[Dedicated to Chanel, who I remember reading so many of my books consistently, not only Roll the Dice, but also Excuse my French. I hope that you know that I so appreciate everything you've done to support me, and you're one of my favorite commenters!]
Everything came back to the park where Cara and I usually chose to do our training runs over the summer. That was a little funny in a way—it wasn't like it was the most spectacular park I'd ever seen. If anyone asked me when and why I liked to run there, I'd spout out a little something like, "My time of day is the dark time just a couple deals before dawn..."
That was exactly what I puffed out to Dom when he asked me those particular questions as we jogged along the paved path through the towering trees.
"What?" he huffed out, a hand through his hair.
Both of our bodies were glistening with sweat, even in the early morning like this, and I closed my eyes a little as a breeze blew through the tendrils of my hair. It was nice to run like this with the familiar ache in my thighs—even if it was with Dom, who, I hesitated to admit, was overtaking me.
And I was the cross country runner!
I was going to whip out another quote from Guys and Dolls, but then I realized that he hadn't asked me for that.
"That was actually a rather clever quote from the musical," I said to him out of the corner of my mouth. I took in one large breath and breathed it out evenly—that was the key to running. His expression remained so flat as I watched his face. "What? You can't even admit that was pretty awesome?"
Dom's mouth twitched even though his eyes remained steely.
I smacked his arm with the back of my hand. "Do you want me to spit out another quote? Because I could totally do that, if you really, really would like me to do so—"
"Save me the pain," Dom puffed out as he rolled his eyes. "Really, after three weeks, you still can't take the hint—I do not want to be exposed to your damn musical more than I have to."
I gasped. "All right, first, I've got to say that you are completely wrong regarding that aspect. I don't know how long it will take me to drill that into your dense little head." Dom sent me a flat look. "You have to appreciate the complexity of the fantastic characters that Runyon wrote up." When I caught Dom's now blank face, I rolled my eyes at him. "I didn't teach you anything, did I? Runyon's the writer who wrote up the stories that inspired the musical, and thus, the movie."
By the way Dom let out the longest sigh through his nose, I guessed one out of two things: first, he was either bad at running (which was impossible because of soccer), and second, he probably still hated Guys and Dolls.
Life sucked.
"Well, let's take the main characters to start off with." I shrugged, taking a breath through my mouth. It was a good thing we were going on an easy jog because I was always bad at maintaining a conversation, especially a long one requiring much time and energy and fervor and passion, while running. When Dom rolled his eyes to look up at the still brightening sky, I smacked him again. "Pay attention! This is essential to your cultural edification."
"Stop hitting me," Dom grumbled. He rubbed his reddening arm—and that drew my attention to the tight tank he had on and, in turn, his tan, muscled arms. And it also made me beg the question: what in the world was he doing to get them?
Then, it brought me to a different realization: why wasn't I hitting on him?
(Why did I want to hit on him? Right—because I was so close to him now, and I'd never gotten this close to him ever.)
Now, I caught Dom's second look of befuddlement and realized, to my absolute horror, (why was I so damn awkward?) that I had been mouthing my thoughts as we jogged along the path.
I shut my mouth firmly and awkwardly cast my eyes around our surroundings, clearing my throat. I was really good at putting myself into these dreadful situations, wasn't I? And now, I had two choices: act like absolutely nothing is wrong or attempt to make myself feel a little less dumb by spluttering out meaningless explanations.
I decided to go with the first option even though my nerves mixed in a little of the second option.
"Um, I—uh—totally just didn't—" I stuttered, "yeah. Right." I cleared my throat when, for a split second, I caught Dom's dark eyes, which all but said, What is up with you?
If I weren't so embarrassed of my stupid hormones and everything else that I'd done, I would have spun up a speech worthy of a debate club medal to excuse myself. But again, my name was not Cara Victore but instead Charlotte Ingham, and I was currently going out on an early-morning run with Dominic Amaro.
Fuck my life.
"Have I ever asked you what language you're taking?" I spoke up after a while of running awkwardly in silence. It wasn't like the sound of my voice was a blessing—it was quite tranquil to listen to the trees rustle in the morning breeze and some birds whistling somewhere high up. I must have startled Dom because he jerked as soon as I spoke.
I always knew I spoke a little too loudly in social situations.
Also, it was a little sad that through all these years of being completely infatuated with Dom, I had absolutely no inkling of something as mundane as the language he was required to take for his entire high school career.
Dom cleared his throat. "I don't think so, actually."
And there was a silence.
Why? Wasn't it basically implied that I wanted him to answer that very question that I'd mentioned?
Sometimes guys were so incredibly dense that I wondered why I'd even set out to change his mind about Guys and Dolls when he couldn't even take a hint.
As we kept jogging on, the trees started to clear out, and the sunlight became brighter and brighter with each step we took. I was going to miss the coolness that the shade from the leafy canopy above me provided, I thought vaguely. And besides, I was starting to feel my chest constrict a little the way it did when I passed the three mile mark. Man, it was going to feel good when I could pour my ice cold water bottle over my head, especially after pushing through all the heat.
