“And you’re not dating anyone?” Dom asked, casual as can be. Except something about his posture suggested that it wasn’t an entirely casual question.
“I mean, dating is a strong term for it,” I said loftily. “I go on a lot of dates but they’re all isolated. Never the same guy twice, right?”
“That sounds exhausting,” Dom admitted with a shy smile. “I can barely summon the energy to open Grindr, and when I do I always get inundated with messages. I usually end up closing the app before I can even set up a single date.”
I laughed, imagining Dom reading message after message propositioning him, and then spending the evening by himself watching Netflix. It sounded kind of nice, actually.
“The trick is to look at it like it’s a work task,” I said seriously.
“Oh?”
“So, like, I make videos about sleeping around, right? And you know how much work goes into producing videos…I have to plot out what I’m going to talk about, then record it, then edit it, et cetera,” I said. Dom was nodding along, his eye bright with interest. “In order to have fresh new content, I need to go on a lot of dates, or put time into doing a lot of research and collaboration. So, if I’m planning to make a video based on personal experience, I usually go on a date or two leading up to it so that I’ll have some new ideas. I don’t consider the dates themselves to be work, obviously, but setting up a date is kind of work.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” Dom said warmly. “I guess if Grindr was something I kind of clocked in and out of, it might feel less intimidating.”
“That’s how it is for me,” I said. “Do you wanna stop for an espresso?”
Dom glanced across the street at the little café I was pointing to. It was classic Paris, little tables and woven chairs spilling out onto the patio. There was a bright red awning, and the building itself was a three-story art nouveau with apartments above the café.
“That sounds great actually,” Dom said. “I don’t want to lose my momentum. I feel like once I give into jet lag I’m going to sleep for about twelve hours.”
“What a mood,” I said, grinning. “I always try not to nap or anything when I get to a new time zone. If we can make it to bedtime, we should wake up at a reasonable hour tomorrow and be on Central European time.”
“Should we make a pact?” Dom held out his pinky to me and I stifled a laugh. “No sleeping until at least ten o’clock?”
I tangled my pinky with his, sealing the pinky promise. It was such a whimsical little moment, and my heart started thudding hard in my chest. I was so utterly charmed by Dom, even after just an hour in his presence. This wasn’t the heavy, vicious attraction that came with no-strings-attached sex. It was lighter, more delicate, and entirely foreign to me.
We sat down at one of the tables and a server came out almost immediately. We ordered a pair of espressos and then, as an afterthought, a couple of croissants as well.
“I feel like I should warn you,” I said seriously, “that this croissant is going to change your life.”
“Yeah? Have you been to this café before?” Dom asked.
I shook my head. “Bread in France is always phenomenal. It’s always hard to go back to American bread when I head home. You’ll see, this is a moment you’ll never forget.”
“God,” said Dom, wide-eyed and happy. “I had no idea such a monumental moment was upon us. I feel like I should’ve prepared for this.”
I waved his words away. “You’ll be fine. I’m a bread connoisseur, I’ll guide you through this.”
The server reappeared briefly to deposit our food in front of us, then disappeared back into the café.
“It certainly looks amazing,” Dom said, picking up his croissant and examining it closely. “God, it’s so flakey.”
“Heh, things you want in a pastry but not in a guy, am I right?” I said, laughing.
“Oh my god,” laughed Dom. “You’re not wrong.”
He tore off a bit of the croissant and tossed it into his mouth. I watched intently as his eyes grew even wider.
“What did I tell you?” I said.
“Holy shit,” said Dom. “That is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life. Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I tried to warn you,” I pointed out.
“You should’ve tried harder, Jesus, this is blowing my mind,” Dom rambled.
I reached out to put a hand on his arm, desperate for some kind of contact with this amazing human. My mind began to wander as we sipped at our espresso.
His joy is so genuine, I thought, completely charmed. He must be incredible to sleep with. Imagine all of that curiosity and delight being applied to a partner.
I pushed the thought away almost as soon as it formed.
I wasn’t in the market for a partner. Hell, I wasn’t even in the market for date that took place during the daytime. But something about Dom was just clicking. His presence felt so right, I wanted to spend the entire week asking him questions and listening to his answers. And—more frightening than anything else—I had a feeling he would be game for that as well.
“Tell me more about your life,” I found myself asking. The words just fell out of my goddamn mouth without my permission. Fuck.
“Well, I live in Seattle,” he said. “My friends and I rent this massive lavender Victorian that has all these cool built-ins and lots of nooks and crannies.”
“That sounds cool,” I said, hoping he would go on.
“It’s really neat. I moved there with my roommates from college, and four of us are still living there. My friend Porter moved across the street with his boyfriend last year after they got back from touring.”
“Touring?” I asked.
“Yeah, his boyfriend is Levi Montgomery,” said Dom.
“As in the Levi Montgomery?” I gasped. “Jesus Christ, Serotonin Sindrome is like my number one guilty pleasure band.”
