Page 16 of You're The One
With Dominic gone, the girls scatter, already breaking into cliques. I scan the room, searching for the cowgirl, Summer. Maybe she can help me figure out what’s up with Buzz Lightyear.
Who knows how long I’ll stick around. The least I can do is entertain myself while I’m here.
After grabbing another glass of champagne from the cocktail table, I head out to the back patio. I find Summer chatting with a woman in a flowy gown patterned more like tapestry than evening wear. She pulls it off, with gorgeous brown curls and deep blue eyes—not unlike Dominic’s. Summer introduces her as River, a name that fits her effortlessly cool, boho vibe.
We’re bonding over the weirdest entrances when a light touch on my shoulder makes me stiffen.
“Can I grab you for a second?” Dominic interrupts.
I’m surprised he’s back so soon. They couldn’t have been talking longer than fifteen minutes. I reluctantly agree, knowing I can’t ignore him forever, and follow him through the backyard to a gazebo. The cameras trail us, Bodhi not far behind. I offer him a small wave—they can always cut it in editing—and sit on the couch.
Dominic follows my gaze. “Hey, can we get a minute?”
Bodhi steps forward. “You know we can’t do that.”
“I don’t think this conversation is going to fit the narrative,” Dominic mutters, irritation creeping into his voice.
“No can do, my dude.” Bodhi shrugs.
Dominic lets out a huff, sinking into the cushions beside me. “Fine. Whatever.” He turns to me.
His proximity makes me itch.
Before this summer, under normal circumstances, I’d see him a couple of times a year, and even that was a couple of times too many. Still, every time I’m forced to be around him, he burrows deeper under my skin. Like a mite. Like nails ona chalkboard. Like that incessant beeping when a fire alarm battery needs changing. Everything about him grates on me.
After a sharp exhale, his Mr. Brightside smile reappearances. The one that comes way too easily. “Hey. So, I wanted to talk about you being here…”
I shoot a glance at Bodhi, who’s stepped behind the camera, trying to gauge if this is allowed. Are we breaking from the script now? Skipping the fake getting-to-know-you questions and flirtatious touches everyone else seems so eager to perform? I take his gentle nod as confirmation.
“Get to the point. What do you want, Dom?” I don’t bother softening my tone now that we’re done with the preamble.
“Oh, you’re giving me nicknames already? We’re moving so fast. What should I call you?” He waggles his brows.
“I’d prefer you just not talk to me. Then you won’t need to call me anything.”
“Afraid you’re out of luck. We’re dating now, didn’t you know?”
I’m starting to see a pattern—when I let my bitch flag fly, he counters with over-the-top flirtation. Like he’s trying to balance some invisible scale.
“How could I forget? I’m one oftwenty-fourwomen. Are you going to ask me to be yourone of eighteentonight?”
I’m aiming to piss him off, but I’m also genuinely curious. Is he going to send me packing before I even unpack? Also, what a stupid way to ask someone to go steady.Will you be my one out of however-many-people-are-left?Thanks for the reminder; real romantic.
“Of course I am. Don’t you feel this connection, fireball?” His arm slides across the couch behind me.
My brows pinch together. “Ew. Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You’re quite the little fireball,” he says, followed by a rapid string of words I can’t understand—definitely not English.
I blink at him. I didn’t even know he spoke another language. I guess Dominic is an Italian name, but Fox? Not so much. Maybe his mom’s Italian?
“Don’t you mean spitfire? I know your vocabulary is probably limited to ‘get pucks in deep,’ celly, twig, and other stupid hockey slang, but aspitfireis someone with a sharp tongue. And what did you call me? Have you started cursing me out in another language? I wasn’t aware you were smart enough to speak more than one.”
“Pretty sure spitfire is someone quick to anger… which also fits. But nah, you’re a wildfire.” His grin is maddeningly casual, and he offers no translation.
My jaw tightens. “Then you must be oxygen. Fanning the flames until they burn out of control.”
“Aww, are you saying you can’t live without me?”
