Kiss Me Tonight: Put A Ring On It

by Luis, Maria

  I smile up at him, my heart so full that I fear it might burst. “Deal.”

  31

  Dominic

  If there’s one thing I learned on Put A Ring On It, it’s that Nick Stamos takes his job very seriously.

  When he and Mina pull up to my house on Friday afternoon, it’s in a white van with Stamos Restoration and Co. printed across the side in blue lettering. Of all the guys I met on the show, Nick is the only one I talk to regularly.

  The bastard is a pretty boy through and through, though I doubt he sees himself that way. He works with his hands for a living, a blue-collar worker all the way through, and if he had even a little of the same temperament as the rest of the show’s contestants, he’d have ditched his home-improvement act and signed with some of the modeling agencies that I know would pick him up in a heartbeat.

  But that’s not Nick’s speed. Not even a little bit.

  Slipping my hands into the front pockets of my worn jeans, I bump Topher in the shoulder. “You ready to put your mouth where your shitty driving is, kid?”

  From the other side of Topher, Timmy pipes up, “I thought the saying goes, are you ready to put your money where your mouth is?”

  “It would go like that,” Levi’s son grumbles good-naturedly, “if I had any cash.”

  To my left, Harry throws up a hand. “Wait. I thought we were getting paid for today’s gig?”

  I hook an arm around the football whisperer’s neck and scratch his head with my knuckles, noogie-style. “You and Tim get money. Not-Chris on the other hand . . .”

  Topher groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Coach, I’m sorry I lied about the Chris thing. I just thought it sounded cooler! I seriously thought my real name was Christopher. I panicked and—”

  “Pointed the finger at me.” I nod, releasing Harry so I can repeat the process all over again with the lanky kid who looks nothing like his mother save for his blue eyes. “I don’t blame you, kid. Your mother is a scary person.” I drop my voice to a mock-whisper. “I can handle it when she punches me.”

  His mouth drops open. “She punched you?”

  Levi has done a lot to me. She’s kissed me with so much passion behind her touch I feel eviscerated, she’s put me in my place when I turn broody, she’s . . . Well, it’s probably not a good idea to think about her going down on me when I’m talking with her son.

  I squeeze Topher’s shoulder. “She has not, in fact, punched me though I’m positive she considered it when you rammed into my truck.”

  “Scraped,” he interjects earnestly, “I scraped your truck. Big difference.”

  “What the hell happened to your truck, DaSilva?” Nick asks, sauntering toward us with Mina’s hand clasped in his. “It looks like it fought a war with a bear and lost.”

  Chuckling low, I amble forward to greet my friends. “It fought a war with a Topher and lost.” I grip Nick’s hand, slapping him on the back in a quick hug. Then turn to his pink-haired fiancée, Mina. Her dark eyes flash up at me, and though I never met her before a few months ago, our friendship was instant. She leaps up at me, and I catch her around the waist in a twirling hug. When I set her down, I turn to the three teenage boys who are waiting to be introduced. “That one,” I murmur, pointing to Topher’s lanky frame, “is a Topher.”

  He smiles weakly, shrugging his narrow shoulders. “I mean, at least I won? Maybe I need a medal or something.”

  “How about a hammer?” I suggest.

  “You know, that works too.”

  Grinning at him, I quickly introduce my friends to my players. Each one of them is gracious and open. Tim shakes Nick’s hand and then shyly hugs Mina. Topher, the most outgoing out of the three, hugs them both like he’s known them his entire life. And Harry, who’s been staying with his Aunt Gloria while the cops search for his mom down in Portland, loses the frown as soon as he sees all of the power tools Nick hauls out of the van.

  “These are so cool!” he exclaims, swinging a sledgehammer around like he’s on the verge of joining the Celtic Olympics and hurling tree trunks across a field. “It looks like Thor’s hammer.”

  Mina laughs. “I can see it.” When Nick peers over at her, she cocks her head playfully. “What, you know I love me some Chris Hemsworth.”

