“Apparently, I play better when I’m…” He trails off, searching for the right words. “When I’m happy.”
The simple admission hangs in the air between us. I take another sip of wine to hide my smile. “And are you? Happy, I mean.”
Dom looks at me directly, his golden eyes serious. “Happier than I’ve been since moving to LA. Maybe longer.”
My heart does a somersault. “Me, too,” I admit. “Though that’s probably not saying much, considering my track record here.”
“There’s nowhere else to go but up,” Dom says, leaning forward slightly.
“Ain’t that the truth.” I chuckle and take another bite. “Everyone expects me to be this pampered trust fund baby who just dabbles in business for fun, and maybe that’s what I’ve been up to now. Trying things, failing, moving on without any real consequences because there’s always the safety net of my dad’s money.”
“But that’s not what you want.”
“No,” I say firmly. “I want to succeed on my own terms. I don’t want to just be Nikko Farrarah’s daughter. I want to build something that matters. Something that’s entirely mine, not just an extension of my father’s success or my family name.”
Dom’s expression is thoughtful as he reaches for his wine. “I get that. The need to define yourself outside of someone else’s shadow.”
“Is it like that with basketball?” I ask. “Trying to make your own name?”
He considers this. “In some ways. Though it’s different—no one in my family played professionally. But there’s still this pressure to live up to expectations. To justify being chosen, being here.”
“And now you feel like you’re starting to do that?”
Dom nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “Today felt different. Like I wasn’t just going through the motions. Like I belonged.”
“That’s really great, Dom,” I say, meaning it completely.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the city humming below us, the lights sparkling against the darkening sky. It strikes me how easy this is—being here with him, sharing food and thoughts and pieces of ourselves.
I twist my fork in my hand, then set it down. “Can I ask you something?”
Dom looks up immediately. “Yeah.”
“At the party,” I say carefully. “I overheard something.”
His expression stills. “Okay.”
“They were talking about the front office,” I continue. “Nothing specific—just…” I hesitate. “…your namecame up.”
He exhales slowly. “What did they say?”
“‘They really like Neelson.’ And then someone else said it was early. That nobody’s untouchable. Especially in LA.”
Dom nods once, like he’s heard a version of this before. He takes a sip of water, buying himself a second. “That sounds right.”
“So, what does that mean?” I ask. “For you?”
He leans back slightly, eyes drifting past me toward the city. When he speaks, his voice is even—but honest in a way that tightens my chest. “That’s the part people don’t always understand,” he says. “Wantdoesn’t really factor in much. You play. You show up. You do your job.”
He pauses.
“The rest usually gets decided without you.”
I nod slowly. “And Texas?” I ask, keeping my voice light even though my heart isn’t. “If they ever called?”
His gaze comes back to mine, steady. “They haven’t.”
Relief flickers through me—brief and guilty.
