Page 31 of Puck, Marry, Kill

“Okay is relative,” I answer. “Did I want that to happen? No. Am I going to fall apart over it? Also no. It’s a dick. One I’ve seen. One I have no desire to see again. But I’m stronger than whatever penile power move he thinks he’s pulling.”

Dom snorts like he’s trying not to laugh. “Penile power move? Was it doing MMA or something?Hiii-yah!”

I smile at his attempt at humor. I wouldn’t have thought I could after Tyler’s stunt. But I can feel my lips stretching as Dom makes more karate-esque sounds. Only when I eventually succumb to a weak laugh does he stop. “I swear to God my penis is locked away in my shorts, but can we switch to FaceTime? I need to see you.”

“Uh ...” I didn’t care what I looked like when I answered for what I thought was going to Harley or Tyler talking about Harley, but Dom? I try to smooth my flyaway hairs into the messy updo on top of my head and illogically check my breath by breathing into my palm. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

The call switches over instantly and I answer.

Dominic is sitting on a couch, a white wall behind him. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, and his eyes scour my face through the screen. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

Another call comes in, the preview bubble popping up on the screen, and I shake my head. Dominic sits forward on his couch, the phone angle going lower and his expression going dark and dangerous. “Briar?”

My name is more rumble than word, and I realize that he thinks I’m shaking my head in answer to his question. That I’m not okay. “No, sorry. I’m fine. Tyler’s just calling again.”

He grits his teeth, his jaw muscles popping with the work. “I really hate your ex.”

“Me too.”

“What the fuck did you ever see in him?” Dom asks, curious. “Motherfucker’s got serial killer eyes. Don’t you watch true crime documentaries?”

I laugh a little at his quick assessment of my ex. Okay, so he’s not going to make an appearance on any news shows, but I do wish I’d had a touch more self-preservation instinct where he’s concerned.

“My standards weren’t exactly high back then,” I say in the understatement of the century. “He showed up to dates, told me I was beautiful, and acted like I was important to him. That was pretty much enough to have me fawning all over him. You can overlook a lot of red flags when you need someone to love you, and I truly thought he did.” The admission irritates me, but now that I have some distance from my relationship with Tyler, I can see the reality of us.

What did I get out of it? Finally feeling valued and special after a lifetime of being forgotten and dismissed.

What did he get out of it? My adoration made him feel powerful.

“You were young,” Dom says sagely. “We’re all stupid then.”

Is Dominic giving me an out by excusing the poor choice I made or talking about his own poor choices? I’m not sure.

“Have some skeletons in your closet, too, do we?” I pry, trying to keep my voice light but sounding like a Nosy Nellie. “Girls whose hearts you broke? A trail of tearstained letters filled with promises to wait for you?”

Giving me a cocky smirk that says he knows why I’m asking, he sits back on his couch, packing away his anger like it never existed, which is fascinating. There’s no explosion, not a single expletive, it just turns offlike a light switch. Poof, gone. Is this what emotional regularity looks like? I’m not sure I’d know. Especially since I’m still feeling woozy from my own up and down roller coaster of an evening.

“Not really. I had a girlfriend in high school. We broke up after graduation because she went to school out of state. Dated a couple of women later on. It never panned out. Wasn’t the right time. I was too consumed with getting to the pros or staying in the pros. After that, I’ve kept things casual.”

“You’re a fuckboy after all,” I tease. “You should fit right in with the Blizzard.”

“Hell no,” he laughs, shaking his head. “But I understand that sometimes people have needs that aren’t being met, and as long as expectations are clearly communicated by all parties, there’s no harm in being what the other person needs you to be.”

That is a very fancy way of saying he’s had friends with benefits, but I don’t think we’re actually talking about his past relationships anymore. He’s offering to be whatever I want him to be and give me whatever I want. Whether that’s friendship or ... more.

“I don’t ...” The words I’ve said countless times before stall out in my throat.

“Date,” he finishes for me. “Especially hockey players. I know.” He winks, not taking my rejection personally.

Winking is ridiculous, completely comical as far as moves go, but on Dom, it looked sexy in a cute sorta way. Like he’s not taking things too seriously or pushing me into the deep end when I can barely tread water, much less swim.

Usually, I’m the type of woman who needs someone to literally sayI’m flirting with youif they want me to catch on. Otherwise, I tend to think,Wow, they’re nice,or more often,What do they want?But I’m certain that Dominic is flirting with me. What’s more, I’m also pretty sure I’m enjoying it. And that is a shock.

“They’re the worst,” I agree, though I don’t mean it quite as vehemently as I once did.

I stare at him through the screen for a long moment, reevaluating everything I’ve ever thought about hockey and hockey players. Dominic doesn’t seem to fit any of those stereotypes. If anything, he’s the antithesis of the stupid, violent, fuckboy image. He’s smart and observant, kind and thoughtful, and respectful of my boundaries. Why hasn’t someone snatched him up already?

Why aren’t I taking him up on his offer to help me ...any wayI’d like him to?