I cleared my throat even more loudly than Dom had—hopefully, that would direct his oblivious little brain back to my question.
"What?" Dom sent me a ruffled look, like something an offended chicken would give someone after that person tried to pick it up. "What did I do now?"
And even though we were both sweating profusely from our rather long run (I could tell that Dom was starting to tire out by the way he now took in shorter breaths—his pride, however, would never let him slow down), I couldn't help but notice how absolutely heartwarming his dark eyes were as he pouted at me.
God, he was incredibly cute—and, no doubt, extremely hot.
Now my pride was never going to let me sit down and take a rest just to process all of him.
"Well," I puffed out, inhaling deeply through my nose (I always did have a little issue with breath control on these long runs), "what language are you taking?"
Dom's frown deepened. "You don't have to say it like that," he said dolefully between breaths. "I'm not some stupid little kid."
He definitely wasn't little nor a kid (because then, it would have been so wrong of me to kind of wish for him to take his shirt off—goodness, what was up with me?), but I was still at crossroads when it came to the "stupid" diagnosis.
"What language are you taking?" I repeated just a little slower—because I felt like it. I then decided to stop talking for a little because my lungs decided that they couldn't manage keeping my body moving as well as driving my voice. That was sad because we weren't even running that quickly or up some particularly deep slope.
Then, I wondered exactly how in shape Cara was. If I was going to totally fail cross country season in the fall, I needed a fellow senior to fail with me, and I could only drag her down with me because the other seniors on the team were damn fast. (This thought brought me back to the realization that I was becoming more and more like Cara—pure evil.)
Dom took his sweet time to answer because now, we were making our way through a dirt path that had narrowed, leading to a little red wooden bridge over a trickling brook. I pushed my bangs out of my eyes, squinting into the light in front of us. From our position, I guessed that we were just about to hit the baseball field, which meant that we were very, very close to the parking lot, and thus, going home.
After a little bit of silence, he finally spoke up. "Russian."
That sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe I did ask him at some point in time. Maybe I had snapped out of my Dom-induced haze of confusion and infatuation to ask him a simple question like that.
Then again, I had to remind myself that before the showing of Guys and Dolls on that fateful evening, the closest I'd ever gotten to Dom was sitting two seats behind him in English 10.
(Every morning, the back of his head was a glorious sight for my half-asleep self.)
I nodded. I really needed to get to my water bottle—I hadn't hydrated quite enough before the run—and that was another reason for me to speed the hell up. I also was starting to feel rather light-headed (and I wasn't sure if that was because of all the running or because of Dom...or maybe it was from both).
There was another lull in our conversation as we burst from the trees and out into the sun next to the baseball field. Then, Dom turned to me with one bead of sweat dripping down the side of his gloriously tanned face (where in the world was I coming up with these lines?). "How about you?"
"Spanish," I responded in one breath. Now, everything in my running was about huffing and puffing.
We slowed down a little and eventually lapsed into a comfortable, brisk walk. We were due for a cool down run so that our legs wouldn't be aching tomorrow, but I wasn't sure if Dom had something to do after me. I had to be considerate sometimes—I couldn't be the only one to hog the great Amaro's company.
My lightheadedness came into full force now because everything seemed just a little brighter and dreamlike. I looked over Dom, who was panting lightly. He met my eyes.
And we walked.
Our hands brushed one time, and I swore it was my fault. (My coach told me that I tended to swing my arms too much, especially during cool down runs.) All of a sudden, it seemed like we were standing close, so close that I could feel the heat from his body next to me. I took in a shallow breath through my mouth, staring wide-eyed into his.
It was just the two of us, not just in our little bubble but also in the entire park, as far as I knew.
We had stopped walking at some point, and I hadn't paid attention to that. So now, we stood, breathing as we stared at each other.
The wind blew a strand of my hair in between us. Slowly, Dom lifted his arm to push it out of both of our faces, and I watched as his mouth opened slightly to take in breath just as I myself inhaled. It felt strangely intimate somehow—and I wasn't going to trust myself about the matter. After all, who was I to say?
Dom dropped his arm just after he tucked my hair behind my ear.
And for some reason, we both still stood there, not daring to move a single inch. Why would I? Maybe it was the hormone rush in my brain from completing the run, but I couldn't seem to pull my eyes away from his, which were dark and inquisitive as they searched mine. For what was he looking anyway? What could I possibly have that he questioned?
Sometime in the process, I had tilted my head up toward him, and he had leaned down a little. So now, our lips were practically a hair's breadth away. We were so close that I could just barely feel his nose against mine. I didn't dare breathe.
Everything of this insanity brought back something in my head, something that had been hidden away for weeks now. Instead of seeing the sunrays beating onto the fields around the two of us, I saw flickers of firelight in the darkness, where Dom and I had sat on that one party evening this close. And we had discussed something. I still couldn't quite remember. But I did remember touching him, and it must have been the most glorious moment of my life...
