Chapter 2

Life with Dominick and Mr. Winters in the house is strange at first, but I quickly get used to the routine of having two extra people around. I was dreading it before the wedding—while the brownstone is big by Boston standards, it’s still only four thousand square feet. But I find that I don’t have to hide out in my room or stay at the campus library for all hours of the night like I’d been planning before the boys moved in.

It turns out it’s actually nice having more people in what was always an empty, hospital-like space.

Mom went through a phase where she was obsessed with white as a decorating scheme. Therefore, all the walls are white. The furniture. The art. Vases. You name it, it’s white.

“I’m in a hospital where I’m surrounded by white,” Dad declared on move-in day. And then he and Dominic proceeded to carry in all kinds of eclectic furniture and place them all throughout the house. Worn leather chairs and overstuffed couches that were actually—gasp—comfortable to sit on.

And, oh yeah, sidebar: Mr. Winters asked me to start calling him Dad after about six weeks. He said it was too awkward for me to keep referring to him as Mr. Winters—it was far too formal. And Paul didn’t sound right either. So why not try out Dad? That was, if I was comfortable with it?

I was probably far too readily accepting of the intimacy. Calling him Mr. Winters, or even Paul…that just meant he was some guy who happened to be living with us. But ‘Dad’…it makes it, I don’t know…real. Like he’s actually family. My family even if he’s not Mom’s.

They avoid each other. Mom stays out all hours of the night and then sleeps all day, only to wake up in the late afternoon to make herself ready to go out all night again. She’s got money again, though Dominick told me Dad’s given her a strict allowance. They have different bedrooms. I heard them say a few words to each other the other night, but that’s been the extent of their interaction that I’ve seen.

No, it’s Dad, Dominick and me that are the family.

We all leave the house at different times of day so we don’t usually see each other for breakfast. Dad’s usually up the earliest of any of us to make it to the hospital. Dominick’s just started his residency at a different hospital. He’s training to be a cardio-thoracic surgeon. Both he and his dad are so crazy smart. Dominic graduated from high school a year early and then raced through college doing a combined Bachelor/MD program. Sometimes when they get to talking at the dinner table about the things Dominick is learning, it’s hard not to feel intimidated.

But then the next second, Dad’s asking me about what I’m learning at college. Talking about my early education and learning theory classes seems a bit, well, juvenile compared to saving lives, but both Dad and Dominick have a way of making you feel like you’re the most important person in the room.

No matter where our days take us, we always make sure to meet back up for dinner. No matter if that’s at six-thirty or ten o’clock. We can’t manage it every day. Dominick has twenty-eight hour shifts sometimes. I always heard that doctors-in-training had insane hours, but getting to see it up close and in person makes me appreciate all the more what a sacrifice it is to become the best of the best in his field.

Dad told me it’s one of the reasons he moved into administration—the hours were so punishing. One day, he said he woke up and wondered what he was doing it all for. He ended up realizing he’d rather spend more time with his son and enjoy the years he has left on this earth.

Dominick obviously feels differently at this point in his life. Then again, he’s only twenty-four.

I look up from the chicken marsala I’m stirring when Dominick calls out in a loud voice, “Honey, I’m home!” from the entryway. It took me awhile to distinguish their voices. Dad’s has a slightly lower, scratchier quality.

The kitchen is behind the main living room beside the entryway, so Dominick’s voice comes through loud and clear.

“In here,” I call back. “Hope you’re hungry.”

Dominick’s heavy footsteps sound as he walks across the hardwood toward the kitchen. Even without his shoes on, I swear he always lumbers everywhere he goes. Dad is totally the opposite. I never hear him and then all the sudden he’ll appear in a room behind me, inevitably startling the crap out of me. It’s become a game with him. I swear he gets a fiendish delight every time I jump out of my socks.

“I’m starved,” Dominick says. His eyes certainly appear hungry as he eyes me. He looks me up and down, from the tips of my bare feet up my legs to the short boy shorts I’m wearing, up my tank top where he pauses on my cleavage, then to my face.

And finally he glances down at what’s in the pan.

My mouth has gone completely dry. My cheeks are hot.

Because I’m cooking, of course. It gets hot in the kitchen when I have the stovetop on like this. That’s all.

I stir the marsala and pull it off the burner to the side of the stove.

And I pretend I didn’t just catch my stepbrother ogling me.

