Love Is Crazy (Love Is… #1) (5 page)

“Fine,” I say, sitting back on my heel and putting my hands on my hips. “But don’t get your hopes up because I know all the tricks.” I have to raise my voice to be heard over all the commotion coming from the peanut gallery.

Dominic smiles and takes his time setting up a trick, asking for the supplies he needs. He’s so completely in control of the situation, pausing to make jokes to both the camera and the people gathered around him. The bar has gone completely quiet. He’s got each and every patron in The Bad Apple in his hand.

I know the instant he starts asking for the things he needs that I know how to solve this trick. It’s an obscure one, I’ll give him that. But come on. I’m the kind of girl who looks up bartending tricks and practices in her living room. Of course I’m going to know how to solve this one. What I don’t know is if I’ll admit it. For one thing, there’s so much expectation in the room right now, I almost hate to ruin the spell he’s cast. What kind of a letdown will it be after this huge set up when I just solve the problem without flinching? I almost hate to mess with his mojo.

But the other thing is, I sure wouldn’t mind a good reason to kiss him. I mean, he’s hot. He’s charming. He’s talented. He might be as close to famous as I’ll ever get and he’s not going to be here very long. It might be the one cool thing I do in my whole life.

I wander out from around the bar, studying the trick he set up, pretending like I need to see it at a different angle while I decide if I’m going to solve it or pretend like I don’t have a clue. The crowds part for me, but not much. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this small or this powerful in all my life, surrounded by people much bigger than me, all waiting to see what I’ll do next.

I take one look at Dominic and bite my lip and in that moment I know what I’m going to do. I’m not the kind of girl who needs to look dumb in order to get people to like me. I light a match and solve his trick while the bar erupts in a cacophony of surprise. The Fish looks a little too delighted in the outcome while Dominic shakes his head.

Just as regret settles hard and heavy on my heart—what was I thinking? I could totally be kissing him right now?—Dominic stands up. The bar goes quiet. His eyes are on my lips. He takes my face gently in his hands and pulls me close as he brings his mouth to mine.

There’s a moment where I’m shocked. Just standing there with my arms slack at my sides, aware of the hoots and hollers shattering the silence around me. But then I taste him, his tongue darting out to caress my bottom lip. I take a deep breath in through my nose, my lungs filling and pressing my breasts into his torso. My hands act without my permission, winding their way up his back, balling his t-shirt into my fists.

Dominic pulls away, his eyes still holding mine hostage. “Sorry,” he says, loud enough for people to hear. “I’m a sore loser.”

Struck by inspiration, my mouth operates before I have time to think, taking orders from my body instead of my head. “That’s okay. But now you know you have to take me out tomorrow night to earn that kiss you just stole from me.” I wait a few breathless seconds while the bar goes silent again. The Fish zooms in like he knows what the hell he’s doing with a camera, right in for a close-up of Dominic’s reply.

“Sure, DoLo. I thought you’d never ask.”

I
’m
on the phone with Chelsea and she is not pleased. “Come on, Dakota. Maya’s clammed up on me. She won’t even look at me when I say your name. Something’s going on, she knows about it, and it’s not good.”

Damn Maya and her utter inability to lie. Hell, I didn’t even need her to
lie
. I just needed her to not say anything. I should have known better than to talk to her about Dominic. The fact that I’ve got Chelsea going all bossy big sister at me over the phone while I try to get ready for my date is my own fault, really.

Although
date
may not be the best word for what’s happening today. I hear that word and I think about getting dressed up. Wearing a kick ass pair of shoes and a flirty little dress. I think dinner and drinks and dancing. You know, going to a place with people and energy that will give us a chance to talk and flirt.

But Dominic is picking me up in the middle of the day. One o’clock in the afternoon to be precise. And he said to wear ‘sensible shoes’ and comfortable clothing. Sensible shoes? I mean, come on. What is he? An old woman? Who the fuck says
sensible shoes
?

I put Chelsea on speaker phone and drop the phone on the bed while I pull on a tank top and a pair of shorts. I grab a light zip up jacket just in case. It’s August in Ohio, so that means it’s hot and humid, but I’m not always a big fan of air conditioning—at least not when it’s set to
arctic
like so many businesses like to do. If we go inside anywhere, I’m sure to freeze.

“Dakota.”

