Page 18

Chapter Eighteen

Dominic

I wake up later in the morning than usual. I shower, then make myself some coffee. When I sit down to drink it, my phone lights up with a text notification.

Sexy Neighbor: Be here in thirty for breakfast.

I smile as I put my phone on the table, wondering if I should keep him waiting like he keeps me waiting. Should I show up on time? Answer him? Let him wonder… Deny his invitation? No, I couldn’t do that.

I pick up my phone and send him a thumbs up emoji. After finishing my coffee, I head upstairs to get dressed, then go over to his house.

When I got home last night, my dick was mad that I didn’t accept his invite. But I was in a weird mood, and it probably wouldn’t have been good for either of us.

Lying isn’t something I deal with well. At all. I’ve been lied to so many times in my life. But it wasn’t so much about him lying to me, but more about how it made me feel. It was jarring how much it upset me. How easily I believe everything he says and don’t question it. This started out as curiosity, maybe a little obsession, but now there are feelings. Actual feelings. I like him more each time I spend time with him. I have no idea how he feels. He still tells me he can’t stand me, and I wonder if I should take that seriously. At first, it was all fun and games. Now? It’s different. My heart is on the line, and when that happens… well, red flags don’t always look so red.

I ring the bell, and he opens the door a moment later. I move to step in, but he holds his hands up.

“I need to start off by telling you I am nowhere near as good a cook as you. I don’t even remember the last time I tried to cook something that didn’t involve the microwave.”

“Aw, you tried to make me breakfast. That’s sweet.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth and nods. I head into the kitchen, noting nothing smells burnt. That’s a good sign.

“What’s the special occasion?” I ask, taking a seat at his dining table that is covered in a tablecloth, place mats, and a vase with fresh flowers. It looks like a showcase table and not where we should eat.

“Just felt it was fair,” he says, opening the oven and pulling out a glass dish.

“Smells good,” I comment.

“Better taste good, too. Do you want coffee?”

“Sure.”

He looks at me over his shoulder. “Can you, uh, make it? ”

I huff out a laugh and get to my feet, sneaking a look at what he made in the process. Looks like a French toast bake or some kind of fancy bread.

I get the coffee going and grab two mugs from the cabinet. Mikah carefully cuts into what he made, putting some on each plate that he laid out. He’s muttering something to himself, which is adorable. He turns the food a little, trying to make it look nice, as if I care. It’s all going in my mouth, but I appreciate the effort. When he’s done, he stands up straight and gives a firm nod, grabbing both and bringing them to the table.

He gets a small bottle of maple syrup from the cabinet by the fridge and puts it on the table, then looks everything over again to make sure it’s perfect.

“I’m not the Queen,” I comment when he walks back into the kitchen. He looks at me like he’s just realizing I’m here. The coffee pot spits and hisses, letting me know it’s done, so I pour some into my mug, then press the button to get some hot water into the other for his tea. When it’s done, we go to the table, sit and eat.

“How is it?” he asks as soon as my lips wrap around the fork. “Sorry,” he says when I raise a brow, pulling the fork from my mouth.

I chew my food and swallow. “It’s really good,” I comment. “Where did you find the recipe?”

“Some random website. Seemed like the easiest thing that wasn’t just scrambled eggs and toast. ”

“I like scrambled eggs and toast,” I defend, reaching for my coffee.

“I had an idea I wanted to run by you,” he says carefully.

“Go on.”

“So, regarding my issues with the video…” He clears his throat, cutting another piece of food but not eating it. “I think we do what you said and make a second video. It’ll make me feel better.”

“That’s fine. I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t okay with it.”

“But I was also thinking that it would be really great if you could make a video with me for my page.”

“We did that already,” I say.

“Well, yeah, but that was at the warehouse. I want to do a video here. Something more suited to my normal content.”

I eye him carefully, putting my coffee down. “What do you have in mind?”

To say I’m intrigued is putting it mildly. The more he wants to make content with me, the better.

“Hear me out, okay?” he says, and I hear the excitement in his voice. Whatever this is, he thinks it’s a great idea. “Naked baking video.”

I narrow my eyes. “Naked… baking video?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t watch my stuff. I gave you access, so I know you have. You know what my page is all about. I want to make one of us together. Both naked. You teaching me how to bake something. And maybe…”

“Maybe what? ”

“Maybe one thing leads to another. Maybe it doesn’t. My subs go for both, so that’s up to you.”

Oh, this is getting good.

He’s suggesting more videos. More reasons to be together. More sex. And role playing .

“There’s more,” he says.

I chuckle, cutting into my food. “Can’t wait to hear this one.”

“I think we should date.”

I choke on my food, having to pick up my coffee to help swallow it down.

