Willow
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"
He gives me a long, considering look. Then shakes his head once, like he's dismissing something inside his own head. "It's the heterochromia. Creeps people out."
So he's not going to tell me.
"Uh huh. One blue eye, one amber? A truly catastrophic flaw."
"I've got plenty of those."
I get the feeling he's waiting for me to ask about the scars. He probably deals with it all the time. People asking nosy questions or being awkward and acting like they never even noticed. I don't want to do any of that. I actually like the look of them— they make him look fearsome and strong, like someone's who's been through some major shit and survived. But I'll wait for him to tell me what that major shit he survived might be. It's his story to tell. If he ever decides to during the short time we'll know each other. I smile at him to let him know I'm teasing. "So you're not boyfriend material, is what you're saying."
"Not exactly." He slides the knife out of the napkin place setting it's wrapped in and twirls it deftly between his fingers. "What about you? Got a boyfriend who's missing you desperately right about now?"
His tone is casual, but the look in his eyes isn't. He's watching me like my answer is everything to him. Like he'd like to use that knife against any man with a claim to me.
"No. No boyfriend."
"Good."
It doesn't sound casual at all now. I straighten a little. Try to look at him surreptitiously while keeping my attention on the salt packet like it's the most fascinating condiment I've ever seen. He's nothing like the other guys I've ever been attracted to, the preppy-clean cut ones. This guy is tatted and muscle-bound. Blue collar. He's obviously done hard work with his own hands. "Are you going to tell me what you do for a living?" I ask.
"Take a guess."
"How come you don't want to just say so?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Hmm." I tap the salt packet on the table. "I had a guess, but now that you're being so cagey about it, I'm thinking… unemployed."
His lips curve. "Guess again."
The waitress comes back with two beers. She lingers at the table.
"Thanks," Dominik says, his eyes not leaving me. "That's all for now."
I feel Katie's glare on me even without seeing it as she departs. I take a sip of my beer. It's bitter and refreshing, exactly what I need right now. Because, I think–tonight I don't want to be Willow Hart, the responsible daughter who keeps the fridge stocked and the electric bill paid. I don't want to be the pathetic girl who swore she'd be smarter than to end up in a toxic relationship, and did it anyway.
I want to be free. Brave. Independent. I take another sip, and another.
"Easy, tiger," Dominik murmurs. "Empty stomach, that's gonna hit you fast." Belatedly, I realize I've drained half the glass. "It's been a long day."
"I bet."
The alcohol buzz hits me, but in a nice way. Pleasant and tingly and loosening me up.
"Mechanic," I say. "If I have to guess, I'd say you're a mechanic."
"Good guess. Sometimes it feels like I spend every spare moment messing with cars older than you." He takes a sip of his drink. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Twenty five."
He runs a hand through his hair. "Shit."
"What?"
"You're barely out of college." He doesn't seem happy about that.
"How old are you?"
"Thirty six." He seems even less happy now. I take another drink, contemplating. Eleven years older than me.
Kind of a big age gap, but… I'm actually into it.
He's older. More experienced. Self-assured.
I'm into that. I'm into everything about him, I decide. His looks, his voice. The sexy comments he makes in that voice. I like the way he looks at me. Like I'm the most important person in the room. And then there's the fact that he doesn't like me being younger than him, that it seems to make him feel weird and guilty. Strangely, I like that too. Something about it might even fill me with evil glee. It must be the alcohol buzz.
"Thirty six?" I repeat slowly, as if this is terrible news. "Thirty seven soon," he mutters.
I widen my eyes. "I didn't know numbers went up that high."
Dominik looks grumpy as hell now, and for some reason, I find it… adorable? "So ancient." I sigh. "Will you be needing a walker to make it back to your truck? I'm sure we can arrange for your food to be puréed."
He gives me a dry look. "Watch your mouth, kid."
"Or what?"
He leans forward as his voice drops.
"For starters, I'll throw you over my shoulder and teach you some manners."
My stomach does a somersault.
"Oh yeah?" I'm aiming for sass but landing somewhere closer to breathless. "I'd like to see you try."
He leans in further. Not touching. Just close enough that the air between us seems to vanish. "Careful. I wasn't kidding about biting."
There's another jolt low in my belly. "Still waiting for the downside."
Something flashes across his eyes, quick and bright as lightning.
But then he leans back slightly, giving me space he doesn't really seem to want to give.
This conversation feels like sex. Like the prelude to it, at least.
Like we would have a very, very good time together. "Willow." He lingers on my name again. "What else should I know about you? Besides your abysmal sense of direction."
