Page 81 of Sweet Shots

Edward moves to the back of the store, waving for us to follow.

“You speak Italian and didn’t tell me?” I whisper to him as we go.

“I understand it. Well, some. I do not speak it.” He raises a brow. “Why? Would that be hot?”

“Hell yes,” I say.

He grins, taking my hand.

Edward shows us a few different styles of suits and different colors that pair well together. We go back and forth but eventually decide on something we both like. We go with a black and burgundy color theme. Dominic’s is all black, while mine is burgundy. Both have satin peak lapels. To keep things casual but elegant, we go with an open jacket and a vest—both black—with white shirts, and black ties and shoes.

The only bit of color he goes with is the burgundy pocket square. I, of course, go with a black one, and we look pretty damn amazing—separately and together.

Edward takes his time getting our measurements, ensuring the suits will be perfect and fit exactly how we want. This was after he asked us how we like our fit, of course. Both of us wear them similarly, tailored snug, which is more the style nowadays. Especially for people in our line of work. Showing off everything is sort of an expectation.

Dominic refuses to let me pay for anything, but I get a glimpse of what it costs and almost pass out. Four digits?!

“So, how do you know Edward?” I ask as we leave the store, taking his hand again. I don’t miss the looks we get from people. Most are curious, a few have looked disgusted, and then there was the one couple who looked intrigued.

“He was my neighbor when I was a kid. Great guy. His wife died a few years before my mother, and he didn’t have any kids. Just kept to himself. My mother invited him over for the holidays and he became like an uncle or something. Back then, he was doing this out of his house. Now look at him.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.”

“He always wants to give me discounts and shit for free, but I refuse. He needs the money more than I do, I’m sure.” Dominic leads the way back the way we came, dodging people with practiced ease. “It’s not fair, you know?”

“What’s not fair?” I ask as we step onto the escalator, going down. I guess we’re going somewhere else in this giant mall before leaving.

“How I hardly have to work to make so much money, and he works his ass off just to make ends meet.”

“Tell me about it,” I comment. “Thought about that so much when I was a kid. It was never fair. It made me angry and resentful.”

“I felt that way for a long time, too. Angry at the world and everything I was dealt.”

We step off the escalator, go around the railing and step onto another. We’re going down again.

“How did you get over it?” I ask.

I trust Dominic’s opinion. We’re very different, though complimentary in a way, I suppose. Our upbringings have enough similarities that we can understand the other. We struggled with some of the same things. The biggest difference is that he had someone to lean on, someone to make things better, while I had someone who made it all worse.

“I just… woke up one day and realized my mother wouldn’t want me to be angry my whole life. She’d want me to make the best of what I had. So, I took a good hard look at what I did have, and it turns out, it wasn’t so bad. My foster family was great. Emmet was always accepting of me, even though I was a pain in the ass. And his parents took me in when they didn’t have to. Foster parents, the good ones, are a special breed of people. I appreciate the hell out of them for what they did for me. I know a lot of people out there don’t get as lucky as I did, which… is still unfair. I know that. But I’m doing what I think is best for me, and that’s choosing to be grateful for my life and what I have.”

“Mind over matter,” I mutter.

“Basically.”

“As weird as it sounds, I struggle to control my mind. My thoughts. They’re overbearing at times.” I glance at him, holding his gaze as we step off the moving stairs and move down the walkway. Though there are hundreds of people here, the noise still crazy, it’s only him and I and this conversation. “But you somehow quiet that voice. You make my mind calm. I don’t have to think. Mostly during sex, but it’s… starting to bleed over. You make doing things, scary things, things that I thought I hated,easy. And that is…” I blow out a breath, not knowing what to say.

Dominic brings our joined hands to his mouth, kissing my knuckles.

“That’s a good thing.” He says it like he’s trying to convince me, but I already know it’s a good thing. That voice in my head? Maybe not so much. So maybe that’s what he’s trying to convince.

“Yeah, it is,” I say as we come upon a food court. It’s huge, with at least thirty different options. There are a ton of different cuisines, fast food, junk food… everything. This place is overwhelming, but it’s pretty damn cool. The best part is I won’t have to decide what to eat from all these choices. Dominic already knows where we’re going, and likely what we’re going to eat. He’s amazing like that.

“Italian?” I ask when we get in line.

“Thought it was fitting.” He kisses my cheek, his lips lingering for a moment. “Go find us a table. I’ll be there shortly.”

Biting my lip, I smile at him and turn toward all the tables and chairs. It’s early for lunch in my opinion, but suitable for some people. Besides, pizza sounds great.

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