Page 49 of Sweet Shots

“I was invited to the MAIF awards.”

My jaw drops open. “Shut up. Are you serious?”

He’s grinning proudly and nodding.

I look around, then back at him, frowning. “Why are you sharing this with me?”

“I already called my brother to let him know. He’s the only family I have. Besides, you’re in the community, so you appreciate it more. Also… I just wanted to share this with you.” I open my mouth to ask why,again, because that wasn’t really an answer, when he adds, “And I want you to be my date.”

“Your date?”

That’s… wow.

“That’s what I said.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

This is kind of a big deal. Though my stuff can’t be nominated because I don’t do independent work, of course I’ve heard about the MAIF awards. Anyone in this line of work has.

“You have until the end of the night to decide.”

I can’t unpack any of that right now. Why is he sharing this with me? Why is he asking me? Doesn’t he have friends? People he’s interested in? He said he told me because I’d appreciate it more, but what about all the guys he’s made videos with over the years? He isn’t friends with any of them?

“What videos were nominated? Who were they with? Won’t it be weird taking me when you should probably take them?” I ask.

“Hm… I hadn’t thought of that.”

“See—”

“But no. I don’t care about them. I want you to come with me.”

I take a breath before saying, “The last thing I need in my life is drama, Dominic.”

“Why would this cause drama?” he asks with a bit of a bite. “Those men are a business transaction. We had a contract. One and done. I’m sure they’ll have their own dates to take. Some of them are even in relationships.”

“I just don’t understand why things are so different with me.” I shake my head, leaning back in my chair.

“Neither do I. They just are,” he says, exasperated, which makes me feel bad.

What makes this all the more confusing is we can agree that it doesn’t make sense. How doesn’t that bother me? Doesn’t he want to make sense of it?

“Here we are,” Kyle says, putting two glasses on the table so he can open the wine, then pours us each a glass and leaves the bottle in the center. “Have we decided on meals yet? An appetizer maybe? May I suggest the seafood cakes? They are delicious.”

“They sound great, thank you,” I say flatly.

“I’ll get that started for you,” he says, then takes off.

“You can’t eat seafood cakes. You’re allergic to shellfish,” Dominic says, eying me.

“I lied.”

“What?” he snaps, hand halfway to picking up his glass of wine.

I shrug, reaching for my wine. “I lied.”

“Why the hell would you lie?”

“Because you’re way too arrogant for your own good, and I didn’t want to make things easy for you.”

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