Page 29 of Sweet Shots

“Yeah, like who?”

“The mail lady.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I have a best friend,” I add.

“Oh? Then why aren’t you talking to him about this problem so you can get your ass over to my house to discuss terms?”

I let out a heavy sigh, my shoulders sagging.

“Because he’s busy,” I say, knowing how pathetic that sounds.

Dominic seems to mull something over in his head, probably trying to decide how much of an asshole to be.

He gets to his feet and stands in front of me, his body stiff and tall. Somehow looking a hundred feet taller than me, even though he’s maybe got two inches on me.

“You’re having a rough day. That’s okay. But what’s not okay is breaking legal obligations. You’re going to march over to my house, eat dinner, and we’re going to discuss the terms of the video we have to make. And if at any time you decide you want to tell me what’s wrong, I’ll listen without judgment. I’ll even give you advice, because despite what you think, I’m not an asshole.”

I’m stunned into silence, not a single clue how to react to what he just said to me.

“Now, Mikah,” he says in a low tone.

My brow furrows and my feet start moving without me having to think about it, which I realize is annoying as hell once I’m out the front door.

How does he do that?

I’m so confused and lost in my head that I don’t realize where I am until I’m sitting at his dinner table with a plate of chicken broccoli Alfredo in front of me. There’s a basket of garlic breadsticks in the center, and a glass of white wine.

“Eat,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

So, I do.

Something about being here and being out of my house—that is a constant reminder that I have zero money—makes it easier to breathe. Maybe I should get out of the house more. It’s becoming stifling.

No, that usually requires money. Money I don’t have. When I get paid again this month, everything will have to go into savings so I can start building up something to fall back on. The only thing I can spend will be what I need for groceries and—

“Where are you from?”

I blink a few times, looking up.

“Uhm, Sacramento County. Why?”

“Just curious,” he says. “Why’d you move here?”

“Because I wanted to,” I snap.

Dominic smirks, that stupid smirk that annoys me to no end.

“What is so fucking funny?” I ask.

“You think being rude hurts my feelings?”

“Idon’t think you have feelings.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Thank god for that.”

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