Page 3 of You're The One
All of the above.
I did say I was a bit desperate to find love, right?
Fuck it.
TWO
I realizemy mistake in switching from music to self-improvement the second Dominic Fox’s overly cheerful voice cuts through the podcast I’m half-listening to about neurotransmitters and how to hack your brain chemistry. If the whiny and wounded lyrics ofTeenage Dirtbagwere still playing, they might’ve drowned him out.
“Hey, Mia!”
I spin, and yep, he’s hovering on the other side of the fence that separates his backyard from my brother’s yard. Ryan put it in for their dog, Freddie, and the foster dogs Hannah brings home. Shame he didn’t choose something taller to keep otherpestsout. I go back to throwing the ball for Freddie, ignoring his presence.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Of course he would say something so cliché and idiotic. “What’re you up to?”
I slip the headphones around my neck and turn back toward him. He’s like a fly, sometimes it’s best to acknowledge him, even if it’s more like swatting him away than having a real conversation. He’s incapable of taking a hint. Reading subtle cues, body language? Yeah, not his strong suit. Which isshocking, considering he plays a sport that relies on reading plays and players.
“What does it look like I’m doing, Dominic?” I rest my clenched fist on my hip. “I’m throwing a ball for Freddie. Some would call this fetch.”
He chuckles, completely unperturbed. One of the many reasons I don’t like him. No one should be that ignorantly happy.
With one quick motion, he hops over the fence.
Why Ryan didn’t spring for a privacy fence—or better yet, one with barbed wire at the top—I’ll never know. Instead, he went with one of those decorative black metal ones that are barely four feet tall and apparently stand no chance of keeping six-foot-four hockey players out.
“I’ll have to talk to Lo about adding a gate for easier access,” Dominic comments, snatching the ball from my hand and tossing it way farther than I ever could. It bounces down the yard and through the narrow side path, Freddie darts after it until he disappears around the corner.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” I scowl up at him, but he just stands there, waiting for the dog to return. When he does, he throws it again.
“Is there something you want?” I ask. “Or are you just trying toruinanother one of my mornings?”
I wish I could say this was a one-time thing, but it’s pretty much a daily occurrence at this point.
I’ve been staying with my brother for the summer, helping my soon-to-be sister-in-law with a wave of puppies she’s taken in, all looking for forever homes. Animal rescue isn’t my passion the same way it is hers, but it’s not like I have anything better to do.
I still haven’t figured out what I want to do with my life, which means I tend to drift toward whatever calls to me. Some days I don’t hate it, but I wouldn’t say I feel particularly…fulfilled either. I keep telling myself I’m young and have time to work it all out. No need to commit until I’m sure I’ve found thethingthat really fits.
“You mean brighten, right?” Dominic fires back.
“Nope. I had it right the first time. How do you manage it? You go out, hook up, come back slamming car doors, then pop out here the next morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed just to annoy me. Doesn’t it get exhausting?”
I’m not exaggerating. For the past month, it’s been the same routine… Every. Single. Night. He maybe takes two nights off a week, tops.
My room happens to be on the side of the house closest to his, so I get the full experience: car door slams, garage rumbles shut, back door snicks closed. Like my very own midnight alarm clock.
The only positive? At least he’s considerate enough to keep his activities elsewhere. I haven’t seen him bring anyone homeyet.
“Aw, keeping tabs on me, Mia? Not having the same luck dating?” His tone is mocking as he nudges my side. “Maybe you should check your app… could’ve gotten a new match. Never know when love’s gonna find you.” He chuckles. At least someone’s amused.
What’s he playing at?
I take a step back and pull my phone out of my pocket, opening the app Hannah insisted I download. Apparently, it’s a rite of passage in this group. Trial by online dating.
I haven’t actually gone on a date yet, and it’s not high on my list of priorities. I’ve dated enough to know I’m not looking for anything serious—at least not now. It’s just another distraction to add to my arsenal.
The first thing that pops up is:You’ve got matches.
Dominic hovers over my shoulder. “Fuck, I was right. What, has every man in Chicago swiped right on your profile?”
