C8 Stirring desire

DOMINIC’S POV

Practice had been an utter nightmare. My body felt like a beat-up bike, the kind that just keeps going long after it should've quit. With pack duties, endless hockey practices, and mountains of schoolwork, I felt swamped. And if all that wasn't enough, there was the weird chick who got my number at the clinic the other day. She wouldn't leave me alone.

Then came the news from my uncle—he was dropping by the lair today. I hadn't seen the guy in five freakin years. All he ever did was throw cash into my account like I was some charity case. Not that I was mad, I’d gotten used to it. That's just how my life rolled since day one.

I shook my head, snapping out of my reverie, and pushed myself out of bed. No way was I going to be late for class. I was starting to feel a little better, though. My morning vanilla-caramel coffee was a godsend.

When I walked into the classroom, I scanned for my usual spot. But there she was—my eye-crossing bar girl—sitting with an empty seat next to her.

I headed in that direction, keeping my face blank if my life depended on it. Once our eyes crossed, she gave me that "What the hell are you doing?" look and I didn't give a crap.

I slid into the seat next to her, immediately wrapped in the sweet, sweet aroma of peaches and vanilla. Seriously, how could she smell so damn good at all times? "Here," I said, setting my coffee onto her desk.

"What's this?" she asked, cocking her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"It's a special."

"I know it's a special, why are you giving me this?"

"Consider it a little token for my apology."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, and I could tell she wanted me to go on. "I'm sorry, okay?" I said, taking a deep breath and forcing the words out. "I shouldn't have been a jerk, and I guess I could've been more polite."

"I shouldn't have held you so violently that night. That's not who I am, I swear.

"I really don't care if that's you or not, and I'm not interested in reliving that night."

"Okay, okay," I interrupted, desperate to steer the conversation away. "So… friends?"

She paused, staring at me like I'd just suggested we start a cult. That fake smile she shot my way was all kinds of revealing, her fists tightened for a second.

"You really think I'm an idiot, don't you?" she accused, her tone low.

“What? What are you talking about?" I returned, warily surprised.

"I can't be friends with you. Ever.”she said flatly.

I couldn’t help but smirk, this girl was genuinely nuts, and honestly? I kinda dug her brand of crazy. “So you’re just gonna hate me forever?”

She fell silent, her expression unreadable.

"You're not saying anything.

"That's because I don't have anything to say," she snapped, louder this time.

I raised my hands in mock surrender and burst out laughing. Well, that settled it for me, she definitely looked pissed. I turned to the lecturer who was just walking in, leaned back in my seat, and spread my legs like a true gentleman.

As the class wore on, I couldn't help but notice her stealing glances at me. I didn't mind, I was doing the same thing.

"Your assignment, which was due this week but has now been postponed to next week, I hope you're all prepared.” The lecturer said.

That hit me like a ton of bricks—that one was about the poem. The second he said it, we locked eyes for a heartbeat before she quickly looked away, focusing on the front.

When the lecturer left, bargirl started going through her books and making corrections and what not.

"What's up man?" I was brought back from my thoughts by a familiar voice.

"Hey, man," I replied, giving Aiden our usual handshake.

He looked over behind me. "Hey," he said, waving at her. "I'm Aiden." She nodded awkwardly.

"You coming to practice today?"

"Nah, not today. Got some important stuff to handle."I replied.

"Alright, man. See you later."

We finished up with our usual good-bye shake. I turned back around in time to see the girl behind the bar gathering her things.

"You leaving already?" I asked.

She gave a furrowed brow glance in my direction, then turned and walked out without uttering a word.

After my bath, I heard a knock on my door. I opened it, and there she was—Abigail.

"Hey," I muttered as she stepped inside. "Hi," she replied softly, walking slowly toward me. I couldn’t help but take in the sight of her—a crop top and white shorts that fit her like a second skin.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Why are you here?" My eyes narrowed, but my tone stayed neutral.

She didn't say it right away, but she stopped in front of me, her face close so I could feel the heat rising off her skin. "I felt bad about earlier," she said, the rough quality of her voice low, even a little tentative. Her hand rose, and her fingers brushed over my chest, sending a shiver over my skin before I could help it.

She tiptoed up, closing space between us, her breath brushing my neck just before her lips found my jaw. The kiss was soft, deliberate, like she was testing a reaction. "I want you," she breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

Her lips moved to mine, slow at first, like she wanted me to feel every moment, every inch of her intentions.

A loud horn honked outside, yanking me out of the haze as if in a hostile, openhanded slap.

I sat up on the couch, the dream vanished as reality hit. I rubbed a hand over my face still feeling the ghost of her touch. A glance out of the window confirmed it, my uncle's car was parked outside.

I got up, shaking my head, and could have sworn I still felt the ghost of her touch. "Now I'm dreaming about her?" I muttered, pushing it away.

I squared my shirt out, cleared my head, and stepped outside to take on my uncle. Whatever that dream was, it needed to stay in the past.