“Uh huh, Levi’s a real chill guy,” Dom went on. “I’ve actually made a couple of videos with him. This is on the down low, but he’s working on a solo album at the moment. Kind of a departure from the pop-punk thing he does most of the time, I think it’s like more acoustic with some folk influence.”
“Oh my fucking god,” I said, my croissant dangling from my limp fingers.
Dom hung out with the guy whose songs were the soundtrack to my twenties. I was trying to play it cool—I definitely didn’t want Dom to think I was hanging out with him because of his connection to a pop-punk icon—but I was kind of losing my shit.
“Give me a call if you’re ever in Seattle and we can all go grab a drink,” Dom said. “Unless Levi’s touring, obviously.”
“I absolutely goddamn will,” I said, pulling out my phone and handing it to Dom. “Put your number in and I’ll send you my contact info.”
“Whoa, getting your digits already? I had no idea I was so smooth,” Dom said with a wink.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get too excited, I’m not exactly stingy with who I give it out to.”
“I refuse to let you ruin this moment for me,” Dom said cheerfully.
I rushed to change the subject before I could start thinking about how fucking wonderful he was again.
“So there’s Porter and Levi, who are your other friends?” I asked.
“Well, there’s Leo. He’s a stoner type, very laid back, super slutty. I think you’d like him a lot, actually. He’s been talking a lot about backpacking Europe lately, so I’m hoping he can make that happen,” said Dom.
“I’d be happy to give him some suggestions of places to go,” I said.
“He’d love that, I’m sure,” said Dom. “Then there’s Finley, he’s kind of the one we all look out for. He’s a total ball of energy, just constantly on the verge of getting himself into sticky situations. He teaches yoga and Zumba classes, and spends a lot of time running his mouth. But he also gets all of us outside our comfort zone, which is super important.”
“It sounds like the group
is pretty well balanced,” I pointed out.
Dom nodded, that fond smile sliding back onto his face.
“Yeah, I think so. My best friend also lives with us. His name is Carson and he’s…well he’s basically my brother at this point. He comes to my mom’s house for holidays and she thinks of him as her second kid,” explained Dom.
“He doesn’t have family of his own?” I asked without thinking. Dom’s expression changed immediately, something sad and fragile appearing for a split second before it faded away again.
God dammit, Smith, don’t be a fucking moron, I thought.
“Carson’s family…isn’t around anymore,” Dom said carefully. “There was an incident while we were in college and, well…we’re his family now. I actually thought about skipping this trip, because it was the anniversary of all that stuff going down. But he told me to get my ass on that plane, so here I am.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say. Questions were piling up in my mind. Why doesn’t he see his family anymore? Are they estranged? Dead? But it wasn’t my place to ask, and Dom seemed to be putting a lot of effort into not telling me exactly what had happened.
“That’s cool that you’re so close,” I said, trying to get the conversation back on track.
“It’s great,” said Dom. “I’ve been really lucky to have both an incredible mom and a really fantastic group of friends. I think the world was trying to make up for shafting me on the dad front, you know? Like, my mom has no idea who my dad is, so it’s not like I was abandoned by him or anything. But I’ve really managed to find a lot of wonderful people who have become my family. It’s never felt like there was a parent missing from my life or anything.”
I nodded, feeling a zap of jealousy. “Sometimes I feel like I would’ve been better off with one attentive parents rather than two who were never around,” I said.
“Do your parents work a lot?” Dom asked.
“All the fucking time,” I said, rolling my eyes. “They’re the kind of people who had a kid because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but they were always happier at work than they were spending time with me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dom said, looking me dead in the eyes. “That must have been really tough.”
There was so much compassion there, in his gaze and his tone, that I felt something strange going on in my chest and behind my eyes. I was so full, almost bursting with his attention, his genuine care for me. We were strangers, but our connection was so unbelievably strong. I wanted to cry, which was a million percent out of character for me. I had never cried over my parents in my life, and I had certainly never cried just because someone said something compassionate.
“It’s not a big deal,” I said, willing myself to stay composed.
Dom was getting under my skin so quickly and completely, and I was helpless to stop it.
What the actual fuck?
3
Dom
The conversation with Smith at the café was utterly surreal.
Firstly, there was an ease to our banter that surprised me. I wasn’t exactly a closed-off person, but it generally took me a while to form any kind of trust. Part of that was just the way I was wired, and part of it was because Harris had messed me up so profoundly.
Secondly, Smith was devastatingly gorgeous. The more we learned about one another, the more physically attractive I found him. His slim build, his short stature, his long eyelashes and the elegant curve of his neck…it was all intoxicating. There was a lovely energy that shone through when he spoke and spilled out in the movement of his limbs. I wanted him.
Thirdly, I was still reeling from our unconventional introduction to one another. We had met organically—a rarity in the world of dating apps—but the circumstances had been so bizarre. I was beyond thrilled to play at being his boyfriend, and then his husband, but I had to admit that it was like something out of a Lifetime movie.