All of a sudden, Dom was no longer standing in front of me, instead hurriedly pacing down the path between the baseball field and some empty meadow space. I barely had time to catch my breath and to gather my thoughts together—what the hell? What had just happened?
My thighs were aching as I finally caught up to him, matching him stride-for-stride. "Hey," I said breathlessly.
Because I was Lottie Ingham, I was going to put on the best damn act that I could even though I was the worst actress I'd ever known.
Dom raised his eyebrows as he turned to me. "Yeah?"
Because he was Dom Amaro, he was going to go along with my act and beat me at my own game because he was his glorious, stupid self.
His eyes didn't even flicker away from mine. Not even for a second.
I should have felt a little hurt, but honestly, I was too wrapped up in something else—my nose had been touching Dom's. And I'd gone on a run with him, like we were running buddies or something. And we'd talked. And he hadn't let on, during the entire time, that he despised my company (even though I'd have to say otherwise when it came to my musical).
Good God—what was my life coming to?
If I were alone, I'd walk over to the nearest park bench in a daze and sit down to put my head in my hands to and to properly freak out before I gave myself a heart attack.
However, I was not alone, and my companion was still watching me so steadily. My mouth moved in vain for a couple seconds before I could actually blurt out something. Oh God. I knew I would fuck this whole thing up the moment I started talking.
"I still owe you that lecture about the main characters," I said out in one single, rushed puff.
Dom blinked a couple seconds and then quickened his pace. I had to adjust, jogging a little. The look in his dark eyes changed—only fractionally—but something told me that he'd snapped out of the dreamy whatever-we-had phase. And then he was back to the annoying Dom.
I'd thought I'd gotten rid of that part of him after his goddamn outright dismissal earlier.
But again, by the way Dom was sending me his most potent glare, I'd fucked up majorly as well. Seriously? Guys and Dolls was seriously the first thing that I could conjure from my jumbled brain after the whatever-I-had-with Dom?
That meant there was definitely something dismally wrong with me.
I resisted the urge to hide my face in my hands and to groan loudly like an aging rhinoceros giving off one final desperate mating call.
So now, because I had dug myself into this grave, I steeled my expression and stared obstinately back at him. "Yes. I do. And you're going to make it up to me for being an ass by reading that book I gave you and telling me, in as much detail as possible, some new things that you learned about the actress who plays Sarah Brown."
We were now at the edge of the parking lot, where our respective cars were parked. Dom and I stopped in front of them, watching the other's expression.
Dom let out a sigh. "Okay," he said softly. "Whatever you want."
I broke off our staring contest before either things would get awkward or I would start blubbering like a seal that decided to try to communicate with human beings in English rather than whatever seals used to communicate to each other.
"See you," I responded just as lightly as he had. "Sometime."
He nodded, and with that, we got into our cars. I was really good at saying goodbye, wasn't I? And Dom wasn't the most verbose person in the first place, so I supposed this was the best I'd ever get.
After I heard his car pull out of the parking space smoothly and exit the parking lot, I let out the groan I'd been holding in ever since Dom and I had our whatever-it-was moment and let my head drop down on the steering wheel.
Why was I so awkward? Why couldn't I be like Cara, mysterious and reticent with some sort of hard-to-get charm that guys loved so much? Why couldn't I be like Dacey, assertive and confident about her abilities and her body (except when it came to my brother, but I supposed everyone had a weak spot somewhere)?
I reached for my phone in the bag in the passenger seat. Deftly, I unlocked it and immediately went to text Dacey. I was going to need advice if I wanted to get through this dilemma.
But just as I was about to send off my text message (which said something along the lines of "SOS OMG SHIT JUST WENT DOWN"), my finger paused over the send button. I pursed my lip and crinkled my forehead.
No.
This was going to be between me and Dom.
Even if I had no intuition about the whatever-had-gone-down-between-the-two-of-us.
(I didn't even know what to call it. What more fucking proof of my cluelessness did I need to provide to myself? Maybe I was drunk on something—water, maybe, as opposed to the alcoholic drink that Sarah Brown had unwittingly consumed in one particular scene.)
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Hi everyone! This update is a little late, but at least it's here, right? I thought I at least owed this chapter to you guys before I head off the charts.
This is honestly one of my favorite chapters to write and read (Anha can tell you all about how much she appreciates it) especially #Dottie is making really, really, really, really big progress in here. Did I succeed with the sexual tension? Did I? Tell me what you think, guys! But anyway, yeah, I was inspired a lot by my own cross country experiences although it actually is a lot harder than I made it out to be. Running is fun, you guys. (Not really...)
About dulce de leche: it's an alcoholic drink with rum (as I'm sure I must have explained in the last chapter). It looks absolutely delectable in the above picture, doesn't it? I couldn't find a picture of the actual drink (I'm pretty sure that's a frappe), but this is as close as I can get. I hope to try it one day. And on a sort of related note, what is your favorite coffee/frappe?
School starts tomorrow for me...ah well. But anyway, the next update will be in my bio, as usual, and I hope you guys are having a lovely day!
Anne