“Where’s Dad?”

I swallow, then smile up at Dominick. “Showering. He barely beat you getting home.”

Dominick nods and leans back against the counter. That’s when I notice just how tired he looks. He just came off a double yesterday and then had to go in again today.

“Hey,” I walk over to him. “You doing okay?” I bump my shoulder into his. “You sure this new schedule isn’t too much?”

Even with his eyes closed and his head tipped back, I see his jaw tense. “I can do it. I have to. There are only four spots in the advanced cardio-thoracic residency program at Boston General. I am going to get one of them.”

“I know you will.” I’m not just blowing smoke up his backside either. I can’t imagine anyone else who works or studies harder than Dominick. He just started his residency but already he’s thinking about advancing. He’s good enough too, from what Dad says, even though he’s the youngest of his fellow residents. My first impression of him as a pretty playboy was completely wrong. He never goes out or parties. Every night he’s home, studying or sleeping. He never gives himself a break.

I lift his arm and nestle in for a hug. I squeeze him tight around his middle. “There’s no way you won’t get it. You work your ass off and you’re a genius. Plus, you genuinely care about the people you come across every day. I know you could barely sleep the other night, you were worrying so much about Mr. Nunez after his surgery last week.”

Holding him as tight as I am, I feel the huge expulsion of air as he breathes out what feels like a mountain of stress.

“Damn. You always make me feel better. How do you do that?”

Does he have any idea how happy his words make me? That I’m able to affect his mood and make things even an iota better for this amazing man, God, that’s everything. I turn my face up toward him and grin so hard I’m pretty sure my face will break.

He smiles down at me. It’s breathtaking. Heartbreaking, because he still looks so tired. Always so weary. I wish I could really make it better for him in more than just a surface way.

“I love seeing my two kiddos getting along so well.”

I jerk away from Dominick at hearing Dad’s voice. I look up and see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen. I don’t even know why. It’s not like we were doing anything wrong. It’s just— I— I mean—

“The marsala’s ready,” I blurt, turning away from both of them.

“Smells delicious,” Dad says.

“Thanks,” I say, my cheeks heating stupidly as I reach up and grab plates from the cabinet. When I turn back to get the rice and marsala to dish out, music plays from Dad’s ipod that he’s set in the dock by the window—the blues, like he always puts on when it’s his turn to choose the music. Dominick’s busy setting silverware by the plates.

I can’t help pausing and just watching the two of them. A woman’s deep, soulful voice rings out from the speakers, providing the perfect soundtrack to the moment. God, I can’t believe that at nineteen, I’ve finally found the family I never had.

Dad sees me watching him and smiles. He comes over to me and lifts my right hand up, his other hand moving to my waist just like he did at the wedding. Then he pivots and before I know it, we’re dancing around the kitchen. I let out a little yip of surprise and then laugh as he spins me out and then back into his chest.

The song changes to a faster tune and when Dad spins me again, he lets go. I almost cry out but needn’t have worried. Dominick is right there to catch me. He expertly picks up where his father left off. More familiar with the form now, my right hand immediately lifts and Dominick’s is there to meet mine.

We dance and spin a few times and then right as the jazzy number reaches a frantic chorus, Dominick dips me to the floor.

Naturally, this elicits another squeal out of me.

Dominick rolls me back up to standing and pulls me so close that when we’re chest to chest, I can feel just how hard he’s breathing.

And then, as suddenly as he first grabbed me, he releases me. “Let’s eat before the delicious food you made gets cold.”

I step back, nodding and hoping I don’t look as flustered as I feel.

“You sit,” Dad says, putting his hands on my shoulders and giving a quick massage as he directs me toward my chair. “I know you’ve had a long day too, and you cooked. Let us take care of you for once.”

“Oh, that’s not necess—”

“Sweet girl,” he says, his tone warning. “I insist.”

He puts a little bit more pressure on my shoulders once we get to my chair and I sit. It does feel so good to get off my feet. I was observing a kindergarten class for a school project, and well, there’s no way to simply ‘observe’ when there are screaming five-year-olds grabbing at your skirt and asking you to color and play with them. I became the unofficial class ‘helper’ all day. And as adorable as those kids were, I’m pretty sure my ears are still ringing. There was this little blonde girl and that kid had a set of lungs on her and she didn’t mind letting the whole world know when she wasn’t in a good mood, let me tell ya.