“Hey,” I said, reaching out across the table to rest my hand atop Smith’s. My heart was instantly in my throat as our skin made contact.
Smith looked up at me from beneath his eyelashes, a small, intimate smile on his face. “Hey yourself.”
I grinned, leaving my hand where it was.
“Listen…I just want you to know that I’m having a really great time,” I said. “This, uh, isn’t how I expected my first afternoon in Paris to go.”
He nodded and said, “I wasn’t expecting this either. That’s kinda the magic of existence, right? That we can end up somewhere we never would’ve imagined at the start of the day.”
“I know,” I said warmly. “I wish I could do this all the time. Have adventures, meet new people—”
“Get mistaken for a French honeymooning couple?” Smith supplied, laughing.
“Seriously,” I said, lifting my espresso and draining the last of it. Smith gazed off into space for a moment, and I watched the beautiful play of emotions across his face. Then, all at once, he straightened up and shot me a look full of mischief.
“What’s going through your head?” I asked, nervous and excited and filled with an aching anticipation.
“I was just thinking,” said Smith, “what if this doesn’t have to end? At least not tonight?”
“I don’t follow,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
Smith sighed, chewing the last bite of his croissant thoughtfully. “What if we just…you know, run with the whole mistaken identity thing? We can be Jean-Paul and Albert for the night. Or…ourselves, I guess, if that’s easier. But we can keep this momentum going.”
My heart thudded in my chest.
“You mean keep pretending that we’re a couple?” I asked, blushing.
He shrugged, playing at indifference, but I could see the excitement in his eyes. He wanted to spend a romantic night in Paris with me, I knew it in every fiber of my being. For all his nonchalance and affectation, he really was kind of transparent.
“Only if you want to,” he said airily. “I can always just take off on my own if you’re getting tired of me.”
“Uh, yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” I said seriously. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Relief flickered across his face. “Well, in that case I think we should take advantage of the fucking honeymoon suite we scored.”
“Bring it,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“I’m going to be the best fake husband you’ve ever had,” Smith said as he stood up, throwing some money down on the table and hauling me to my feet.
“To be fair, it’s not like there’s a lot of stiff competition in that category,” I pointed out.
Smith snorted, tangling his fingers with my own and pulling me down a crowded street. “I’m pretty sure stiff will factor into this in about thirty minutes.”
My stomach clenched and a wave of arousal broke over me.
This is actually going to happen, I thought, my pulse speeding up. I get to sleep with this gorgeous man.
The next several minutes were a whirl of cobblestones and gorgeous architecture and dodging our way past all the tourists who were wandering at a painfully slow pace. God, it was so nice to have a beautiful boy leading me through the city. He neatly navigated street after street until suddenly we were spit out right in front of the hotel once more.
Smith and I nearly sprinted past the front desk, half afraid that someone might have figured out that we weren’t Albert and Jean-Paul Chalamet.But if anybody tried to call out to us, we were too wrapped up in each other to notice.
The moment the elevator door closed behind us, Smith had me up against a wall. He leaned up on his toes, closing the distance between us, and pulled me into a mind-melting kiss. I opened to him immediately, pulling him impossibly closer by the hips and sighing into his mouth as he slid one of his thighs between both of my own. I could feel his cock hardening, pressing insistently against me, and I let out a little whimper. The clothes hadn’t even started coming off and already I was a goner.
“Come on,” he growled when t
he elevator reached our level, towing me down the hall forcefully.
There was something incredibly hot about being manhandled by someone who was so much smaller than I was. Smith commanded attention, he was so sure and steady even as we were unraveling together, and I was grateful to have an anchor in the storm of arousal. Loathe as I was to admit it, I was getting weak at the knees just from making out. I could only imagine how delirious I would be once we really got down to business.
We nearly crashed into the suite, the door slamming shut behind us, and then Smith was dragging me into another kiss. God, I could’ve kissed him for an eternity. Every flick of his tongue, every bold nip of his teeth, they struck me right to the core.
This man is going to change my life, I thought wildly.
By the time we reached the bedroom, I was practically begging him for more. I wanted his hands on my hips, digging in and leaving bruises. I wanted a constellation of hickies across my chest, the obscene stretch of fingers in my ass, the release of being held down and fucked hard, trusting the man on top of me so goddamn deeply.
And I did trust Smith.
Call it instinct, or intuition, or stupidity. But I trusted him already, after less than a day in his presence. I know that he would take care of me, would honor my boundaries and steer me safely to pleasure. Beyond that, I trusted him to be a decent guy after we were done fucking.
He’d already explained that he never slept with the same guy twice—I wasn’t getting my hopes up. Logically, at least, I knew that this would be a one off, maybe a weekend-long thing. But in the back of my mind I was already imagining Smith being so infatuated with me that he decided to break his rule, to open himself up to the possibility of something more with me. I knew, at least, that he would be willing to talk it out with me, be honest and decent and open.
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