Chapter 17 Dom

Chapter 17

Dom

For the second time in twelve hours I’m gripping wood in the shower with Indie just downstairs. Her name pours out of me loud enough that she could hear it if she wandered up the stairs.

My muscles strain and my chest heaves as the last waves of my orgasm fade. Feeling less settled than I’d like after my solo session, I let my head fall against the tile. Warm water washes over me while my heart rate returns to normal. I finish my shower; the chlorine and the evidence of what I did swirl down the drain at my feet.

This is starting to be a real problem. I wish I could say that I’m ashamed, but I’m not. Not after last night.

All that lip service last year about how we were not worth repeating is nothing more than a lie she tells herself. I’ve suspected as much since she walked away. But now I know she was ignoring me because she wanted me—no, needed me. And I’m going to have so much fun making her admit it. Which is why I’m fine with resorting to more drastic measures .

This morning I was about to walk downstairs in my regular swimsuit—the pink one with Dean’s face on it—when I remembered the weenie bikini still buried in the back of my drawer. A gift from my teammates during my rookie year.

To welcome me to spring training, they deemed the banana hammock fitting for a nobody that hadn’t hit his first major league grand slam. I wore that bad boy with pride until I hit a bases loaded bomb right before the All-Star Break. Now it’s got a new purpose, self-objectification to break Indie.

I meant what I said last night, the next time Indie wants me she’s going to have to beg— preferably on her knees. I’ve spent a year trying to get her out of my system and failed miserably. As soon as her hands are on me, she’ll have me wrapped around her finger, so she better damn well mean it. And nothing speeds up the process like exploiting her weaknesses by showing off her favorite parts of me.

Taking the stairs two at a time after my shower I half expect to find the house empty. To my absolute delight, I’m greeted by a stunning Indie—her curls pointing in every direction and her face free from make-up. Nothing is prettier than her sitting at my kitchen island sipping her coffee, and it hits me square in the heart.

She looks peaceful, with her eyes closed, sipping her steaming mug of tar like it’s the best thing she’s ever had. In truth, it’s terrible. The smell is barely tolerable, yet I crave the bitter aroma because it means she’s nearby.

“Look at how well you listened to my directions. I thought as soon as I left you alone, you’d call an Uber and bail.”

“Trust me, I thought about it, but I didn’t want this huge pot of coffee to go to waste. You never drink all of yours. You take one sip and get distracted.”

“Huh . . . I never noticed.” Hopefully her bullshit meter is as wrecked as her ankle. Pouring only a half a cup, I bring it to my lips, hiding my grimace when it hits my tongue.

The glint of gold metal dangling from the magnetic hook on my fridge snags my attention. I know an opportunity when I see one and there is no way in hell I’m passing this one up. Taking it from the hook, I cross the space to where Indie sits, and dangle it between us. “Take it. You’ll be bored off your ass in two days, max.”

“I’m not using your pool.” When she doesn’t take the key, I pocket it to give to her later.

“Why not? Afraid you’ll see me swimming and do something stupid?”

“Like drown you? Yes, actually. You make me Dom-icidal.”

Clutching my chest. “A crime of passion, no doubt. Don’t use it, it won’t bother me. Just don’t go out biking or hiking and hurt yourself because you’re too stubborn to accept help.”

She sticks her tongue out at me and then takes a long drink of her coffee. Checking the time, I realize if I’m going to drop her off at home I need to leave soon to make it to the stadium. “Um . . . I need to get to the stadium, so unless you’re going to hang out all day—which you can absolutely do—I need to get you home.”

She stands and I take her empty mug from her, setting it in the sink. Her eyes move to my abandoned mug on the countertop. “Not going to bring your coffee?”

“Nah. I’ll grab some from the stadium. Can’t risk spilling it on the drive.”

The ten-minute drive passes in mostly silence until we turn down her road and I say, “You really should have a doctor check your ankle, just to be sure it’s not broken.”

She mumbles something under her breath, letting me know she’s not going to do that.

“What was that?” I pry, hoping she’ll share what’s going through her head.

“I’m just not really a fan of doctors, is all.” She glances down at her lap but even without seeing her face I can hear the sadness in her voice.

“Your mom?” The urge to reach out and pull her into my lap nearly makes me cave. It’s what I did the last time we talked about her mother’s death. However temporary, there was a sense of intimacy and trust between us in the little bubble we created that night. One that burst the next morning when she made sure I was clear on where we stood. Each time she lets me help or confides in me, I feel a little of that trust being rebuilt .

I’m eager to get back to where we were, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that Indie needs more time to get to where I was then—where I still am now.

“That, among other things.” There’s no time to dig into the cryptic message because her apartment appears. She’s going to try to bolt as quickly as she can, which is why I stashed the crutches in the back, leaving her at my mercy. “Wait there, I’ll help you out.”

I’m sure there’s an eye roll I’m missing as I step out of the truck and grab her bike and the crutches.

“If you just give me the crutches, I can—”

Grabbing her waist, I lower her to the ground, keeping my hands on her while she finds her balance.

“That was unnecessary.”

“Just let me help you, it makes me feel better. Besides, you know me, I’m the king of being extra.”

Her eyes shift focusing on the bike behind me. “Well, since you mentioned it. Do you think you can put my bike in the garage for me?”

“Did that hurt?”

“You have no idea.” Her nose crinkles. I’m sure it would only piss her off if I tell her how cute it looks.

Rather than risk being bitten, I bop her nose and back out of reach. “It looked like it might have.”

What I don’t expect is for her crutch to swing out and catch me on the ass when I bend to right her bike from where I laid it down next to the truck. The tap is barely enough to sting. But it still makes its mark on me. It’s playful and that’s one of my favorite looks on Indie, she twists her lips to hide her smile.

“There’s a hook on the right side you can hang it on.”

“I can do that, but I’m going to need something in return.” Her eyes narrow. “Are you thinking about me naked again?”

“Forget it. I’ll figure out how to put the bike away.”

“No. I’ve got it. Just take the key.” Prying her fingers from where they’re wrapped around the crutch, I turn her palm up and press the key into it. “And when you get a wild idea, consider taking a swim instead. ”

“Fine.”

“I think I like it when you do what I ask.”

“Don’t get too excited, Dom-a-zoid, I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Oh, but you will. That Speedo sealed the deal this morning!” I holler over my shoulder, wheeling the bike towards the garage, the new nickname lifting my spirits. Her bantering with me is a thousand times better than being ignored.