Page 64 of The Replay

"On other people. Sometimes."

"Then maybe I can get it tattooed. There's a space where it could fit perfectly. Unless you still think I'm awful?"

He holds my eyes for a moment, the question he's not asking hidden behind the deep brown of his irises. If he doesn't think I'm awful and I don't think he is, then we're good again.

I give him a small but genuine smile. "Not awful, either."

I was right, and we've forgiven each other for our mistakes years ago.

"Barely tolerable?" he adds, playfulness taking over his face.

I chuckle. "I'll write it for you if you want it in my handwriting."

"Nah, I'm good. I'll come up with a better design for my next one."

I gesture an offer of water. When he nods, I get him some. Now he's sipping water, and I've turned so we're both leaning on the side table and watching his friend group chat and make some plans.

The noise has gone down in the stadium, and the lights are still there but dimmer somehow. Here in the suite, everything is tinted in amber thanks to the sconces on the wall.

"Congrats on the win," I say. "Your touchdown celebration was cool."

"The dancing? I don't even think about it anymore. I just vibe and have fun."

"I'm not surprised. You didn't dance in college, but once you and Saint started…honestly, it makes me think you want to show off."

He stares at me with a smirk. "You know the history, huh?"

I don't say anything. I swirl the liquid in my glass, noting the way light refracts on the surface.

"Let me guess," he says. "Cora told you?"

I could use it as an excuse, but this is my chance to be friendly and establish the way we'll interact moving forward.

I lift a shoulder. "I looked you up once in a while."

He startles. "You did?"

"Like three times over the years. Don't let it get in your head."

"Right, right."

Yet he stares at me with the kind of intensity that makes it obvious. He's intrigued, if not letting it get to his head.

I explain further. "Cora did tell me once you were doing great. So I checked."

His grin stretches slowly. "You were impressed."

"Not quite." I snort.

I was nostalgic. Grief turned my chest to a sinkhole, for all the things we didn't get to have. All the things I missed from those happy months with him. It wasn't easy, and it put me in a funk for a few days each time, but I couldn't help myself. Every time I gave in and looked him up— it happened more thanthree times, if I'm honest— I would find content of him looking really happy, and it kept bringing me back.

He studies me closely, tracking my thoughts as if he could read them.

I smile. "But I'll say you've done pretty well for yourself, Dom."

He mirrors my gesture. "I have."

"It was great seeing you do what you worked so hard for. It was this moment of, wow, he's famous."