Dominick sets the rice on the table and serves everyone some, followed by Dad with the marsala. The steaming food smells delicious and my stomach rumbles in response. I barely had time to scarf down half the peanut butter and honey sandwich I packed for lunch before there was a crisis on the playground and I had to hurry back to it.

The men sit and then we’re all diving in.

Dinner’s quiet for a while as everyone digs in. I have a feeling Dad and Dominick were just as hungry as I was with the way they’re attacking the mini-mountains of marsala Dominick loaded onto each of their plates with.

Dominick eats with the gusto of a man who’s been starved for months.

After about ten minutes, when he’s filling his plate for seconds, Dad shakes his head. “Filling up that hollow leg of yours?”

Dad always eats with a calm, measured pace and will sometimes close his eyes with a look of concentration, like he’s just thinking about the flavor of his food and how pleasurable the whole act is. I’ve never been more conscious of my cooking than since he moved in. I want it to be perfect for him.

Dominick acts like the whole thing is a land/speed contest, except you know…with food getting shoved in his mouth. It’s even worse in the mornings. He jams food in his mouth as he runs out the door, always in a rush. Apparently before they moved in, he would just eat the worst junk too. And him a doctor.

Dominick just grunts and starts shoveling in the second serving. I just shake my head.

Once the beast that is my new brother is finally sated, we start talking about our days. Since it’s actually early tonight, Dad suggests we leave the dishes for later and move to the den for dessert and to watch a movie he and Dominick had talked about wanting to see on Netflix.

My stomach warms in delight at the thought of getting to spend more time with them. They’ve been living here for just shy of three months now and it’s rare that we all get to hang out together apart from our daily dinners. I’ve spent time with each of them one-on-one, but coordinating our schedules for more than an hour a day is difficult without real dedicated effort.

“You guys go ahead, I’ll get the chocolate mousse cups.” I try to tame my ridiculous grin as they nod and head for the other room. Sometimes I feel like such a dorky little sister. I worry that both of them will realize just how lame I am and how many more interesting places they could be than stuck here at home. Don’t they have awesome bars or clubs they could be partying at?

But so far, they both seem to be homebodies. I’m something of a night-owl—probably comes with growing up with Mom—so I’d know if they were coming home late…or not at all. But so far, apart from Dominick’s crazy shifts, neither of them seems to have any…extracurricular activities. Dad didn’t make any secret out of the fact that he and Mom don’t plan to, you know, at least with each other. But I haven’t seen or heard him mention any other women. Dominick either.

Maybe they’re just really discreet or Dominick finds outlets in the hours between work and coming home. Maybe Dominick and one of the other residents at the hospital…? Or they’re celibate? Or going through one heck of a dry spell?

Oh my God, why am I even thinking about any of this?

I squeeze my eyes shut and bang my head lightly on the refrigerator door. I shake my head at myself. My brain is so weird sometimes, my mind going such strange places.

I open the fridge door and grab three of the little individual chocolate mousse cups I filled earlier right after I got home. They look frosty and delicious and chocolatey. I glance down at the three I have balanced precariously in my hands and set them down on the counter. Then I grab a serving tray, transfer the three cups and reach back in the fridge for a fourth. After getting spoons I head into the den.

Dominick’s eyes light up when I set down two cups of mousse in front of him.

“Little sister, you know the way to my heart.” He grabs a spoon and eagerly starts devouring the first dessert. “Come sit here by me.” He pats the center of the large couch where he’s splayed out, his mouth thick with chocolate.

I roll my eyes at him but drop to sit where he says.

He’s devoured his whole first cup by the time Dad sits down on the other side of me with the remote.

Their bodies are both so warm, I can’t explain the chills that pop up all over my arms.

“Cold?” Dad asks, turning to me. He grabs the soft blanket that’s always draped across the back of the couch and wraps it around me, squeezing me in a quick hug as he does.

He’s so close I can’t help inhaling him. He smells the same as he did that first night at the wedding. My eyelids drop half-closed as I breathe in long and deep.

A secret I would die before admitting to anyone, ever? Sometimes when no one’s home, I sneak into Dad’s bedroom and smell his shirts. And then go in his bathroom and inhale his cologne. It’s not nearly the same thing as being near him like this, so warm and alive and just…him. It’s always missing something—the lived-in quality of his body, of whatever smell that’s just all Dad.