  “So long as you love me more,” he tells her, ignoring the equipment in his arms in favor of bending over to plant a kiss on her mouth.

  When Nick catches me eyeing them, he points the load in his arms in my direction. “What? You aren’t going to tell us that we’re sickening?”

  Maybe I would have a month ago—before I met a blond-haired football coach who called me an asshole. “Does it make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I do?”

  “I felt all warm and fuzzy inside when I saw Natasha in a bikini the other day,” Topher cuts in, leaning down to wrap his hands around the wheelbarrow’s wooden arms. Straightening to his full height, he looks over at me. “I think she has a boyfriend though.”

  My tongue suddenly feels thick in my mouth. “I-I—”

  “If she didn’t have a boyfriend, I’d want to ask her out,” he continues, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m at a total loss for words.

  If he was just another player on the team, I’d slap him on the back and call it a day. But this is Levi’s son, her baby boy, and I don’t know whether to bubble-wrap him so he can’t even see this Natasha girl ever again or dump him on his mom’s taco welcome mat and tell her I’m out of my element.

  As though sensing my internal struggle, Mina brushes past me to bump Topher over so she can grasp one of the wheelbarrow’s arms, leaving him to hold the other. “What do you think about Natasha’s friends? Any single cuties?”

  “Well, there is this one girl . . .”

  Together they move up my driveway with Tim and Harry tagging along behind them.

  A hand comes down on my shoulder, startling me.

  “I’ve never seen you speechless before.” Nick. Right.

  With my eye still on Topher, I bend and grab the tarp we’ll be laying down over my floor while we go to town demolishing the walls. “His mom would kill him if she heard him talking about a girl’s bikini top.”

  “Who’s his mom?”

  “Levi.” I don’t know why I fail to introduce her as Aspen other than the fact that her first name has slowly begun to feel like my way of connecting with her on a level no one else does. “She’s my coworker. Boss.” I shake my head. “She’s the head coach for London High. She lives next door.”

  Nick’s head swivels as he looks between Levi’s cute Cape Cod-style home to the 1950’s ranch to the left of my house. “Cape Cod? She’s got good taste.”

  Trust the home-restoration guy to make judgments based on how much he likes a house. Granted, he wouldn’t be wrong about Levi. She tastes fantastic too.

  “You should see the inside of the place. She’s got this nautical theme going on, and it fits her personality to perfection.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nod. “She’s out with her sister right now, but when she gets back I’ll see if she can give you a tour. We could ask Topher, but . . . he’s on punishment duty. You know, the whole bear-claw thing.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten it fixed yet.”

  “Just been busy.” Not that I haven’t had the time to bring it to the shop. I have, I just . . . haven’t gone. For whatever reason. “Figure when I bring in the truck, I’ll do Levi’s Honda next.”

  “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you.”

  Not a question.

  Slinging the heavy tarps over one shoulder, I motion for him to hand me the remaining bucket of tools we’ll need for demolition day. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  Nick snorts under his breath. “Since when are you repping the gentleman title?”

  I slide a glance his way. “You can’t be the only good guy around here, man.”

  “Are you a good guy?”

  “Fuck no. But . . .” I kick my
chin toward Levi’s house. “She makes me feel like I could be. Does that answer your question?”

  “Not even close.” The van’s doors slam shut, and then he’s at my side, my own Greek fairy-godfather looking to sprinkle some romantic fairy magic on me. “You love her yet?”

  My lungs threaten to pop and deflate right there in my chest. Choking on nothing but the salty breeze from the bay, I glower at my best friend. “Jesus, don’t ask me that.”

  “Because you’re scared the answer is yes?”

  With Topher and the other boys laughing inside my house with Mina, I want to tell Nick the truth: that I’ve never loved another person, not even Savannah Rose, and I have zero experience with the emotion. All I know is that I’m willing to do anything to keep Levi from kicking me to the curb.

  If love is fearing that she’ll send me packing, then yeah . . . I’m fucking terrified.

  But not scared enough to walk away from her and Topher and this small coastal town that feels like home in a way nothing else ever has.

