Bad Boy Dom (6 page)

The next morning, Dom was downstairs making breakfast before I woke up. The smell of bacon hung heavy in the air, and against my better judgment, I slipped into a robe and went downstairs, checking my hair in the mirror. Predictably, it was not one of my fairer days. My face looked puffy and wan, and I needed to wash my hair.

“Good morning,” Dom said, sounding overly formal. His back was turned to me, and I grunted a greeting at him before pouring myself some orange juice. I wasn’t sure how I was feeling about him right now, but I had to admit that he still looked divine; even though he hadn’t played baseball in years, his biceps filled the sleeves of his t-shirt and his waist was neat and trim. I stared at the back of his gorgeous tan neck, suddenly fighting the urge to plant a kiss there.

“Hi,” I said shyly, sitting down at the table. Dom grunted in response, and I felt anger flare up in my stomach. “You were out late last night,” I commented, taking a long drink of juice.

“Yep,” Dom said flatly, whisking the bacon from the pan to a waiting plate. I cringed when I saw he hadn’t put down a paper towel; bacon grease instantly pooled in the base of the plate. He set the plate down on the table and little specks of grease spatter the wooden surface. Sitting down with a couple of paper towels, Dom began eating the bacon with great relish, not offering any to me. I wrinkled my nose, feeling offended.

“I’m sorry if I made things awkward,” I said. I didn’t really want to apologize, but it seemed like there was no other way Dom would talk to me. And furthermore, why was he ignoring me in the first place? I was the one who was mad!

“You didn’t,” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “Want some bacon?”

I accepted a piece from the proffered plate and bit off the end. “This is good, thanks.”

“No problem,” Dom replied, shrugging. “I think I’m going to this gallery opening tonight, it’s a friend of mine. Do you want to come? I know you really haven’t been getting out much.”

“I went to the movies yesterday,” I protested.

“Yeah, because I made you,” Dom replied quickly. “So do you want to come? There are some nice people there, you could make some new friends.”

I had a flashback to 16-year-old Dom telling me about Ryan’s party, and how Ryan was an asshole. Shaking it off, I pursed my lips. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I might have more work to do.”

“That was a great essay, Michelle. You don’t have to do any more work on it.”

“It doesn’t really explain why I would make a good doctor, though,” I said, flushing. There was no way I’d tell Dom about the new essay I’d written last night, it was way too embarrassing. He could never know that I harbored feelings for him for so long. And even though I was still mad, I didn’t want him to know that I’d been that upset over him. My dignity was worth more than that.

“It does,” Dom added, grabbing another fistful of bacon. “It shows that you’re a smart person who realized who cares about her, even if it took a while. You sound normal, not selfish.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, a blush rising from my neck onto my cheeks and face. “That’s nice of you.”

“So, will you come? You deserve a break. There’s going to be good wine,” Dom added, giving me one of his winning smiles. I smiled at him, shrugging my shoulders.

“Okay, I’ll come for a little bit. But I don’t want to stay for too long,” I warned. “I am going to have to get some work done.”

“Michelle,” Dom said in a patronizing tone. “You imply I still waste my whole life partying.”

“Why wouldn’t I,” I muttered, crunching into my last bite of bacon. “You stayed out all night last night.”

Hours later, I stood in front of my closet in frustration. Nothing I had looked appropriate enough to wear to a gallery opening—not that I even knew what people wore to those things. I picked a black strapless empire waist dress and paired it with black tights and booties, and tried to tease my hair out into big 80s curls. I didn’t look convincingly artsy, but I didn’t look bad. I didn’t normally wear a lot of makeup, but somehow, I had a feeling that the women there would be really decked out. I finished my ensemble with red lipstick and a lot of mascara. Almost instantly, my eyes started itching and I wondered if it was going to irritate my contacts.

“Are you ready?” I heard Dom calling from the hallway. In exasperation, I sighed, arranging my carefully-messy hair for an extra moment.

“Yes,” I replied curtly, stepping out of my room and closing the door. Domenic looked incredible; he was wearing dark wash jeans that clung to his muscular legs and a dark gray fisherman’s sweater. It made him look approachable but still gorgeous—kind of like a Brooks Brothers ad. His blonde hair was perfectly swooping away from his face, and I couldn’t stop marveling at how amazing his skin was. It looked as though he’d never had a single blemish in his entire life.

“Wow, Michelle,” Dom wolf-whistled, giving me a once-over that he hadn’t since we were in high school. “You look really hot.”

“Thanks,” I blushed, looking down at the toes of my booties. One of my ankles wobbled and I almost fell; I wasn’t used to wearing heels.

Domenic laughed. “Sorry, are you okay?” He reached down to help me get steadied. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. We haven’t even left yet.”

“I know,” I grumbled, cinching my coat around my waist. “You’re driving.”

Dom drove us out of town for a few miles. The sun had set hours ago and the cornfields were all dark and empty, the stars twinkling overhead. The night was a cold one, and I could feel it seeping in through the cracks in the windshield. We rode in silence, and I watched my breath fog up my side of the glass, tracing little patterns. In the condensation, I could see the ghosts of all the other girls who’d been in the passenger side of his car, doing the same thing during cold weather. I could see a faint few outlines of hearts, too. Even though I’d started to feel better during the day and when I was getting ready, being reminded of Dom’s past felt like a huge slap in the face. It was painful; I couldn’t believe that he’d really changed. It seemed ludicrous to me that someone with a taste for sleeping around with hundreds of girls would change their mind and settle down. And he hadn’t really even done that; the date at the wedding proved me right.

