Page 56 of Kiss Me Tonight

And while Dominic and I aren’t dating—we aren’t even remotely together—I won’t lie and say that I’m not curious to understand what makes himhim.

His chest inflates with a heavy breath. Then, as though he’s preparing himself to go there with me, he drops his forearms to his thighs and comes pretty close to letting his fingers skim my knees. He doesn’t make that final connection, much to my regret. Only keeps his head bowed when he says, “The only times in my life where I’ve felt true success have come after the rug has been ripped out from beneath me. In college . . .” He trails off, then lifts his head so I can see all of him. “You know what? Let me put it this way: I do best when I’ve got something driving me forward.”

“So, what? Youlikehaving your world turned upside down?”

Dark eyes pin me in place. “I thrive on feeling like I’ve hit rock bottom and have come out of it alive.”

I don’t look away. Can’t, I don’t think, even if I wanted to.

Because the fervor in his voice has me locked all the way in.

“Say it.”

At his rough demand, I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, unable to find adequate words for the thoughts spinning through my head.

“Aspen.”

My first name off his tongue is like a jolt of electricity to my system. I twitch—honest to Godtwitch—and fold my hands under my thighs to keep them still. My skin is sticky from the sinking sun, but even the mid-afternoon warmth heating the top of my head and shoulders can’t strip away the pleasure sinking into my bones after hearing him say my name.

Aspen.

Other than my immediate family, everyone has always referred to me as Levi. Like it’s some sort of rite of passage with becoming the next generation of Levi football royalty. After thirty-seven years, I’ve long since given up trying to convince people to use Aspen instead. Hell, even Rick called me Levi, and I was hiswife.

On second thought, that probably should have been my first clue that we were doomed.

Brilliant epiphany to have fifteen years after the fact.

Go, me.

Aware that my voice is lower, more intimate than it has any right to be, I give Dominic the answer he probably doesn’t want: “I think you feed off crushing people’s opinions of you.” When his eyes widen, ever so slightly, I take it as a thumbs-up to keep going, and recall exactly what I found online before Willow showed up. “If I had to guess, it’s probably a direct result of you growing up in foster care . . . at least, howyougrew up in foster care. The poor kid. The one no one wanted.”

I slip one hand out from under my thigh and lay it on his knee, taking a risk when it’s clear as day that Dominic isn’t as hands-on as his public persona would suggest he is. “So, yeah, I think you get off on proving people wrong. It’s not that predictability kills ambition—it’s that predictability, for you, means that there’s no fire behind your every move while you show the world that their vision of Dominic DaSilva is wrong.”

The lines of his face sharpen.

“Predictability is an empty space for you, when all you have is time to think about your life, and what you’d change and all the ways you’ve taken the wrong path,” I continue, because he asked for my opinion and I’ve never been one to shy away from delivering when called upon.He wanted this. It’s what I remind myself when I add, “Isn’t that the reason you went onPut A Ring On It?Because you were done with the quiet? Because you were ready, once again, to come out on top and feel . . . how did you put it?Alive?”

Silence ticks by, only interspersed by the sound of our breathing and a boat’s rudder as it cuts through the choppy water out in the bay.

I bite down on my bottom lip. Internally curse myself out for speaking out of turn.

Dominic and I aren’t friends who trade secrets and feelings and hidden truths that no one else knows but the two of us.Remember that.

Unfortunately, since coming back to London, he also feels like myonlyfriend.

Even if the friendship is a bit one-sided.

Nothing you aren’t used to in relationships with guys.

I shove the memories of Rick in a box, turning the key and visualizing it—and him—going up in flames.Take that, you cheating, rat bastard.

Dominic’s jean-clad knee shifts beneath my hand. To my surprise, he doesn’t shove me away as he scrubs a hand over the side of his face. Then, “There you go surprisin’ me again.”

And, like I said only minutes ago, I repeat the same words back: “Is that a bad thing?”

“It is when you’re calling me out on shit that I . . .” His hand moves to cup the back of his neck. “No. No, it’s not a bad thing.”

“Maybe you’re looking at the quiet times all wrong.”

---