  32

  Aspen

  A knock on my open front door has me yanking my head up from where I’m packing my bag for today’s Wildcats photoshoot and heading to answer it.

  Mina.

  It has to be. Topher spent all last night talking about how awesome Dominic’s Boston friends are, including the pink-haired Mina who advised him to, and I quote, “Ask the shy girl out in his friend group.”

  Sweeping my gaze over her, I take in her vibrant hair and olive skin, along with the funky tie-dye T-shirt she’s wearing and the frayed cut-off shorts. She looks hip and sassy and everything I used to be before I married Rick.

  Offering her a grin, I wipe my hands on my boring khaki shorts. “Hey! You must be Mina.”

  Her features warm with a genuine smile. “And you must be Levi, Dom’s girlfriend.” I must visibly make an oh-shit face, because she waves me off with a laugh. “He didn’t call you that, but Nick and I know him way too well. He’s smitten.”

  “I . . .”

  Before I can even prepare myself for it, she wraps her arms around me in a tight hug like we’ve known each other for years. “I’ve honestly never seen him smile so much. And, based on the amount of times your name came up in conversation yesterday, I figure you’re the reason why.”

  I don’t even know what to say, other than to pull a total teenage-girl move and beg her to tell me everything. Shameless? Absolutely.

  As though sensing my inner turmoil—do I embarrass myself completely by demanding the details or pretend I’m cool, slick, and unfazed—she releases me, only to whip out her phone. “Nick and I kept count. Thirty-seven times.” She shoves the phone in my face, and sure enough, there are multiple rows of tally marks drawn out in virtual pink ink. “Don’t mind us, but we’re totally taking bets today.”

  “On what?”

  Her smile is sly. “How long Dominic lasts before he cracks and kisses you.” Pocketing her phone again, she takes in the entryway of my house. “Nick put his money on six hours, but I figured I’d come over and do a little re-con. You know, ask how long he goes without laying one on you when you’re together.”

  Mina’s frank attitude is almost mesmerizing. I thought I was ballsy, but, holy crap, she takes the prize for sure. Sensing a kindred spirit, I finish zipping my backpack before slinging it over one shoulder. “When we’re alone? Five minutes. If we’re around the team and he’s trying to be professional? We’re looking at an hour, tops. He tends to get creative.”

  He’s kissed me behind the bleachers during practice.

  He’s followed me into the girl’s bathroom in the school, corralling me into a stall so he can sneak a kiss without worrying about prying eyes.

  When we took Harry and Topher out for dinner the day after I picked him up from Kevin’s house, Dominic asked me to help him pick a song on the jukebox, just so he could stand behind me, his hands greedily fisting my hips, and grind his erection into my ass.

  The man is absolutely shameless . . . and I live for the excitement of watching him wrack his brain to figure out ways to get me alone.

  It’s the most fun I’ve had in years.

  Conscious of the time, I ask Mina if she wants a ride to the first stop of the day and she takes me up on it, no questions asked. Along the way, she fills me in on how Dominic asked her to take care of the boys’ hair for the photoshoot.

  He’s thought of everything.

  The mapped-out stops throughout town. Cookies and Joe Diner. The Ferris wheel down by the pier. The same overlook he brought me to up on Cadillac Mountain. The sandy beach just around the corner from the tail end of Main Street.

  The boys’ parents have been assigned designated spots to meet Dominic for the photos, and for the kids whose parents can’t make it today, I’ve taken on the role of chauffeur. I may be the head coach, but Dominic . . . he’s as good as I am at what we do, if not better. I never would have thought to include the town as the backdrop for the calendar. I never would have asked local businesses to sponsor the project and agree to sell the calendar at their shops.

  That hustle is all Dominic.

  When Mina and I pull up at Cookies and Joe Diner’s tin façade, I park the car and turn to my pink-haired passenger. “This is going to sound like a totally random question, but when you said Nick . . . would that be Nick, like the one from Put A Ring On It?”

  Mina’s dark eyes zero in on my face. “You watch the show?”

