Page 16 of Best In Class (Savannah's Best #7)

Luna

T here is the kind of tired when you’ve done good work, and then there’s the kind of tired when you’re sitting on a freeway in a car with your ex who is confusing you.

Needless to say, I’m exhausted .

I squint at my phone. “Apple says we’re stuck for at least two hours.”

Dom glances at the GPS. “Porsche says the same thing. You wanna power through?”

I think about it. I hate traffic—despise it. That’s why I ride a motorcycle. It lets me weave through gridlock and get where I need to go without fantasizing about felony assault on half the city’s drivers.

“Honestly? No.”

He seems to hesitate, even runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. “Want to find somewhere to stay for the night?”

I look around. “I wonder what we’re going to find here.”

He chuckles. “Bates Motel?”

I side-eye him. “Do I look like I do motels?”

“You look like you do rooftop suites and valet parking.”

“Are you saying I’m spoiled, Dominic Calder?” I demand with mock haughtiness.

He just smirks and taps the screen of the Porsche, moves it around. “There’s a town about twenty minutes from here. Hamilton. Looks like there’s a B she’s just being a bitch.

I’m trying to protect you, moron .

“Want to go to Mrs. Vann’s parlor and get a drink?” Dom asks.

I take a deep breath and sit up. “That’s not a bad idea.” I look around our space. “It’s not like we have much to unpack.”

Mrs. Vann told us that the bathroom is fully stocked with all the essentials: spare toothbrushes, a wooden-handled hairbrush, and toiletries.

Dom laughs. “Well, I have my gym bag in the trunk. ”

“Lucky you.”

“You can borrow my T-shirt to sleep in.” His eyes heat up.

I know mine do as well.

“Or maybe you sleep naked, like you used to,” he continues.

Thump. Thump. Thump .

The pulse between my legs makes me want to clench my thighs.

I remember what it’s like to make love with Dom.

God! It’s erotic. Pure passion. So sensuous. So….

I stand up abruptly. “Actually, I’m tired. It’s…maybe I’ll get some sleep, and you can…you can get a drink.”

My tongue feels swollen. I’m losing my mind.

“I’ll just go get my bag.”

“I’ll…be there.” I wave stupidly toward the bathroom.

After Dom leaves, I bang my head against a wall.

Stop being a bitch in heat, Luna .

But this is Dom. And he’s all man now. He has abs. A six pack.

Sweet baby Jesus!

I saw them when he was swimming at Lev’s. He makes me wet by just existing, so when he’s dripping pool water in sexy swim trunks…well…let’s say my vibrator is getting a proper workout these days.

I take a shower—a cold one—to calm my lady parts.

I put on the ‘ her ’ robe. It’s soft like a cloud and makes me feel feminine .

I wash my bra and panties in the sink, and hang them in the bathroom, ignoring the fact that Dom will see them.

Well, I don’t have a gym bag, and I want some clean underwear tomorrow.

I also hand wash my socks…so there, that’s not sexy at all.

I come out of the bathroom and set my neatly folded jeans and shirt on a chair.

Dom’s on the couch, working on his computer. He looks at me and jerks his chin toward the bed. “T-shirt for you to sleep in.”

I look at the black shirt and nod.

Damn! I shouldn’t have washed my panties. Now I will be panty-less in bed with Dom.

Yeah, Luna, because it’s the damn cotton panties that are going to protect your honor?

I take the shirt into the bathroom, put it on, and come up with a plan on how to get into bed without flashing Dom.

That act is awkward as hell in practice because I get into bed in my robe and….

“Moonbeam, what are you doing?”

I feel like a fool. “I….”

“How about I look away?”

“Okay,” I squeak out.

I get into bed.

It’s a king.

It’s big .

He’ll sleep on one side and I on the other. There’s no need to be all queasy about this. We’re practical people. Right?

I sit up, the duvet covering me from the waist down. My nipples are perked up and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about that.

I pick up my laptop, which I had set aside on my bedside table, and open it. Looking away from him.

I hear a rustle of clothing and glance over. He’s unbuttoning his shirt.

I swallow and stare at the blank screen of my computer as if it holds the answer to every bad decision I’ve ever made—and can prevent me from making another one.