I shoot him a glare, which he answers with a smirk.
The smirk is… very attractive. As we wait for our food, he peppers me with questions. For some reason he seems fascinated by my incredibly boring past. Born and raised in San Diego, I tell him. Mom died when I was little, Dad was left a single parent. Local schools. Never moved out of my childhood bedroom, even for college, since that was only ten minutes away and we couldn't afford to pay for a dorm. I leave out the part about Dad's passion projects that make his money walk out the door as fast as it comes in. I tell him instead about cobbling together a patchwork of scholarships and work-study programs to get through college. I'm just about to get to the next part of my life, the job at Neuroworks that I got after graduation, when our food comes.
I realize I've been talking about myself for an awkwardly long time. It's been awhile since I've been on a date, but avoiding trauma dumping and not wordlessly wolfing down your food seem like evergreen rules to follow. So far I've managed to adhere to rule number one. Regrettably, it turns out I'm too hungry to follow rule two. I've inhaled half the plate before I remember to look up.
Dominik hasn't even touched his food.
I freeze with a fry halfway to my mouth. Slowly I put it back down. "I guess I was hungrier than I thought."
"I asked the wrong question earlier. When's the last time you ate an actual meal?"
"I had a mocha with whipped cream for breakfast."
Dominik only shakes his head slowly. "Twenty five. Fuck me."
He's not trying, but damn, do those words sound good coming out of his mouth. I gesture to his full plate. "Aren't you hungry?"
"I ate dinner earlier."
"You brought me here just so I could stuff my face in between recounting my excruciatingly dull autobiography?"
"It's all part of that famous charm of yours."
I laugh, feeling relaxed and oddly delighted by his teasing, even though it's at my expense. "Roadside rescue aside, you're actually kind of a dick, you know that?"
Amusement glimmers in his eyes. "Believe it or not, it's not the first time I've heard that."
"Trust me," I say, grinning, "I believe it."
The next time Katie comes around, she says to him, "I'm having a little birthday thing on Saturday. Would love it if you stopped by."
"Cool. Can we get the check?"
She pouts as she hands it to him. I only notice it because of the way his fingers brushed mine before, but I see that he's careful to avoid going near her long painted fingernails. Weird phobia, but okay. "How much do I owe you?" I ask, pulling out my wallet. Dominik puts a bill down on the clipboard. "Put your wallet away."
"I just thought —" "You don't pay for anything when you're with me."
There's something about the way he says it. So nonchalant, and yet… not. Again, I really don't hate it. Maybe the whole old-fashioned, I take care of everything, dominant male thing would get old after awhile. After many, many nights together.
Maybe some mornings too.
When Katie leaves, Dominik says to me, "Ready?"
"Yes. And thank you. For dinner, and for saving me from being stranded."
"Just glad it was me who found you."
I follow him back out to the parking lot. There's a chill in the damp air. Dominik shrugs off his jacket and puts it over my shoulders. It's still warm from his body heat and smells like him.
I repress the urge to bury my nose in it. "Thanks," I say, hoping he can't see my blush.
We stop walking when we get to his truck. It's cold outside, but I feel warm and shimmery everywhere in my body. There is a moment that is going to happen. I can feel it. I can feel it the way one can feel a storm coming. The electricity in the air, the sense that something is about to change. We stand, facing each other, lit by moonlight. The breeze is humid and tastes of sea salt. Every breath I take feels thick. Maybe that's why my breathing has gone shallow.
I swallow. Dominik's eyes dip to my neck, linger above my collarbone.
I wonder if he really would bite me there.
"I don't like you going back to that motel," he says. "I'll be okay."
"You don't know that."
"I have to believe it. What's the alternative? Stay up watching the door, clutching my knife all night long? I probably couldn't even scare away the resident rat with it. Apparently he's roach control, anyway. Maybe we'll make good roommates, me and the rat."
Dominik steps closer. Even wrapped in his jacket, I can feel the body heat still radiating off him. The air between us gets impossibly thicker. My mind spins, dizzy with the nearness of him. I tilt my head without meaning to. It's just that he's so tall, and his eyes are so striking, and he's looking at my lips like maybe he's thinking about kissing me, and — He doesn't kiss me.
"Stay at my place."
The words land with a quiet, seismic shift inside me. The safe thing to do would be to say no. Especially with every instinct in me lighting up with hunger, a deep craving, beyond reason or sense. But the truth is, I want to stay at his place.
I want his hands on me. His scent in my lungs. His body on mine. I want him.
"Yes," I whisper. "I'd like that."