Page 84 of Dirty Hit
“I know, but you’re not lying because you’re ashamed of me—you’re lying because you know they can’t handle the truth without trying to burn your life down. That’s a different thing.”
“It doesn’t feel different,” I admit. “It feels… greasy.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But that’s because they trained you to feel that way. You’re allowed to protect yourself. You’re allowed to draw lines between what parts of you belong to your parents and what parts don’t.”
“They loved you,” I say again. “And they know you! What the hell.”
He grins at that, looking smug as anything. “Of course they did. I’m charming as fuck.”
I almost laugh, despite myself; it bursts out as this shaky huff. “You called my mom‘ma’am.’”
“Gotta respect the woman who birthed my favorite sinner,” he says. “Also, the fact that you prepped in case I wanted to fuck you? That’s not anything to be embarrassed about. That’s hot as shit. That’s you wanting me, and taking care of your body for somethingyouwant. I’m not mad about it.”
“I’m not—I wasn’t—It’s just—” I trip all over my own excuses and let them die. “I thought… maybe.”
His expression softens in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Baby,” he says, and the word is so gentle I have to look away. “I know what you’re ready for. I know when your body’s there, and your head isn’t. I’m not going to rush that just because you bought toys and washed your insides.”
I pull a face. “Please never say ‘washed your insides’ again,” I mutter, scandalized.
He laughs. “My point is,” he says, hooking a finger under my chin until I meet his eyes, “I’m not judging you for wanting me. I’m not judging you for prepping. I’m not judging you for lying to your parents because you’re not ready to tell them their golden boy is on his knees for the quarterback almost every night.”
I swallow. “I feel like a hypocrite. I feel… relief that they liked you, but sick that they liked you, too. I feel… I don’t even have words for when I think about my dad shaking your hand and telling you to keep me in line.”
Dominic’s lips twitch. “I do keep you in line, just not the way he meant.”
“Exactly,” I say, exasperated. “You see the problem.”
“Yeah, I see it. I also see you trying so fucking hard to keep everyone happy while you’re changing; that’s not sustainable. We’ll get there—one conversation at a time. You don’t have to solve your entire spiritual crisis because your mom brought lasagna.”
“It’s a casserole,” I say weakly.
He smirks. “Whatever. I’m still eating half.”
I let out a real laugh then, and some of the tightness in my chest eases. The apartment feels less like it’s closing in on me.
He leans in, and presses a quick, firm kiss to my mouth. “You’re okay,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’re not going to Hell because your parents met me. You’re not going to Hellbecause you haven’t prayed in months. You’re not going to Hell because you douched before a study session.”
I pull back, eyes narrowed. “You make it sound so normal,” I say softly.
“It is normal,” he says. “For us. Our version of normal just involves more blood and more lube than most.”
I choke on a laugh. “You’re disgusting.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’re smiling again. Mission accomplished.”
I realize I am. The panic is still there, a faint buzz under my skin, but it’s not crushing me anymore. The image of my parents in my doorway feels less like an ambush and more like a weird, awkward moment we survived.
He squeezes my knee once more, then pushes to his feet and offers me a hand. “Come on, get up. We’ve got case law to destroy. Then, we can talk about your habit of douching before Bible study.”
“That’s not funny,” I say, taking his hand and letting him pull me up.
“It’s a little funny,” he says. “But we’ll save it for later.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand immediately; his thumb rubs once over my knuckles, and my heart does that stupid lurch again. I roll my eyes, but I sit back down at the table, my notes suddenly a lot less terrifying with him across from me.
Dominic