“You’re being quiet,” Dom observed in a soft voice, turning onto a country road. I craned my neck and tried to look for civilization, but there was nothing that I could see. I had no idea where we were going; it looked like he was driving to an old farm. When he saw the confusion on my face, he nodded and began to explain; “This gallery is in a barn, the owner of the farm sold it to an art colony. I took some classes here after high school, it’s a really great place. You’ll like it.”

“Sure,” I said, staring outside. There were still piles of snow on the ground, but they were so covered with dirt that they just looked like giant pale rocks, looming at the end of the driveway. We pulled into a gravel clearing surrounded by rustic looking cabins and a giant barn. There were white Christmas lights strung between all of the buildings; twinkling, making everything look beautiful and festive even though it was early spring. I couldn’t help but be slightly impressed, although though I really felt like I’d overdone it. Looking down at my black dress, it occurred to me that most of the women would be in jeans and cowboy boots.

We got out of the car and walked over to the barn in silence. I could hear music playing and people laughing; it almost sounded more like a party than a gallery opening. When Dom opened the door, a group of people squealed in excitement and came over to us, grabbing Dom for hugs and air kissing both of his cheeks. He seemed surprised and gracious to be welcomed with such affection, but it was clear that the people he was talking to were good friends or old friends.

“Guys, this is Michelle Tennen,” Dom introduced me with a wave. “I’ve known her since I was in diapers.”

“But not since before you started painting, right?” A redhead purred, leaning in and stroking her hand down the front of Dom’s sweater. “You told me that your mom painted with you in utero—talk about a real artist.” She threw her head back in laughter, cackling and resting her head on Dom’s shoulder. She was beautiful, with long red curls that cascaded down her purple sweater dress that was alluringly tight. I noticed her large breasts were accentuated with a golden pendant that hung between them. Despite the way that she was hanging all over Dom, he didn’t seem too fazed by her presence.

“Hi, Candy,” he said in a tired voice. I couldn’t help it; I was pleased that he had decided to brush her off. I knew that there was no way it could be because of me, but it made me happy all the time.

“Hi tiger,” she trilled in a low voice, wrapping her long arm around the back of his sweater. I could smell her perfume; something expensive and musky and adult. She was beautiful, but she looked about ten years older than we were. I wondered how old she actually was.

“This is Michelle,” Dom said again, pointing to me. “We grew up together.”

“That’s boring,” she said, sticking her tongue out. “I grew up with my sister and she’s the dullest person I know.”

“Michelle’s not, though,” Dom protested, removing her arm from the back of his sweater. “And we really have to get going, see you later, Candy.”

“Bye,” she squealed, hopping up to kiss his cheek. Her plump lips left a glossy print on his cheek, and he wiped it away with irritation. After she’d bounced away, Dom reached out and took my elbow, guiding me over to a table covered in glasses of champagne. His touch sent an immediate spark through my body, and I couldn’t believe that we were standing so close together. I could smell him, too, and while his cologne was lovely, it wasn’t as delicious as I remembered the smell of his skin to be.

“Let’s go over here,” Dom murmured in a low voice. He handed me a flute of champagne and clinked glasses, then scanned the room. “I have some people that I’d like to introduce you to, but I don’t see them.”

“Who?” I asked, sipping my champagne. It was delicious and slightly dry. I took another long swig, liking the way it felt in my mouth. Dom took my empty glass from my hand and replaced it with a full one. He took hold of my elbow again and led me away, towards a small group of people wearing all black clothes in the corner.

“Michelle, this is Anya and George. They own this gallery, and they’re some of the first people who really took an interest in my art.”

A breathtakingly beautiful brunette woman reached out to shake my hand. Her face was composed of careful angles and lines, not an ounce of fat or a hair out of place. She smiled, but she didn’t look particularly warm; she more reminded me of a cat about to eat a mouse. She gave my fingers a delicate but firm grasp and then spun around, sending her dark hair flying.

“George, come here, Domenic has introduced us to a friend,” she said, tugging at the man’s sleeve. He turned around and I was awed by how handsome he was, in an older, George Clooney-type way. He was wearing a black button-down shirt and black pants, and his tan wrists were covered in thick hair. He smiled warmly at me and shook my hand, pulling me in for a hug.

“Hello,” he said, giving me an amused look. “Are you a new friend of Domenic’s?”

I flushed at the implication and shook my head, feeling myself stammer nervously; “No, not like that. We’ve grown up together, we lived side by side.”

“And now my mom married her dad,” Dom interrupted in a smooth tone, sounding ironic. Anya cackled, and threw her head back with a dazzling grin.

“That’s perfect,” she cracked, smiling at me. “This makes much more sense.”

I felt stunned, but neither Dom nor George seemed to notice the major shade she’d just thrown in my direction. I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to figure her out.
Pretentious art world cunt,
I thought, staring hard. She was definitely much younger than George, but still a little older than Dom and myself. She was looking at him the way that I did, and suddenly, it all made sense. Quickly, I looked down to her left hand, and just as I suspected, was a massive rock. It looked like a 3-carat diamond in platinum, with a halo and a pave band. George was wearing a smooth platinum band, and as he talked to Dom and Anya, he placed a hand protectively in the small of her back. Dom was watching, but he kept sneaking little glances at Anya and me, and I understood.