“Yeah?” I look down at my chest. Is that too much cleavage? I put on a push-up bra. You know, just in case. But with the girls pushed up so high and the neck of my tank dipping so low…

“Will you
please
take me off speaker phone and talk to me?” Chelsea actually sounds worried. Like she just found out I was going bridge jumping with my friends. And I know what she sounds like when that happens because, uh, that actually happened. With a sigh and a smile, I do as she asks.

“Yes, Chelsea darling? You have my full and complete attention.” I head into the bathroom and check my makeup, sucking in my lips and dabbing at the corner of my eye to wipe away any renegade eyeliner.

“You met a guy on
Instagram?
” she asks, so incredulous and so relieved to finally be able to ask me the burning question of the day. “How is that even a thing?”

I laugh and grab my mascara out of my makeup box. “No.” I say it like that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Like she’s a fool for thinking it. Like the next thing I say is totally going to make her feel better. “I met him at The Bad Apple.”

It doesn’t make her feel any better. “The Bad Apple?” Chelsea has gone supersonic, her voice squeaking and squawking in warning like the tornado sirens in an elementary school.

Shit.

I drop the mascara and turn away from the mirror, perching on the counter next to the sink. “Wait, wait, wait. Before you get all frantic about things. Yes, I met him at The Bad Apple—”

“But what about—”

I don’t give her a chance to even ask her question because I know just what to say to make her feel better. “But just listen. I met him at the bar. And before you get all up in arms about the rest, no, he doesn’t have a house or a car, but it’s for his job. Shades of gray, Chelsea, not black and white. This guy doesn’t really fall onto your scale the way you think he does. None of this matters.”

She sighs and I can hear years of worry for an errant little sister wrapped up in the sound. Years of trying to solve problems for me that she’s certain will blow up in my face. “But it does matter.”

I love my sister and she loves me. I’d fight a bear for her and right now, she thinks she’s fighting a bear for me so I really shouldn’t get irritated. “No,” I say, closing my eyes, getting irritated anyway. “It doesn’t. Dominic is a travel photographer. He’s on the go more than he’s in one place. He can’t be weighed down by all that stuff.”

“But that means he can’t be weighed down by a girlfriend, either.”

Ahhh. And here we come to the heart of the matter. At twenty-eight, Chelsea is feeling her singleness with a passion. “Chels, this is just a date. I’m not even in the market for a boyfriend.”

“You’re going on a date?” And now she’s supersonic again. “I thought you were just flirting!”

“Well, we were just flirting. But then I lost a bet and now I have to go one a date with him. It’s on YouTube.”

“YouTube?” Chelsea is genuinely baffled and I can’t help the wide smile that stretches across my face.

“Yeah. And Instagram. It was a wild night.” I know I’m not helping. I know I’m only freaking her out all the more. And I know that the minute we get off the phone she’ll be Googling my name to find out just exactly what happened. “I gotta go, Chels. I promise I’m okay. You’ll see.”

I hang up before she can protest and finish getting ready. Pull my hair back in a ponytail. Touch up the lip gloss. Skip downstairs and grab a drink of water.

Despite the fact that the date was part of a bet, despite the fact that it’s in the middle of the day and I’m wearing sensible shoes, I’m very excited. I like Dominic. I’ve liked him for as long as I’ve been following him on Instagram, which is years now. I liked watching him take control of the crowd at The Bad Apple. I liked the way it felt to be sharing the spotlight with him.

And hot damn did I like the way it felt to have his lips pressed against mine. His body pressed against mine. His hands on me. My hands on him. I shiver and close my eyes. I could most definitely go for some more kissing today. Maybe some rough petting. Hell, maybe I’ll just go right on ahead and make another bad decision and sleep with him. How many times in my life will I have the chance to make a bad decision with a mildly famous internet celebrity?

I check the time. Ten ‘til one. I am not the best waiter in the world. I’m not even the best waiter in Townsbury. Whenever someone jokes around that patience isn’t one of their virtues, they just haven’t met me yet. If they had, they would consider themselves next to Gandhi on the patience scale. My foot is tapping and my fingernails clink on the glass of water as they drum a strange pattern.

I have ten minutes and zero ability to focus on anything. I turn on the TV, but it’s just noise. I open a game on my phone, but it can’t pull my attention away from the clock. I open up Instagram and see Dominic’s face smiling back at me. That man takes a shit ton of selfies. But, since it was his wide grin that caught my attention back when I first started following him, I can’t really judge. I’m sure that’s how he catches a lot of his followers.