Oh God, it’s creepy, isn’t it? I’m a creepy, creepy girl and seriously, if anyone ever knew—

But it just makes me feel, I don’t know… Safe. Sometimes everything gets so overwhelming. I’ve been carrying everything on my own for so long. And suddenly here are these two guys with me in the house. I’m not alone anymore. But when they’re not home, I get a little freaked out and I just need to prove to myself that they’re actually real.

But tonight, they’re here, choosing to spend their evening in with me instead of out in the hundreds of other places they could be, schmoozing with a thousand people more interesting than me.

“Does that feel better?” Dad asks right after taking a bite of his own mousse. His chocolatey breath is warm on my cheek and I want to lean into him.

I nod and smile what’s probably a dopey smile.

Up close his brilliant green eyes have a thousand hues and facets. Entire galaxies.

Dad grins in return and I feel it all the way down to my stomach where tingly and happy little fireflies dance around before zinging lower all the way to my toes.

“Look, it’s starting,” he nods with his spoon toward the screen. It takes a moment, but I finally break away from his mesmerizing eyes and settle in to watch the movie.

Naturally, Dominick has already finished all his chocolate mousse. He lies back against the cushions, feet propped up on the coffee table, one long arm slung the couch behind me. In repose, his posture is almost feline it’s grace. Like a sated lion in his lair. Perfectly at ease—but with all that muscle, you get the feeling he’s always poised to strike, and strong enough to rip anything apart that stands in his way.

He drops his arm over my shoulders and pulls me into him. “So, sis, do you really have space for dessert after that deliciously filling dinner you made?” He eyes my chocolate cup.

Alright, so the predator doesn’t seem so scary when he’s begging for more dessert. I laugh and push him off me.

“Never get between a woman and her chocolate!” I mock glare him down and raise my spoon like it’s a weapon.

He raises his hands up. “I do apologize, ma’am.”

“Good,” I pretend huff and settle back into the couch. I eat my first spoonful and oh my God, am I glad I defended my dessert. My eyes immediately close as I savor the rich chocolate cream on my tongue. Soooooooooooo good.

A choked cough from beside me makes my eyes pop open.

Only to find both Dominick and Dad staring at me.

“What?” I ask, flipping the spoon over and licking it to get the last bits of cream off.

Dominick sits up a little straighter and grabs one of the side pillows. He lays it across his lap.

I eye him. “Don’t look at me like that. You are so not getting this chocolate cup.”

“Right,” he says, and for some reason his voice sounds a little strangled. “Oh look, the starting credits are done.” He points back at the screen. “Don’t want to miss the beginning.”

I frown at him. He seems a little stiff, but whatever. He’s right, the movie is starting. I turn my attention to it and continue eating my chocolate.

The movie begins normally enough. A middle-aged but still handsome college professor goes about his normal morning routine. His wife harangues him about not having enough money to go on vacation with her friends to the Cape while he shaves. By his expression, you can tell it’s an old argument.

At the breakfast table, his teenage kids ignore him when he tries to engage them in favor of staring at their phones.

He drives a car that’s seen better days to a small picturesque college. He walks into class looking as weathered as his car.

And then he sees her.

A coed sitting in the middle of the very front row.

She’s wearing a tight, red sweater. Red lipstick.

His eyes zero in on her. The music changes. Everything slows down.

It’s a bit cinematically obvious, but still effective. And the chemistry between the two actors makes it work.

A slow smile creeps over her face when she notices him staring. She bites on the tip of her pen coyly. He clears his throat and turns on his laptop connected to the projector. He begins the lesson on Renaissance literature. She listens with rapt attention.

All throughout class, not-so-subtle glances are exchanged.

It’s a slow, tension-filled build up from there. By the time they actually kiss thirty minutes later, my hands are clenched together in my lap and my stomach is tight.

Then, for all the slow build, it explodes. The professor shoves everything off his desk and slams her down. Seconds later he’s shoved up her skirt and his pelvis slams back and forth against hers.

My breath hitches in shock.

I mean, I suspected the pair would eventually… but…he’s her teacher. It’s so…

I blink, unable to tear my eyes away from the actor as his face contorts in pleasure and determination.

