Page 45 of You're The One
She lowers her sunglasses enough to meet my gaze. There’s something behind her eyes I can’t quite read. “I doubt it.”
“You’re not into him?” I press.
She shakes her head. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy. But I think we’re better as friends.”
Technically, I should pass that to Dominic. But even as the words leave her mouth, I know I won’t. Not yet, anyway.
Summer’s the closest friend I’ve got, and I don’t want to be the reason he sends her home.
I’m still planning to hold up my end of the bargain, but I think he’d understand me wanting someone in my corner. Right? Still, I’m wrestling with a moral dilemma, one I wouldn’t have had before last night.
I think I mightactuallywant to help him.
Which is… inconvenient.
I’m starting to think I wasn’t one hundred percent right about?—
“Are you wearing sunscreen?” A deep voice startles me as a shadow falls over my lounger.
I adjust my sunglasses and look at the towering man beside me.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Sun protection should be taken seriously,la mia fiamma.”
“Are you always this serious about protection?” I deadpan, unable to help myself.
“Always.”
I grab the tube of lotion and hand it to him. “Here. Are you going to lotion everyone up?”
“Nope, just you.” He gives me that half-smile of his.
Did I say Iwantedto help him? I take it back. I roll my eyes, though he probably can’t see it through my dark lenses.
He chuckles. “I know you’re rolling your eyes.”
“You can’t prove anything.” I sit up, tugging the towel over my lap, suddenly feeling a little too exposed. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you mean you didn’t wear that for me? I’m wounded.” He clutches his chest dramatically.
“Sorry to disappoint. Why’re you here?” I repeat.
“Just checking in. Figured I’d hang here until Emma is ready. It’s kinda lonely in the villa.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of where he’s staying.
Dominic, lonely? Not something I’d ever thought possible. But I guess extroverts thrive when they’re surrounded by people.
He tosses the lotion onto my chair and whips off his shirt, revealing a lot of tattoos… and, okay, abs. Has he always worn such tight shorts? I can practically make out the shape of his thigh muscles.
I try to avert my gaze to his face, but I’m momentarily distracted by the ink that spans from his collarbones, down both arms, all the way to his hands, across his chest, and down to his abs. A larger design peeks out from his shorts on his right leg. They’re all mostly black and gray with a few multicolored onesmixed in. I’ve seen the ones on his arms before, but I didn’t realize they wereeverywhere. I guess I never really paid that close attention to his body.
“My eyes are up here,” he says with a smirk.
If I could reach his abs from here, I’d smack them. Instead, I tilt my head all the way back to scowl at him.
“How many tattoos do you have?” I ask, focusing on the reason I was staring. Itwasn’tthe abs, it was the ink. The curiosity about how many there are and if they hurt.
“Too many to count. Do you have any?” He gestures for me to move forward and slips in behind me.
