I hesitate, then slowly do: “Me, Jace, team’s group chat, Melody, Tanner, Zed, Tinnie… um, Nike, and, uh, Voss?”
“OpenRequests,” he says.
I press the tab and the floodgates open. A sea of messages from women with glossy profile pictures, blue checks, and depraved previews. My eyes skim the latest: ‘It’s pulsing your name in morse code, Captain.’
What’s pulsing…
Oh. Oh! Jesus Christ.
He hasn’t opened a single message from any of them.
“Have I replied to any of them?”
I glance up at him and give a guilty, “No.”
“Now iMessage,” he says, tapping his water glass.
I exhale and swipe up to exit the app, opening Messages. It’s the same: Jace, Melody, Zed, the team, me. And one unopened text from Clarissa Moreal—his mother. Why does he have her saved under her full name? The preview sits on the screen like a knife.
Clarissa Moreal: You’re a disappointment, Dominic. This is not who we raised.
My fingers freeze and my heart plummets at the bitterness in his mother’s words. I shouldn’t have seen that. I didn’t mean to read it.
I quickly lock the phone, feeling like I’ve seen something too private. My stomach turns as I look up. Dom takes a slow sip of water, unaware I read the venom. There’s so much I want to ask. Why is his own mother talking to him like that? But he’s given me enough today; I don’t want to push. Instead, I catch myself wanting to hug him.
I stand without saying anything and walk over, setting his phone gently on the table.
“Thank you,” I whisper, fighting the urge to hug him.
I turn to go back to my chair, but his hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me onto his lap. My legs swing before settling over his. His arm curls around my waist and my breath catches.
I look up at him, wide-eyed. His hand is splayed low on my back, the other resting on the table.
“Did you get your answer?” he asks in that deep, low voice that feels like it speaks straight to my bones.
“You let me stew. A simple ‘no, I don’t talk to other women’ would’ve done the trick.” I force a laugh, the sound soft and breathy against his collarbone.
He tilts his head to see my face and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Would you have believed me if I did?”
“Probably not.” I shrug.
He nods once, like he expected as much.
He probably knows how loud the world has been for me, how easy it would be to assume the worst.
I shift on his lap. “So,” I say lightly, tilting my head, a smile tugging, “you’re not gonna ask to see my phone now?”
“No.”
“Really?” I arch a brow.
“Really.”
I pretend to think. “Huh. Because I might be talking to other men, you know.”
The words are barely out when his hold on my hips tightens. He presses me down so there’s no mistaking the hardening line beneath me. My breath catches as my body reacts to the feel of him.
His mouth dips close to my ear. “That’s a bluff you don’t want to try,” he warns.