It’s not pretty or romantic like I’ve often seen sex depicted in movies. He’s just sort of jamming himself in and out of her. The coed looks just as shocked as I feel. For all her bravado in seducing him, now that it’s actually happening, she seems, I don’t know—unprepared. Or maybe just blown away by it all.

God, it’s just a movie, Sarah. Stop thinking about it so hard. They’re just really good actors.

But… things like this do actually happen in real life all the time. You always hear about teachers and students. Scandals in the news. My legs shift and I twist them together, feeling that strange liquidy feeling at my apex that happens when I think about sex.

I all but jump out of my skin when Dominick reaches down and grabs one of my sock-clad feet.

“W-what are you doing?” I hiss. My voice is barely audible above the grunts and pleasured gasps coming out of the surround sound speaker system.

Dominick looks up at me with the most innocent expression—like almost intentionally or mockingly innocent. “What? You told us you were on your feet chasing those little monsters around. I know how much my feet hurt after being on them all day. You cooked. Let me do something nice for you.” He starts massaging my feet. The protest dies on my tongue when he rubs my arches in deep little circles with his thumbs since God, that does feel amazing.

Then I just have to close my eyes. Watching the sex scene while Dominick touches me? That’s too many things to compute at once. After a few minutes I hear the characters on screen start to talk normally again and I open my eyes.

Only to find that the man has brought the girl back to his house. None of the rest of his family are home. They stop by the kitchen before heading upstairs. At first I’m confused because they bring what looks like a bag of groceries with them to his bedroom.

I quickly figure out what the groceries are for. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, strawberries, kiwi, and one very strategically employed banana.

Pretty sure my jaw is permanently dropped open for the next thirty minutes of the movie. At one point I have to tilt my head sideways because I didn’t know the human body could contort that way. The actress must be a ballet dancer or some kind of contortionist in her other life.

The mild-mannered professor has completely disappeared and in his place is a dark, commanding presence. The tables have completely turned from the beginning of the movie.

When he takes her to a sex club, I can barely breathe.

And then suddenly the movie pauses.

I turn to look at Dominick who has my calf in his hand. “Why’d you stop it?” My voice is high-pitched, half-panted.

It’s dark in the den. Dad turned off all the lights for the movie and with just the light from the TV, I can’t make out the expression on Dominick’s face.

“Your breathing was getting a little strained,” Dad says from the other side of me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, massaging like he did earlier in the kitchen. Except his whole body is at my back now, and with what we’ve all just spent the last hour watching, my lower body jolts at the contact.

“And you’re so jumpy,” Dominick says, running one of his hands up and around the bottom of my calf, squeezing as he goes. My eyes jerk open wide as he rubs and kneads my flesh between his two large hands. “I thought maybe the movie was getting to be too much for you.”

“Oh,” I squeak out. Both of them are touching me. Oh God. Oh my God. It feels amazing. But wrong.

No, it’s just the way that I’m feeling about how they’re touching me that is wrong. Dominick’s a doctor. Of course he knows how to give an amazing massage. My feet and lower legs have never felt so loose—truly a miracle since the rest of my body is winding tighter and tighter.

“You really have some tension up here,” Dad murmurs, kneading my shoulder. “You’ve been studying too hard. It’s the weekend now. Time to relax and let go of all that. You’re home now. With family.” He rubs around to my collarbone and pulls me back into his chest. “Shh, that’s right, sweet girl.” He shifts me so I’m cradled in his arms. “You must be so tired.”

It feels amazing to be cocooned in him.

And also miserable.

Because those tingles between my legs? Not just tingles anymore. I’m downright pulsing down there. The need to twist, to find some kind of friction—

And screw everything up all because of my stupid, inappropriate… I can’t even finish the thought.

I jerk away from Dad and pull my legs out of Dominick’s hold. The blanket falls away from my shoulders as I jump to my feet.

“I’m gonna go to bed now,” I blurt without looking at either of them. “See you tomorrow. I’ll make pancakes if anyone’s around.”

And then I make a beeline for the stairs. As in, speed-walk as fast as possible, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, get my butt upstairs, close my door and stand with my back against it breathing hard and no doubt leaving the two of them wondering about what a complete freak I am.

“One hundred percent freakdom,” I whisper to myself, then bang my head against the door before going to wash up and brush my teeth.

Ten minutes later I’m under the covers with the lights off, still feeling like the most miserable excuse for a sister and daughter.