  “Sometimes.” I shrug, feeling my cheeks burn. I’m sure if I touched my fingers to my skin they would come away singed. “It’s a train wreck that I couldn’t help but turn on when it first started last month.”

  “I’m guessing you stopped watching right around the time you met Dom?”

  Guilty. So, so guilty. “It’s not nearly as much fun now, though everyone in town eats it up. They even have a fantasy league going down every Wednesday night at the Golden Fleece. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the town is in on it.”

  Her lips form a round O. “Seriously? Oh, my God, that is awesome. And totally genius!”

  I’m sure Shawn thinks so. From what I understand, he’s the one that pulled the whole thing together. The Golden Fleece is probably raking in thousands of dollars every week, all because Londoners can’t resist watching one of their own up on TV. After weeks of putting his blood, sweat, and tears into the high school football team, Dominic has gone from out-of-town celebrity to a London transplant, like many others who have moved here over the years.

  Plus, when I played for Boston College, all my parents’ friends put together a betting-pool website, just so they’d have a personal stake in me winning games. Londoners are loyal to their core—and if they like you, they bet on you. Dominic has been welcomed into the fold, London-style.

  Scraping together what confidence I have, I ask, “Have you ever . . . met her? Savannah Rose, I mean.”

  “Savannah?” Mina pulls her pink hair over one shoulder. “No. I mean, I guess I could if I wanted to. Nick’s on good terms with her. I’m sure we’ll speak at the reunion show in August—I totally plan to go. Between us, I sort of live for the gossip rags.”

  Will Dominic bring me to the reunion show? Are we even that far along in our relationship? We certainly aren’t engaged—or even dating—the way Nick and Mina are. Shoving down the stupid, useless insecurities, I slip the keys from the ignition. “Thank you. It’s stupid to even ask; I just figured . . . you dated Nick after the show wrapped up filming, and I thought, maybe, you might have some—”

  “Advice?” At my small nod, Mina laughs softly. “Girl, we might not know each other but Dom? Maybe he hasn’t told you yet—probably because he doesn’t even know how to admit it to himself—but he adores you.” She points to her phone as she pops the door open. “Thirty-seven times. Thirty-seven! Also, if you want to try and plant a kiss on him sometime around noon today that would be perfect.”

  I laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

/>   * * *

  In the end, Nick wins the Kiss Bet.

  Thanks to time spent shuffling kids around from location to location, I don’t have the chance to catch up with Dominic until hours later. It’s the Ferris wheel photo op, the last stop of the day, and as I climb out of my car with Harry getting out of the passenger’s side, my gaze immediately searches for a Hulk-sized man wearing a backward ball cap.

  “Oh, there he is!” Harry loops a backpack over his shoulder, then jogs toward the group of people standing at the base of the Ferris wheel.

  Dominic turns, a camera held in his hands, and I’ll be lying if I say my heart doesn’t thump a little too fast at the sight of him. He’s dressed in his customary “Dominic Uniform.” Dark everywhere, jeans, T-shirt, that hat he wears to death. Though, when I stroll closer, it’s hard to miss the tired lines creasing his rugged face.

  He’s running himself ragged.

  The way he is now—intense and super-focused—might as well be a replica of the Dominic that trained with the Bucs and came out with two Super Bowl rings and what feels like a gazillion MVP awards. Except that we’re coaching high school ball, not the pro’s, and this calendar is supposed to be fun for everyone involved, not only the kids.

  Glancing to my right, where the Ferris wheel’s longtime operator, Mr. McKerron, is sitting with his head bowed, like he’s reading something or sneaking in a nap on the job, I scurry over and put my hands on the booth. “Mr. McKerron!”

  The sun glistens off his shiny bald head as he looks up at me. Gradually, a slow smile grows behind his bushy, gray beard. Arthur McKerron can’t be a day under seventy-five. “Well, look-ee who we have here! Aspen Levi. I haven’t seen you since you were yay-high”—he holds up a flat hand, leveling it off at his waist—“and crying your little heart out because you were terrified to go up on The Monster.”