Page 104 of Best In Class
“Supervise me, my ass.”
“You don’t need supervision, but I didn’t say that to Tommy. I stepped in, not to take it away from you, but to make sure you got it.”
“Well, let’s give the man theFeminist Of The Yearaward,” I mutter sarcastically, but Iamtouched.
Dom looks miffed. “I did it for you, Moonbeam.”
I snort. “Your grand feminist act was to attach yourself to my project and annoy the hell out of me?”
He pretends to consider my words and then nods slowly. “Yes.”
I stare at him, flat. “That’s both offensive and infuriating.”
“But true,” he points out.
“And”—I hold up a finger, deciding to give him a half an inch—“also kinda impressive, if I didn’t want to smack you for being such a goddamn martyr about it.”
He laughs. I don’t join in, but I don’t give him a hard time about it, either.
It’s maddening, yes. But it’s also honest. No hedging. No dodging. Just Dom, laying it all out.Finally.
“What else?” I persist.
He shrugs. “I hate every man who looks at you, talks to you, even says your name.”
“That’s nuts.”
“Especially Devon.”
“Devon?” I am starting to enjoy this Dom who’s baring his heart to me. The hurt of what I learned yesterday is still there, but it’s not as sharp.
His eyes flick to me, his exasperation clear. “He wears fucking pink shorts.”
“You’re jealous of a man who sleeps with Rose Dixon and owns more linen than a bridal registry?”
He shrugs. “You smile at him.”
I shake my head, but my lips twitch. “Anything else?”
The fan hums above us. The trees rustle softly. It’s quiet. Easy. Too easy.
I glance at him again, and there’s a shift in his posture—an alertness.
“What?” I ask.
“Wait here. I need a minute.” He goes inside.
“Dom,” I call after him. “Don’t be dramatic?—”
He comes back out holding something small. A ring box. “I put it in the bedside drawer because it was in my pants.”
My breath catches.
“No.” I stand as silverware, the chair, and the table rattle at my speed. “Don’t you dare.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Do not open that fucking thing or I swear to God I’ll bean you with the”—I look around and see the cast iron skillet he served the eggs in—“that.” I point to the heavy pan.
