Page 162 of The Blame Game

“I know that,” Dom said. “He just seems like a little bit of a showoff.”

“Like Nico?” Shea chirped and Nico threw his head back and laughed.

“Nice one. I see it didn’t take you long to feel at home around here,” Nico said drily. “But yeah, I appreciate a man who’s hot, talented, and not afraid to work those angles.”

“Then what are you doing with August?” Dom asked, feigning confusion.

August huffed. “Thanks, man.”

“No, you’re good-looking,” Dom said, because a person would have to be dead to not see that August was striking. “I just mean if Nico is into showy guys, you’re kind of the antithesis.”

“He keeps me from going off the rails,” Nico said, his tone affectionate as he stole a kiss. “And I keep him from being an uptight stick-in-the-mud. It works for us.”

Dom thought about the other couples here and there really was a mix. Some were more alike, like Jonah and Felix or Colton and Birdie. Others, like Dustin and Charlie, were more opposites.

He hadn’t quite decided where he and Shea fell. Maybe they were a little of both.

And then it hit Dom that he was comparing himself and Shea to the actual couples on the team.

That meant something, right?

As they continued to eat, Dom watched Shea laugh at some ridiculous thing Nico said, effortlessly draw Antoni into a conversation, and hold Reese while Matty wiped off his messy face.

It hit Dom that Shea belonged here.

Not only because he was a former hockey player and he knew the culture and the humor but was open-minded enough to not blink at the fact that this team was anything but typical.

But also because his optimistic, outgoing good humor was the balance to Dom’s closed-off pessimism.

Because with Shea, Dom could see himself learning how to open up and trust people again and, fuck, a part of him wanted to say something to Shea right now. To ask him how he felt.

But there was so much at stake.

Especially making sure the public believed that their relationship was real to protect the team, to protect Shea’s PT career and his relationship with his family.

And what if Dom fucked it up somehow? What then?

After lunch, Dom wandered around the yard, stretching his back, and when he returned, Shea and Nico were talking about what sounded like PT stuff—about Nico’s treatment after his brain surgery, anyway—so Dom took a seat on one of the empty loungers nearby, tipping his head back to enjoy the feel of the warm spring sun on his skin.

He’d actually fallen into a light doze when he felt a slight pressure against his knee and a small voice saying, “Hi.”

He looked down to see River staring up with huge blue eyes. “Uh, hi there.”

“Your hair is pretty.” She blinked.

“Um, thank you. Yours is too.”

“Papa Matty did two French braids.” She touched the end of one, smiling.

Dom smiled too, imagining Matty’s giant paws trying to weave together the hair. “He did a good job.”

“I’m learning to braid but I’m not very good.” She frowned. “But Papa says that I’ll get better if I practice.”

“That’s true.” Or at least Dom assumed braiding was like anything else and repetition helped with mastery. The fanciest he got with his was shoving it in a messy bun when he worked out to keep it from getting in his sweaty face.

“Can I practice on you?” River asked, reaching out to touch his hair.

He blinked. “Uhh. Sure?”

---