Page 94 of Kiss Me Tonight

“You do remember what happened the last time you drove us, don’t you?”

Topher tugs on his earlobe. “It’s just a minor scratch. Plus, I promised Coach DaSilva I’d help out with his house to pay him back.”

“You did?” I grab the car keys off the entryway table before Topher can get any fast ideas. “When?”

“The day he took me mini-golfing. You should come with us next time.” Topher snags my duffel bag, as well as his own, and hikes them up onto his shoulders. The benefit of giving birth to sons who grow like weeds. “I totally caught onto his act when we played last weekend.”

“What act?”

I’m starting to sound like a parrot—not that it stops me from asking questions. Since our night up on Cadillac Mountain late last week, Dominic and I have done our best to keep what’s going on between us quiet. Although I’m not entirely sure whatisgoing on. While our late-night phone calls and round-the-clock texting screamIt’s a relationship!there hasn’t been ample opportunity to sort it all out. I spent the entire weekend with Topher, and there’s been no more sneaking out all night on my part. Once was risky, twice was downright stupid but . . . three times? As tempted as I am to throw caution to the wind, I don’t want Topher thinking that tiptoeing around is acceptable behavior.

Leading by example has never been more difficult.

Especially when my nosey,sexynext-door neighbor has made it a habit to knock on my bedroom window every evening for a midnight kiss out in my courtyard. A heady, toe-curling kiss that ends with my back pressed against my house and Dominic’s thigh wedged between my legs. Twice now he’s gotten me off that way, his hand clamped over my mouth to keep me quiet and a dry-humping session that leads straight to orgasmic oblivion.

Dominic DaSilva has made being bad feel so incrediblygood.

With Topher ambling down the brick-cobbled walkway to my Honda, I shut the front door behind me and immediately scope out Dominic’s driveway. His truck is gone, which means he’s probably on his way to the school already. With a firm hand, I kick the anticipation of seeing him to the curb and unlock my car.

“Toph?”

We both climb in, him relegated to the passenger’s side while I take the wheel. Cracking open a Gatorade bottle that he brought along, Topher guzzles half of it with all the aptitude of a teenager who doesn’t care about a thing called calories. Swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he leans back in the seat. “I mean, I could tell he was trying to go easy on me. He’d fake a hit and let the ball take five tries to make the hole, that sort of thing. At least, he did in the beginning.”

“And by the end?” I ask, already sensing where this is going. After all, Dominic did call my baby boy a swindler. I’ve never been so proud.

“It was an all-out battle, Mom, and it wasawesome! I still won because I don’t think mini-golf is his thing, but he came up with all these crazy rules for us. Like, instead of trying to get a hole-in-one, we had to hit a specific bush on the course or skip the ball over a small stream. It was insane.”

Insane. A word that seems to exclusively belong to Dominic alone.

After last weekend up on Cadillac Mountain, I think I’ve grown an affinity for the insane.

I think I’ve grown an affinity forhim.

Or a crush. Aharmlesscrush. Who wouldn’t, though? The man’s an enigma to those he doesn’t know, and now that he’s shown me pieces of himself, is it any wonder that I want to learn more? I mean, I never would have guessed by looking at him or even seeing him on TV that he has a secret love for photography.

Dominic is a puzzle comprised of mismatched pieces and I think he prefers it that way.

I slide a glance over to Topher, who’s practically bouncing in his seat with excess energy. His leg jiggles up and down, his Gatorade going for a joy ride since it’s balanced on his knee. “You seem to like him. Coach DaSilva, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah. Did I tell you that he’s letting me call him Dom when we aren’t at practice?”

No, I definitely didnotknow that. “Is that so?”

“Yep! It was the spoils for whoever won at mini-golf. If I won, I could call him Dom.”

“And if he won?”

“Which would never have happened because you taught me better,” Topher says, cracking himself up. “But, yeah, if he won then he said that he got to take me and you out for dinner.”

Like a date?

Butterflies flutter to life in my stomach. It’s no good to thinkwhat if’s—Dominic hadn’t won at mini-golf and after our heart-to-heart that day, he hadn’t mentioned dinner. But still the thought of us sitting down at one of the little restaurants that line the shore brings a huge smile to my face.

Feeling giddy for the first time in years, I turn onto Main Street. “Maybe we could have Coach DaSilva over for dinner sometime this week? How does that sound?”

I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen Topher brimming with such excitement. He blows up at the front of his hair, then gives up, exclaiming, “Ma, that would be so much fun. Maybe we can all play football on the street? You can show Dom how badass you are with the ball.”

I pretend to hack up a lung at his B-bomb.

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