Page 71 of The Dom

She didn’t have to explain why. When she’d met Finley and then again when she’d told him who she was, she’d feared rejection, but now that she was building a relationship with him, she was terrified that he and Roberta were going to hate each other and she’d have to choose between them.

Considering what she’d told me about how Roberta’s ex had just walked away from the family without a second look, it made sense that Ashlee would be worried about that. I didn’t try to tell her any of that, though. She didn’t need me to mansplain what she was feeling. She needed to know that she had my support, whenever, wherever, and however she needed it.

I reached over and took her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. No matter what she needed, I’d take care of her. The new kind of protectiveness was foreign to me. It was more than possessiveness born of control. She was mine beyond the physical.

This wasn’t the time or place to go into that, though. Once I wrapped my own head around it, I’d talk to her.

“It was nice of your mom to volunteer to make dinner for all of us,” I said. “Does she enjoy cooking?”

“She does, and she’s usually really good at it. I’m just hoping she isn’t going to try anything too crazy. She has a bad habit of seeing something on a cooking show and thinking she can pull it off perfectly the first time.” Ashlee’s smile indicated this was more of a mark of amusement than it was annoyance. “Once, when I was fifteen, she got this idea to make a vegan lasagna. It’s fine for people who eat that way, but neither one of us is vegan, so I have no idea why she thought that was a good idea.”

“It didn’t go well, I take it?”

She shook her head. “It did not.” She chuckled. “Burnt it to a crisp. The smoke in the kitchen was so thick we had to open all the windows and leave for two hours.”

I laughed with her, and then said, “Well, if there’s a repeat, I’ll make a couple calls, and we can move the dinner to my place.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Do you lock your playroom when you have people over for dinner? I imagine you’d have to, or things could get really embarrassing. That’d definitely make for interesting dinner conversation.”

I agreed, and we continued with general small talk the rest of the way to Roberta’s place. It seemed to help her relax, or maybe that was just my opinion. Either way, she was smiling when we entered the house.

Ashlee went to greet her mother with a hug while I looked around at the home my girlfriend had grown up in.

To a lot of the people outside of the city, there wasn’t much difference between Staten Island and the Bronx, but natives understood the nuances between each of the boroughs. It was less this difference than it was the difference between our families that had me wondering what path life would’ve taken if our positions were switched.

“I’ve got it all under control, Ash,” Roberta assured her daughter. “I’m always glad to spend more time with you, but it doesn’t need to be in the kitchen. Dinner’s in the oven, and everything else is set.”

“And would that dinner happen to be?” Ashlee asked cautiously. “Nothing…imaginative, I hope.”

Roberta looked at me over Ashlee’s shoulder. “I don’t even want to know what sorts of stories my daughter has been telling you about my cooking.”

“Vegan lasagna, Mom,” Ashlee answered. “Vegan. Lasagna. I warned you back then that if it went as bad as I thought it was going to be, I reserved the right to mock you about it for the rest of our lives.”

“That you did,” she said with a smile. “Tonight, I kept it simple. Baked chicken and baked potatoes, a few rolls. Salad in the fridge. Pie for dessert. Does that meet with your approval, Dinner Nazi?”

Ashlee laughed and walked back over to me. “I hear you. I’ll stay away from the kitchen.”

“Why don’t you show that young man of yours around the house where you grew up?” Roberta winked at me. “Nice to see you again, Nate.”

“Ms. Webb.”

“I think you can call me Roberta.”

I smiled. “Roberta, then.”

“Come on.” Ashlee grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the stairs. “I want to show you my bedroom.”

I could’ve thought she was just making a general statement about where she was taking me first if it wasn’t for the way she swung her hips as she led me up the stairs. I kept my gaze glued to that firm ass of hers and tried to convince myself that it would be a bad idea to fuck my girlfriend on her childhood bed.

The first room on the right was hers, and it looked exactly the way I would’ve pictured it. Neat and clean with mismatched furniture that reminded me of the way all of the rooms in my childhood home had been put together. Hand-me-downs and thrift store finds, most of them, but all looking well-cared for.

Her mirror was covered with pictures, and I crossed to her dresser to take a look. Most of them were mother-daughter, but a couple had been trimmed, as if someone else had been in them. I assumed that would have been the woman who’d left. A few pictures had people her own age, friends, I assumed, but I didn’t see any recent ones.

Her arms wrapped around my waist from behind, her clasped hands on the waist of my pants. My heart gave a funny thump as she rested her cheek on my back.

“Tell me what you need.”

“This.” Her embrace tightened. “Just this for right now. Maybe more later.”

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