I scroll and see a picture of an older couple. Hands clasped. Backlit by the sun angling through the window behind them. It catches my attention and I stop scrolling. Study these people with the happiness shining in their eyes. I read the description Dominic wrote up in his patented abbreviations.

Wow. These people were on their fiftieth wedding anniversary when Dominic found them and, according to him, are still madly in love. That’s rare nowadays. Even my parents, who have managed to whether the storm of divorces that swept through my friend’s lives when we were younger, don’t have love shining in their eyes like these people do.

Dominic is one hell of a photographer.

He’s also late. By a good fifteen minutes now. And believe me, I’ve felt each minute as if it was an eternity as it ticked by on my clock. If I was jittery before, I am a ball of nerves now. It’s not like I’m one of those always early people. If we get right down to it, I’m late more than I’m early. But still, that doesn’t excuse Dominic. You should never be late on a first date. That’s just the way of it.

Fifteen minutes stretches into twenty which stretches into twenty-two and I give up pretending that I’m even paying a sliver of attention to my TV. I check Instagram for the seventeenth time, just in case he sent me a message and really regret the fact that neither of us thought to exchange phone numbers. I just blissfully gave him my address and he gave me a time and that had been that.

Or maybe I was the one who hadn’t thought to exchange numbers. Maybe Dominic never intended to show up and very purposefully didn’t give me another way to get a hold of him. Well, if that’s the case, this guy has another thing coming to him. What’s the best way to get to an internet celebrity? Through the internet.

If I was nothing more than a stunt to get him more followers, well, he’s got another thing coming to him. I’m busy trying to figure out just how stood up I need to be before I start making a scene on Instagram when there’s a knock at my door. A surge of excitement obliterates all the nervous anger that had been tightening my jaw just moments before and I spring from my perch on the armrest of my couch and sprint towards the door.

“You’re late,” I point out, putting on my best stern face as I pull open the door. It’s all I can do not to smile when I see him.

“Very.” Dominic nods and holds out a bouquet of flowers. “But I come baring a peace offering and one hell of a good story.”

I’m a sucker for flowers. Especially when they come to me via smoking hot guys named Dominic Kane. I step aside and invite him in. “I’m all ears.” As much as I’m trying to pull off stern and irritated, my eyes are shining with excitement. I can feel it. And I can see it mirrored in his.

“Well. It’s not really that good of a story. I stopped for flowers and the line ended up being really long and I don’t have your phone number.” He holds the bouquet out for me and I take it with a smile.

“Hmm,” I say as I wander into the kitchen, searching for a vase, leaving Dominic in the living room studying the place like he might find the answer to our existence in the décor. “I’m not sure if that story counts or not. I may not be ready to forgive you.”

“I guess I’ll just have to find other ways to make you forgive me,” he says. Anticipation zings through my body and I’m glad he can’t see me because I visibly shiver and press my thighs together against the little surge of desire that pools between my legs.

“Okay.” I try to make it sound like I haven’t already forgiven him as I come out of the kitchen, vase in hand. I’m sure he can hear the truth in my voice. See it in my eyes. I’m not exactly known for my poker face. “But you’re going to have to really try.”

Dominic smiles widely, his gaze hot and heavy and burning so deeply into my eyes I kind of stutter to a stop in the middle of the living room.

“What?” I ask, uncomfortable.

“You,” he replies.

“What about me?” I find the ability to move again, but it’s all shorted out and I don’t exactly feel graceful as I finish crossing the living room to put the vase on the coffee table.

“Everything,” he says in a voice so sexy my insides clench deliciously. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I swipe my jacket up off the couch and grab my keys. Dominic puts his hand on my lower back as we head out the door, uses it to guide me towards a gleaming Mustang

“Okay. So maybe it wasn’t just the flowers that made me late,” he says when I turn to him, eyes wide. “I had to turn in the Sentra I rented when I first got here for this baby.”

“Wow.” I run a finger across the hood, shaking my head. “Why?” I’m genuinely curious, although I’m pretty sure the answer is obvious. Why drive a Sentra when you can get a Mustang?

“Because,” says Dominic as he opens the passenger door for me. “You are not the kind of girl someone drives around in a Sentra.”