“Yeah.” He pushes the door open.
“Like a vacation house?” I ask, following him inside.
“It’s not a vacation house.” He tosses the keys into a dish by the door. “Though my team certainly likes to think of it that way.”
I take in the vaulted ceilings. Beyond the living room is a wall of glass overlooking nothing but sand and sky.
“It’s the first house I bought back when I signed with the Blazers.”
“Why did you move?” I ask, genuinely curious. How could someone move out of this?
“I wanted to be closer to the practice rink and…” He hesitates, then adds quieter, “Jace.”
“Aww, does the big man have separation anxiety?”
He shoots me a warning glance, but he’s smiling.
Before I can ask more or interrogate the absurd cost of what must be five thousand square feet of beachfront paradise, Dom takes my hand again and tugs me toward the back doors.
“Come on.”
“Am I meeting your butler?”
“So you can sunbathe topless in front of him as well?” He walks me across the large living room.
My cheeks heat as he opens the glass doors. We walk down the patio steps and straight onto the sand. It feels like his private strip of beach.
My breath stops at what we’re walking toward. In the middle of the beach, tucked under a large white umbrella, is a massive beach mat with three trays lined side by side. Each one is filled with food: croissants, berries, cheeses, little glass containers, and a silver bucket of ice.
“Is that a picnic?” I whip my head to him, stunned.
Dom crosses his arms. “What gave it away?” he deadpans, lifting the Dom Pérignon by the neck.
“You packed me a picnic?”
“I had my butler set it up earlier.”
I step closer, scanning the spread. Tucked neatly next to one pillow, half-hidden in the sand, is a plastic bucket, a mini shovel, a rake, and some castle molds.
Dominic Moreal’s private beach. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at how ridiculous it sounds.
“Are…?” I crouch slightly. “Are these yours?”
“Yeah.” Dom settles the champagne in the ice bucket.
“Oh my God, do you have kids?”
He takes a breath, his face softening. “I do. My sister takes care of him for me. His name is Jace.” He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth to stop a smile.
I look back at the toys. “So, why do you have these?”
I pick up the mini shovel and hold it up.
“I need your help burying a body.” Dom plucks it from my hand. “Hardware store was closed, so I figured this would do.”
A small laugh escapes me as he lifts the plastic shovel dramatically.
“I’m serious,” I say, still smiling. “What are they for?”
