Page 15 of Best In Class (Savannah's Best #7)

Dom

A bout an hour out of Macon, Luna perks up and smacks my arm.

“There!” she points. “Buckner’s Family Restaurant. Turn off!”

“You just hit me to force a detour?” I say, mock offended.

“If I hit you, you’d know. That was merely a pat to get your attention.

And it’s not a detour, it’s a cultural experience,” she remarks smugly.

“Buckner’s is a legend. It’s been around since the seventies.

Southern buffet served on a giant lazy Susan at every table.

Fried chicken that will make you cry. And pie. ”

“Well, since you invoked fried chicken and emotional instability, and I am starving….”

She laughs.

I made her laugh! Yippie!

I take the exit .

Someone who doesn’t know Luna may wonder how a billionaire’s daughter even knows a place like Buckner’s; unapologetically Southern, serves sweet tea by the gallon, and has wallpaper that hasn’t changed since the Reagan administration. But I know her. This is her kind of place.

“See.” She waves at the lazy Susan at the center of the table where we’re seated.

“I see.” I’m looking at her.

She’s beautiful.

Excited as only a child can be.

“I’m Paula,” a server in a red-checkered apron announces as she seats us.

The menu is simple. It’s Thursday, so our choices are fried chicken or pork tenderloin with gravy, and a bunch of fixings. This is the epitome of simple Southern cuisine.

“If you come back tomorrow, we’ll have baby back ribs and house-smoked pork,” Paula tells us.

“We’ll both have the fried chicken.” Luna’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas. “And we’ll have the green beans with bacon, buttered corn, sweet potato soufflé…oh, and biscuits.”

She knows I’m not a big pork tenderloin fan, but a very big fried chicken one. I also love sweet potato, which she doesn’t.

This is Luna’s love language. She’s feeding me.

If the food won’t send me into coronary arrest, this woman will, I think, feeling amused and deliriously happy that she’s in a good mood, that she seems pleased to be with me .

The food is served before you can say bless your heart, and it’s excellent.

“Now this”—Luna piles food on her plate—“is what I miss about being younger.”

I grin, watching her. “You used to eat like this in college. And still looked like you.”

“I turned thirty, Dom, and my metabolism hit the toilet.” She waves a biscuit at me. “Do you know that I have to work out now?”

“Mama says you spend too much time at your gym.” I drench my fried chicken in hot sauce, ‘cause that’s the only way to eat it.

“I do not.” Luna bites into a juicy chicken leg, and moans.

The sound hits me low, sharp and electric, like a jolt straight to my cock.

If she’s going to make sounds like that, yeah, so this is going to be a long meal, followed by a long drive.

She sucks some hot sauce off her thumb. “Divine.”

I have to clear my throat. Shift. I’m hard.

She isn’t doing this on purpose. If she knows I am aroused by simply watching her eat, she’ll be mortified.

Halfway through the meal, she slows down and sits back, drinking iced tea.

She sets her glass down, tilts her head, and says thoughtfully, “You know it’s remarkably easy being with you.”

I can’t look away from her. I’ve never been able to. “I know,” I murmur.

Tell her now, Dom. Just tell her .

But what if she hates me more? What if she can’t forgive me for lying?

“What?” she asks.

“What?” I frown.

“You want to say something to me, but you aren’t sure if you should.”

She knows me.

“You looked like this when you said you loved me the first time.” She closes her eyes, a small smile on her face, like she’s casting the memory into the air between us.

I am seventeen and she’s sixteen. Desire throbs between us. We’ve made out a lot, but we haven’t made love…yet.

I want it to be special, but I don’t know how to do that. I’m a virgin.

Lev has had sex, but it feels wrong to ask him to give me tips for when I deflower his sister.

She sits on the rickety wooden dock by the lake in the Steele estate, away from the mansion.

We bicycled here. It took us a good twenty minutes.

We come here a lot. To get away. To talk. To be silent together.

It’s early morning, and the mist is curling off the lake, still deciding whether to rise or stay wrapped around us.

Luna is barefoot, legs swinging over the edge, a battered tackle box between us and two poles propped against a splintering railing.

She’s wearing one of my old sweatshirts, sleeves too long, freckled nose scrunched as she threads a hook like she’s solving a puzzle .

I say her name. Just once. Quietly.

She looks up.

“What?”

“I….” I do an imitation of a deer caught in headlights.

She makes a face. “You have that look on your face.”

I frown, confused. “What look?”

“The one you get when you want to say something but you’re not sure.”

She sees me.

My heart hammers.

“You can tell me anything,” she vows. “Always. I’m your person, Dom.”

“I love you,” I blurt out.

No buildup. No speech. Just the truth, dropped between us like a smooth stone in still water.

She blinks. Smiles. And then she says nothing for a long time—just lets the smile stay.

Later, when we’re lying on the dock, lines forgotten, her head on my shoulder, and the sun warming our faces, she finally whispers it back. “I love you, too.”

That was the first time I said it. And the first time she said it back.

And now, years later, in the present, when she says “ You looked like this ” with that same soft smile, I know exactly what she means.

Because right now, sitting across from her, every wall down, every part of me open and laid bare…I feel like I’m sixteen again.

Wrecked. Hopeful .

Still completely hers.

“When I won the Pritzker,” I start, “you were the first person I thought of.”

She looks up, stunned. She didn’t expect this.

If I tell her about her father, she’s going to flip.

Not if, Dom, when. You can’t build this on a lie.

“I wanted to call you. Hell, I wanted to see you. Because none of it felt real without you there.”

She leans against the table, fingers idly tracing its surface. “I used to imagine calling you every time I got a new project. Every time I won a bid. When I got Savannah Lace off the ground, but….”

“But?”

She shrugs, still making patterns on the table.

“I wasn’t worth the call,” I state.

“No.” She looks at me, her eyes bright with emotion. “You weren’t.”

I draw in an unsteady breath.

A playful glint softens her gaze. “You didn’t call me, either,” she reminds me.

I hesitate, before responding, “I was scared you’d not talk to me.”

“Maybe I would have,” she murmurs, eyes fixed on something on the floor I can’t see.

“Yeah?”

She lifts her shoulders in what seems like a helpless gesture. “Yeah.”

“Nothing seems real until you’re there,” I confess .

Her expression folds in on itself, quiet and raw, as if my words devastate her.

“I have to use the restroom. Can you take care of the bill?”

I watch her walk away. Then, I let my weight sink onto the table.

The guilt of my lie is crushing me.

I have to tell her the truth and then just deal with the fallout.

I know Luna. What’ll cut deeper than me cheating—hell, even deeper than the lie—is that I caved to her father. That’s the kind of betrayal she may never forgive. Because for her, losing your spine is worse than losing your way.

Not like she’s going to forgive you for cheating on her, numb nuts.