Page 6 of Torrid Love
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
Dom hasn’t been in a relationship in so long.
The last idiot was a dickless mama’s boy. I guess, in many ways, I should be grateful because I don’t have to worry about some jerk disrespecting her or treating her badly. She’s yet to date a guy worthy of her.
Shame.
Dom is gorgeous. Her jet-black hair and blue eyes against her luminous complexion is every man’s dream. Her full lips could drive a guy wild. Other than for a dye job, she’s all-natural. She wears a minimum amount of makeup. And in a sea of silicone, her breasts are real. Bonus, she never uses her body as if it were her only asset. She doesn’t have to.
She’s super smart, too—in high school, she could solve complex math equations that stumped some of her teachers. To this day, she’s still a math whiz. She’s also vivacious and fiercely loyal. She’s the whole package. Not that I’ll ever tell her, but I’ve harbored a secret longing for my best friend for a while now. That said, I have no intention of screwing up what we share with sex. Crossing that line could potentially be lethal.
“That’s your department, Rod,” she says. I guess I spoke too soon. She still has a bee in her bonnet. “After all, you’re the self-indulgent bad boy who still—after retiring—gets women to drop their panties on command. I’m a good girl. Thank God I don’t have a dick between my legs dictating my every thought.”
What can I say? There’s an abundance of gorgeous and willing women in LA. Add the former rock star factor and getting pussy is a joke. That’s why I subscribe to the ‘once and done’ school of thought. It’s best that way. Women can put too many expectations on a relationship and that screws everyone up. Mom was a prime example. But coming from Dom? It slices.
“Is that your way of saying you got zero action in Europe? Because it sounds like you’re still a bundle of nerves.”
If she wants to go there, I’m game.
“Fuck off, Rod.”
I let out a strangled laugh laced with irritation.
“Is that any way to talk to your best friend?”
“That’s low even for you,” she retorts.
I jam a hand through my hair in frustration.
“I was hoping you would’ve worked out some of the tension you’ve been carrying so you can stop being so short with me. I guess I was wrong.”
Silence.
She shuts me out. Again.
“Dom?”
Nothing.
“For God’s sake. Are you still on the other end?”
“I am! No need to shout, Rod!”
That’s it?
I don’t get the woman. I swear I don’t.
One minute hot. The other cold as ice.
I didn’t think anyone could be worse than my mother, but for the past few months, Dom’s erratic moodiness is putting Mom to shame.
I let out an impatient exhale. “Why don’t I let you go? I’m sure you have a million things to do. I’ll see you at Zoe’s party.”
“All right,” she says.
Two fucking words?
“I won’t stay too long because the guys will be waiting for me at the Quintus—”