“Date?” I ask, fighting to keep the humor from my voice so I don’t offend him. I don’t want him to think it’s an awful idea, because it’s not. I one hundred percent approve.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, and I like…” He sighs, meeting my eyes. “I like you too. I know I’ve been difficult, but that’s because I have all kinds of shit to work through, and I know that’s not a good selling point, but after thinking about it way too much, I realized that I like being with you, and I really like the way things are in the bedroom. You were right when you dug into me—”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I say with a firm head shake.

“Yeah, probably not, but if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have thought about it the way I did. So, in a way, I’m grateful.”

It falls silent as he stares at me, looking like he’s waiting for an answer or something. I can’t be sure, but I think he’s waiting for me to fill the silence .

“Everything with you has to be so proper, huh? Needs a place and a title?”

Mikah frowns, his brow furrowing, and three, two—ah, there’s the anger.

“It’s fucking adorable,” I quickly add before he can shoot an insult at me, which I know was right on the tip of his tongue.

Now he just looks confused, and somehow, even more fucking cute.

Mikah stares at me, relaxes after a moment and purses his lips—just staring.

I stare right back, waiting for him to say something this time.

“You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?” I ask, feigning innocence and cutting into my food—which is really delicious. I feel like it’s missing something, but he doesn’t need to know that. For his first time, he did a good job.

“You like to push my buttons.”

I grin. “There’s one I like to push.”

He chuckles, his face splitting into a grin. It’s goddamn beautiful.

“You should do that more often,” I say.

“Call you out?”

“Smile.”

His eyes widen, seeming surprised by my bluntness. I have so much to teach this man to make him comfortable in his own skin, and I can’t fucking wait for it. The arguments he’s going to put up will be memorable, I can already tell. He’s sharp with his tongue and quick with a comeback. I love it.

“This is fantastic.” I point to the food with my fork, wanting to give him a break from this back and forth. I already complimented the food, but he likes praise and needs the reassurance and I have no problem giving it to him when it’s deserved.

“Is it? I’m not so sure.” He looks down at it, frowning.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He flinches, and I didn’t mean it as a way to call him out. It just came out of my mouth, which happens from time to time.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says.

“That wasn’t a dig.”

“Still.”

I shrug. “Well, now you know it bothers me. Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

He’s already said that, but I guess it just needed to be said again.

“Then it’s done.”

I go back to eating but feel his gaze on me. I ignore it, not knowing if he wants to complain about something, ask about something, or if he’s just admiring. Whatever it is, he can figure it out himself. I’ll let him take this step. I can’t give him direction all the time.

“How do you do that?” His words are so quiet, and I can tell it was a struggle to get them out.

“Do what?” I ask casually, not sure what he’s talking about .

“Just let things go… How do things not bother you for days? How do you forgive people? How doesn’t the stress and worry pile up and weigh you down?”

This is a pretty heavy conversation for breakfast, but I won’t complain. He’s showing me more of himself. He’s opening himself up, being vulnerable with me. It’s exactly what I wanted.

I take the last bite of my food, swallow, then wipe my mouth and sit back in my chair. I smile at him before answering.

“I grew up dealing with a lot of shit, but I had an amazing mother who never let it get to me. It helped that she led by example, never showed how worried she was even when cancer was eating away at her body. She still smiled, still laughed, still told me not to let things get to me and to keep living my life because we only have one to live and who wants to waste it being miserable?”

I huff out a laugh, picturing her smile and the sound of her laugh. It was only me and her growing up. Just the two of us. Looking back, I can see how our life would have had a lot of people overwhelmed with stress. It wasn’t always easy. Bills piled up, we didn’t always have a full fridge or cabinets, electricity didn’t work sometimes, but we had each other.

“You’re lucky.” Mikah’s voice has me coming back to the present, and I look up to see him watching me with glossy eyes. Almost like he’s on the verge of crying. It makes me feel terrible. I’ve skimmed the surface with what he dealt with just by reading what he shows the world, but I bet what he has hidden deep down is much worse than I can imagine.

“Yeah, I am.”

I’m not sure if he wants to talk about this or leave it at that. So I stay silent and keep watching, waiting for him to make the call.

“My mother was… not the motherly type,” he starts. “She made it very clear I wasn’t wanted. That I was nothing more than a nuisance. She didn’t take care of herself, never mind me. And that’s just the tip of the miles-long iceberg of my life.”

I nod absently and say, “I could go all therapist on you, but I’ll spare you. I will say this though—” I make a show of looking around. “She isn’t here. You are , and you’ve done a wonderful job of making a life for yourself. Don’t let your past destroy your future.”

He blinks a few times before softly saying, “I’m trying.”