He shrugs off his shirt and throws it on his side of the bed.

I scowl. “Stop trying to make this weird.”

“Moonbeam, I’m literally just taking off my shirt.”

“You’re doing it like we’re in The Notebook ,” I grumble.

I don’t have to look at him to know he’s grinning like an asshole. “Moonbeam, you watch romcoms?”

“ The Notebook is not a comedy,” I protest, doing a mental head slap.

Why am I engaging in conversation with shirtless Dom? This has disaster written all over it.

Wait until he takes his pants off!

“True. But I don’t have a boat, and it isn’t raining.”

I give him a withering look.

He removes the belt holding his dress pants like he’s auditioning for Magic Mike . No way in hell I’m bringing that up .

And just like that, Ginuwine’s “Pony” starts to play in my head.

His saddles waitin’…come and jump on it.

“Dom—"

“Yeah, baby.” He slowly, very slowly, takes his belt off and then discards it so it lands with a clink on the bed.

I groan and throw a pillow at him. He catches it, smug as hell.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I warn. “I still haven’t forgiven you for letting Camy show up at the gala like she was your plus-one and your destiny.”

Why am I telling him this? The gala was months ago? He doesn’t need to know it still bothers me.

He tosses the pillow back gently. “I asked you first. You said no.”

“She showed up in Versace and red lipstick, Dom.”

“She always shows up in Versace and red lipstick. I didn’t invite her. I told you she was with Tommy. You know Camy; subtlety is not part of her aesthetic.”

“Whatever!”

“I don’t want her.” He takes off his pants. I suck in a breath. “I want you.”

I pause, laptop forgotten. I look at him— really look.

God! His boxer’s cup him, and he’s…hard. He’s….

“Ah…right. You know. You should go into the bathroom and?—”

“You getting hot and bothered there, Moonbeam?” His hands are on the waistband of his underwear.

“Dominic Elijah Calder, don’t you dare take those off! ”

He laughs and goes into the bathroom. When the door clicks shut behind him, I exhale.

You want him.

Yep!

Wanting him is not good for you, Luna.

Tell me something I don’t know.

The room is still, lit only by moonlight and the soft amber glow of the hallway creeping in under the door.

It’s uncomfortable as hell. He’s on his side of the bed in boxer shorts . I’m on my side in his T-shirt and no panties .

I hear the shift of sheets. Dom sighs softly, like sleep’s just out of reach.

It is for me, too.

I lay flat on my back, staring at the cracked ceiling. Someone painted it pale blue to mimic the sky, probably decades ago. It’s faded now, like everything old and soft and Southern eventually becomes.

“Moonbeam?” His voice cuts through the dark, low and careful.

“Yeah?”

A pause, then, “You still up?”

“No, I’m sleep-talking. It’s my gift.”

He chuckles.

I bite my lip and close my eyes, the ceiling forgotten. Silence stretches between us, awkward and raw .

“You ever think,” he says, voice even quieter now, “about how we could’ve turned out if we stayed together?”

I don’t answer right away.

Because I think about it all the time.

My heart is aching with the need to open up, show him my wounds.

Just tell him the truth, Luna .

“Sometimes,” I admit. “Usually when I’m driving alone. Or after a project wraps, and there’s no one to call who really gets it.”

He turns to face me.

“You were the only person who ever saw what I wanted to be, Luna. Before I had anything to show for it.”

My throat tightens. “That’s because you were already it. You just didn’t believe it yet.”

The silence swells again. There’s a breeze outside. A branch taps gently against the window like it’s trying not to wake anyone.

“I hated you,” I whisper. “After…. For a long time.”

“I hated me, too.”

There it is. No apology. No excuses.

Just the truth.

I turn on my side, face him.

“You kissed me in Gabe’s pool like you still love me,” I accuse.

It’s easy to talk like this in the dark.

“I do love you.”

I feel something twist in my chest.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” I say honestly .

“Give us a chance,” he pleads.

Another silence. This one stays longer, but it doesn’t press—it just lives between us, warm and fragile.

“If all I ever get is this,” he whispers, “talking in the dark, being near you, I’ll take it. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

I don’t respond.

But I don’t tell him to stop.

I don’t tell myself to stop, either.

I go with my heart. The one he broke.