Page 32 of Sweet Shots

I make it back to my house like a zombie. My body is numb and I feel like I’m in the throes of a panic attack without the panic.

How did he know all of that about me? How did he get every single detail correct? I feel raw. Torn open. Vulnerable. My skin is crawling, and I feel like I need to get out of it, like I’m wearing a wool sweater. I strip my clothes and jump into the shower, scrubbing until my skin is red and burning. And even when I get out, I still feel it there. This niggling under my skin, in the back of my brain…

He knows, and he’s going to use it against me. He’s going to make fun of me and pick on me and—

My phone rings, pulling me from dark thoughts that haven’t haunted me in years. I pick it up and see it’s him. I put it down on the bathroom counter and back away from it, my eyes on the phone until his name disappears and the screen goes dark. Then I hurry into my room, jump into my bed, and cover my head with the blankets and force myself to fall asleep.

Chapter Twelve

Dominic

I’m not sure how long I should give him before I storm over to his house and demand he talk to me. It’s been nearly a week, and though, yes, part of my problem is that we have a legal obligation and what’s fair is fair, I’m actually worried about him. I hit a nerve. It wasn’t my intention, which is what I said in the beginning. I just wanted to give him a little insight into himself so he can understand how to make his life better.

I mean, I’m not perfect. But once I started figuring myself out and giving in to what I wanted and needed, I’ve been happier. Or in his opinion, dumb.

I used to be a miserable prick. I was lost, feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. But I’ve got my life in order and I’m doing all kinds of stuff that makes me happy. I’m a free man who takes life by the reins and enjoys every second of it. I don’t let things bring me down. Life is too short to waste being sad or mad.

This whole situation is another reminder that it’s a good thing I decided to not be a psychologist. My bedside manner is shit, I know that.

I get up from my spot on the couch and shut the TV off. I need to change so I can go out and meet my buddies at the bar. Changing doesn’t take long, I just throw on a fitted pair of jeans, a button up, making sure to roll the sleeves up, and slip into some boots.

Shoving my wallet into my back pocket, grabbing my phone and my keys, I yank open my door, only to stop short.

“Neighbor,” I say, shaking out of my shock.

He’s staring at me wide-eyed, finger pointed toward the bell like he was about to ring it. He clears his throat, dropping his hand.

“Can we—” He stops, his eyes looking at me from head to toe. “Oh, you’re leaving. Sorry, I’ll come back another time.”

Now, this isn’t like him. This meek, almost scared man? This isn’t Mikah.

“No,” I say, grabbing his arm. He looks at where I’m grabbing him, then looks back up at me. I swear he’s more confused than anything, but I drop my hand because I don’t want to piss him off. “Sorry, I just meant I have time now. It’s not important.”

“Are you sure?” He scratches the back of his neck, turning to face me fully. A sliver of his skin shows off below his shirt, and I have to drag my eyes away. Honestly, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way he came for me when I told himto—twice.

I’ve worked with a lot of men—and women—over the years and not many of them come on command like that. Yes, it’s something we should have some control over as it makes making videos and content much easier, but some people take more concentration than others. Some are really good at faking it. But Mikah? That wasn’t just about control for him. In fact, it was the opposite. He had no control. I could tell by the way he responded. He wanted to come, and when I told him to, he did… because I said to. He needs someone else to take control for him, to take care of him. And that? Fuck, that’s like a dream come true.

So I should probably stop doing things to scare him away. I wouldn’t be mad if he stuck around even after this video is made. He’s my neighbor and all, but he swears he still hates me. I’m not sure he actually does. I think I just annoy him, and he needs somewhere to put all of his anger and bottled up resentment. I’m fine with him taking it out on me, because I’ll give it right back to him and then he’ll feel better. But that’s not what I should be thinking about right now.

“Yeah, of course. This is business.” I move aside for him to come in.

Hesitating for just a second, he finally steps inside, letting out a long breath. He turns to me. “I’m sorry about the other day…”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry. That was completely out of line.”

“It was horrifying,” he admits. “But only because you were right.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I snap my mouth shut and just stare at him. Not that it’s any better, but at least my mouth won’t get me into trouble again.

He forces a smile, and says, “So, can we sit to discuss this?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. You want a beer? Wine?”

“Vodka?” he asks, walking toward the dining table.

“You got it,” I say, pulling the bottle of Grey Goose from the cabinet and pouring us each two fingers.

I give him his glass, put the bottle in the middle of the table because we may need it, and then take the seat across from him. I’m not sure why I’m nervous. Maybe because I feel guilty for scaring him, and I don’t want to do that again. Usually I enjoy watching people squirm. I know I make people uncomfortable with my bluntness, but something about the look in his eyes before he ran off? No one has ever looked at me like that before and it was a lot.

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