Page 3 of The Replay

Dom stands in front of me. Chuckling. Tall, slightly bigger at the shoulders and torso than he was in college. Narrow hips. Dressed in clothes he wouldn't have worn back then— a soft-looking suede jacket over a black shirt, black trousers, and black shoes. Expensive, from the looks of it. A far cry from the trainers and hoodies he preferred when I knew him well, or the soft, worn shirts I stole from him and then had to get rid of. His hair is shaved, though it has some length to it. His beard is trimmed close to his jaw.

Good Lord, as mouth-wateringly handsome as he was years ago.

I don't get to enjoy it. Not even for the sake of nostalgia. My heart is jammed in my throat, and my hands have gone cold. When Cora found me this job, having to see Dom again was the only reason I ever doubted moving here for a year. With him finally in front of me, I'm staring but I can't drag my eyes away.

An old, bitter irritation coats my mouth. I welcome it. Anger is the only emotion capable of keeping my anxiety at bay, and I really, really don't want to deal with my apprehensions, when simply sharing space with Dom seems to fill my heart with memories. I cannot look their way.

Good thing I've practiced this meeting a hundred times in my head.

"Okay. Wow," he says. "What the hell is that?"

He gives me a friendly smile. It may be the echo of whatever made him laugh, or at least that's what I hope it is. It looks just like he did when we met— a bright, confident grin designed to pierce through my defenses. If that's the case… yeah. Unbelievable.

We messed up too badly to pretend we're good.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Cora invited me. Now you. How does one acquire one of those?"

I glance at it. My sister gifted me this cockboard in honor of my divorce— a reminder of my promise to sleep around some now that I'm single. She joked I could use it during the party to make a declaration of my singlehood, and turn the gathering into a welcomeanddivorce celebration.

Be proud of your choice to go on a dick tour, sis, she said.

I frown. "Never mind that."

I go down on my haunches and put it away in the cupboard behind me. There's no world where I'd display a cockboard in front of people I don't know well, working peers or not. I am here to develop a backbone, and to prove that I have a plan and I can make it happen. Even if it's years later than I thought. And that may include rediscovering who I am, when I let the masks I've hidden behind fall off. But I haven't shaken off all of my parents' careful training, and I can't be so crude as to present company with literal wood.

I shake my head and cross my arms at Dom. "I didn't think you'd come. I've been in and out of the team's building for weeks. You've been avoiding me."

"You'vebeen avoidingme." His smile softens. Not in a tender way, but because it's lost power.

"Why would I avoid you?"

Surprise takes away his smile altogether.

His nostrils flare. "You hung up on me last time we talked. It wasn't a great conversation, if you remember?"

His tone is cold. A little sarcastic.

I grind my teeth. "I remember well. Maybe better than you do. You were drunk."

"I wasn't drunk," he says through stiff lips.

"You had been drinking! You said so."

"I. Wasn't. Drunk. I had only a couple of drinks that night."

"You still shouldn't have called."

"Yeah, well. I'm sure there are things you regret about what happened between us, too."

My breathing quickens. That old anger and hurt tint everything in red. I let it coat my skin. I cherish the way it cloaks any nerves I might have had. This is not going how I imagined it— an acerbic conversation that proved hate isn't the opposite of love, but disinterest is. Instead, it's vinegar being poured down my throat.

"Things that I regret?" I manage. "You called me a year after we broke up to ask me to call off my engagement."

His jaw clenches. "You got engaged before I could do anything about it! Can you imagine what it was like getting signed and getting swept up in moving and bringing my mom and mi abuela with me and, in the middle of all that chaos, finding the time to look you up— just in case there was a chance— thinking I could finally fight for us— only to find you were going to marry some fucking British royal?!"

I fist my hands at my side, until my nails dig into my palm. I'm breathing as if I were sprinting, and my heart beats like it believes we are.