Especially since that feeling down there? The pulsing is still just as intense as it was when they had their hands on me. The more I tell myself not to think about it, the worse it seems to get.

Do not think about how strong and sure Dominick’s hands felt when he caressed up your calves.

Oh my God, what is wrong with me? It wasn’t a caress, dumbass. He was giving you a massage. He was being clinical. I work out by jogging and my calves get tight. I bet he could feel how knotted up I am.

As soon as my logical self explains this, though, the image flashes: Dominick’s hand moving up past my knee, higher, caressing up my inner thigh. Then further still.

I gasp and my back arches.

I suck my lower lip into my mouth and my hand travels down my stomach. Into my panties. I squeeze my eyes shut in shame, but it doesn’t stop my fingers from seeking that spot.

All the breath in my lungs expels as soon as I make contact. With my eyes shut, I can so clearly imagine it’s Dominick touching me there, that blond mop of hair of his sweeping to the side as he grins at me. So pleased to please me.

Feel good, little sister?I imagine him whispering.

I writhe against my hand.

Oh God, so wrong. All of it. I hate it whenever I give in to touching myself like this. It’s dirty and base and I detest everything about it. I walked in on my mom doing it to herself while on her laptop camera for some guy when I was barely a teenager. I was so disgusted, I swore I’d never—

But that movie tonight. And the way the boys were holding me, I just can’t stop. My hips jerk forward and back as I buck against my hand.

My door creaks open.

I freeze and look toward the door. Oh God, oh God, oh God, did one of them hear me? I could have sworn I wasn’t making any noises but what do I know? No one’s ever been in the house before when I’ve—

I jerk my hand away from myself but then am mortified as either Dominick or Dad’s shadow appears in the doorway. What if they saw the movement and guessed at what I was doing? Or the smell. Can they smell…you know? My aroma?

I shove my face into the pillow but then realize that’s stupid. Obviously whichever one of them it is knows I’m awake. I’ve been moving and spazzing all over the place.

“What’s up?” I ask, though my voice comes out more like a high-pitched squeak.

“You ran off so quick.” Dominick’s voice. He steps in the room and closes the door behind him. “I wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

He steps closer, his face cast in heavy shadow with just the light of my nightlight in the room.

I’m nineteen. Far too old to be afraid of the dark. Still I haven’t gotten rid of my childhood fairy nightlight.

And while I’d been, you know, I had my eyes squeezed shut tight, so my eyes never got a chance to adjust to the dark. I can only barely make out Dominick’s features.

He comes closer and sits on the edge of the bed. “So are you okay?”

It’s then that I realize I never answered his question.

I nod my head furiously, then realize his body is blocking the light and he might not be able to see me either. “Mmm hmm,” I vocalize. I don’t exactly trust my voice at this point. I clutch my blankets up tighter around my face, but then, oh God, I can smell myself on the hand I was touching myself with. I jerk it back down deep underneath the covers.

Thank God it’s so dark in here. Dominick can’t see the cherry red my cheeks are no doubt turning.

“You sure?” Dominick sounds skeptical.

“Totally sure,” I say.

He sighs and leans back against my headboard.

Why is he still here? He just needs to leave. Leave me to my misery and stupidity and—

“Well to tell the truth, I haven’t been doing so great.”

What? All my obsessive, self-involved thoughts slam to a halt. I sit up and move so that I’m beside him. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

My eyes are finally adjusting to the light and I can see how pensive he is. He’s changed into a tank top and sleep pants. He bends his legs and leans his elbows on his knees as he stares sightlessly out into my dark room.

Suddenly I’m glad I used the graduation money Grandpa gave me to redecorate, taking down the pink wallpaper I’d had since childhood and more recent high school boyband posters. Now the room is done in cool green and gold tones.

And then I’m immediately ashamed again that I’m worried about what Dominick will think of my room when he’s so obviously distressed.

“You can talk to me, Dom,” I put a hand on his forearm. His muscles tense reflexively at my touch but then relax. He reaches over and covers my hand with his.

“I wasn’t kidding about what I said earlier,” he says, leaning his shoulder into mine. “Everything has been so much better since we moved in here. I feel more…” He pauses like he’s searching for a word. “Grounded.” He nods.

