Page 82 of The Club

My heart skips at the idea of what’s pending, what we’re waiting for. Maybe it shows on my face, but Dominic’s usual, dominant manner starts to return. I see it in his body language as he turns off the water. I hear it in his voice when he says, “We need to eat.”

Ten minutes later, both dressed in warmups and t-shirts, we go out to the kitchen. Rocco, who is something like Dominic’s bodyguard, or at least tries to be, is standing in the kitchen unloading takeout boxes.

“What the hell is this?” Dominic demands.

Rocco shrugs. “I don’t trust delivery. I had the restaurant downstairs put this together.”

“You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can. And I’ll be bunking with the security staff.”

Dominic scowls. “We’re still going to have that conversation.”

“Yep.” Rocco looks between the two of us. “But I’m guessing not tonight.” He picks up one of the boxes. “Thanks for dinner,” he says, and walks off through the pantry to the service door.

“I like him,” I say.

“He’s a dick.”

“I think he cares about you.”

It seems to take Dominic aback, as though that never occurred to him. I shake my head and go to see what’s for dinner.

“Wow,” I marvel as I discover beef stroganoff and several vegetable dishes. “And chocolate mousse.”

Dominic is frowning.

“What? Do you not like this stuff?”

“No, I do. It’s some of my favorite food, but … I’m just surprised, I guess.”

“That he knows what you like?”

“Yeah.”

Dominic gets out plates and cutlery. While we eat the stroganoff and sides at the island, I observe, “I’m glad you don’t do the dining table thing either.”

“I fucking hate dining tables.”

His vehemence surprises me. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms bluntly, and that’s all the answer I get. Then he asks, “You know what I really like though?”

“What?”

“Eating dessert in front of the TV.” He frowns and says in a tone of realization, “You don’t have a TV.”

“I find it hard to sit still that long. I usually watch stuff on my phone or tablet so I can move around.”

“Huh.”

“But I’ll sit with you.”

“You’re having trouble sitting. You’re uncomfortable.”

Because he whipped my ass, he means.

“The couch was better than these chairs,” I tell him.

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