me. “Wow.”
Chapter Eighteen
Dominic
She’s all I can think about right now.
Actually, more specifically, herlipsare all I can think about. I can’t go five seconds without replaying the moment on the beach—how easy everything felt with her. Like I didn’t have to perform or impress or prove anything.
We can just …existtogether.
And somehow, that feels like enough.
“Neelson, you planning to join us today?” Coach yells at me, voice tinted with just enough angerto make me shudder.
“Yeah, Coach. Sorry,” I grunt, fighting not to bend over as the burning in my thighs reaches existential levels.
He narrows his eyes. “You want to tell us all what’s so interesting out there? You’re slow today. Just because we won one doesn’t mean that the whole season is over! You better not have any excuses.”
“No excuses, Coach,” I breathe out as I straighten out and take off for the half-court line.
He nods, sharp and clipped. “Good. Hit the line. Let’s go.” He claps his hands.
Get it together, Dom. You’ll see her tonight anyway.
Marcus coasts past me on the sprint and mutters, “Come on, Texas, you hungover or just in love?”
I almost trip over my own two feet. “Shut up,” I manage, but I’m pretty sure my cheeks go redder than my T-shirt.
We break into groups for passing drills. I’m paired with Jayden, the starting point guard, and a rookie whose name I keep forgetting.