“So what’s bothering you?” I press. I can tell something’s eating at him. Talking to him about stuff has always made me feel better over the past couple months. And I want to be that for him—his sounding board, the person he can come to when he needs to unload.

He looks away from me. “I don’t know if I can talk about it to you.”

My mouth drops open. “You can. I promise. No matter what it is. I won’t judge.” I want him to trust that I can handle it, no matter what it is.

He turns back to me. His hazel eyes are so dark when they’re in the shadows like they are now. They’re the one thing he didn’t get from his dad. Right now, his irises and pupils just dissolve into one another in the dim light. “I’m really tired,” he says. “But I don’t want to leave. Could we… Do you think we could maybe…” he trails off and looks down again.

“What?” I ask. I’ve never seen him like this. So tentative. He’s usually all brash confidence.

“Could I maybe lay down here? I just don’t want to leave yet.” Even in the dim light, I can see how hopeful he looks. And how afraid of rejection.

I can’t believe it. This amazingly strong man, so smart and kind, thinks he could find a little comfort in laying down with me?

“Of course!” I say, scooting over and holding the covers open wide.

If he notices that I’m just wearing a thin-to-the-point-of-sheer spaghetti-strap shirt and white cotton panties, he doesn’t comment.

He moves to lie down beside me and pulls the sheet and comforter over him. I always sleep with two pillows. Usually I put one between my legs, but I give that one to him. No, scratch that. At the last second, I snatch that pillow back and give him mine instead. What if it smelled like…you know.

“Here,” I say, patting the pillow awkwardly as I set it at the top of the bed and then grabbing my leg pillow and settling it under my own head.

Dominick pulls the pillow I gave him under his head and exhales as he settles in. It’s as if I can feel the tension leaving his big body beside me.

Meanwhile, I suddenly become aware of every inch of my own skin.

I’ve never had someone in my bed with me.

Or been in someone’s bed.

Yeah, considering the whole prom disaster, my whole one boyfriend experiment was short-lived.

But I’ve imagined this moment a million times. Well, not this moment obviously, with my own stepbrother. But a moment like this one. Being in bed with a man, his warmth beside me. Not even doing anything, just being. Snuggling maybe.

But none of my fantasies do justice to the real thing.

I’m always so cold. Maybe I have bad circulation or something, but I’m always freezing. And Dominick is like a heat machine. I’ve noticed this about both him and Dad. They run hot. It can be forty degrees out and they’ll wear a t-shirt and shorts. Meanwhile I’ve got long underwear and my giant winter coat on.

“How did your feet get cold again in the ten minutes since I last had hold of them?” Dominick laughs after his shins come into contact with my feet.

“Oh God. Sorry.” I yank them away from him. Mortification number three hundred and forty-seven for the evening? Check.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just one of your quirks.” Dominick wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into him.

My eyes sink closed at how good it feels.

So. Much. Better. Than. I. Dreamed.

He fits his knees behind mine and then settles his whole body flush against me.

I’m dreaming.

This is a dream.

I was so tired, and keyed up from the movie. This is obviously an extremely vivid dream.

Because there is no way that Dominick is spooning me in real life.

Is there?

He nestles his chin against the back of my head, moving my hair aside with one hand. “I won’t let you be cold, beautiful.”

The words are a warm breath against my neck and his arm rests around my waist, curled right below my breasts.

I can’t help the next few stuttered gasps that escape my lungs, but then I do everything in my power to concentrate on breathing normally.

Slow breath in, hold for a couple seconds, then slow breath out. There. That’s how normal people breathe. Right?

Right??

But Dominick apparently doesn’t notice anything off because within two minutes, his breathing regulates and he starts to snore gently. It’s simultaneously the most manly and comforting sound I’ve ever heard. I can feel it rumbling up through his chest at his back. I’ve never felt anything like it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I rest my arm over Dominick’s where it curves around my stomach. He stirs only the slightest bit and clutches me tighter against him.

My breath hitches again but I don’t move my hand from where it lays over his. He settles and his quiet snores start up again.

I lay there for one of the best and simultaneously worst nights of sleep of my entire life. Best because I’ve never felt more secure or beautiful and just… freaking amazing in my whole life. And worst because I hate that I keep falling asleep. I don’t want to miss a moment of it.

I leave my hand over Dominick’s as he holds me all night long and know that if it’s in my power, I’m never going to let him or Dad go.