“Thank you,” I tell him politely, trying to maintain my dignity in the lobby as best I can. “Wildflowers? You seem like a roses kind of guy.”
He smirks, the cocky one that lets me know he’s about to say something he knows I’ll like, and then twists a lock of my hair around his finger before stroking the back of my neck.
“I do prefer roses, but you’re more like a wildflower. A bit untamed and unruly, but beautiful not in spite of the wildness but because of it.”
His words are quiet, meant for me, but I can hear every woman in the room sigh. A few of the older girls, just at that age when boys stop being icky and start being interesting, even gawk openly. I laugh and give him a saucy wink and kiss him on the cheek.
“Well played, Mr. Angeline.”
His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a grin himself.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised to see him. I lead him off to the side of the room, where we can have at least a modicum of privacy, and lower my voice. “Is everything okay? I saw Logan’s car in the lot already, and he’s supposed to be my shadow home today.”
Dominick looks pleased. I think it’s because I’ve been inordinately agreeable to the whole chaperone thing. It was weird at first, no lie, but I’ve already gotten so used to it that having it in the open seems natural.
“He was. But I’ve asked him to check out the gym next door. They’re friendly now, apparently, and he’s over there working on jiu-jitsu techniques in his off time.”
I grin, glad to hear it. “I’m glad Logan made friends with Max and Dalton.”
His eyes narrow when I say their names, obviously not liking that on my lips, so I correct it immediately but with enough sass to let him know I saw his flash of jealousy.
“So, Dominick, if Logan’s busy now, who’s escorting me home tonight?”
I play coy as if I don’t know that’s why he’s here, and at the sound of his name on my lips, he chuckles, rolling his eyes.
“Me. Get your bag.”
I offer him a soft smile and consider arguing back just for fun, but he knows as well as I do that I want this. I want him to show up, bring me flowers, take me home . . . or just take me wherever he is.
So I don’t bother with the façade, instead looking back toward reception, where everyone’s still trying to do their best to pretend they’re not listening. It makes me grin.
“Hey, Donna. I’m all done with classes and Studio Two is clean. Mind if I knock off a little early today?”
From behind her, I can hear Eileen snicker, but Donna tosses me a thumbs-up. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re still here. I’d already be halfway down the interstate if a man like that showed up with flowers for me.”
I squeak a bit, trying my best not to jump up and down like a teenager. “Good point! Here, hold these, please.” I set the flowers back in Dominick’s hands and still can’t help breaking out into a chasse down the hallway to get my things.
He must make a move to follow me because I hear Donna clear her throat. “Nuh-uh. You stay right there, Mister. She said she just cleaned Studio Two, and I’m not redoing it because you two made a mess in it. Don’t bother denying it. I can read that you’re a split-second away from doing things I won’t say in front of the teenagers.”
I laugh, but the fact that she can see that in the tension between us is sweet and sexy. I pull loose sweats on over my shorts, a V-neck T-shirt over my bra, and slipper boots on my feet.
It’s not a sexy look by any stretch of the imagination. It’s more ragamuffin college girl than anything refined, but it’s standard dance cover-up gear and all I have with me.
Doesn’t matter, though. When I step back into the lobby, Dominick looks at me like I’m dressed to the nines for a night on the town.
“Ready, beautiful?”
I realize it’s probably one of the only times he’s asked me a question, not given me orders or leading statements, and I can’t help but blush again. It feels important, like he’s letting me decide for myself whether I’m ready, not just to go, but to go with him.
Obviously, this isn’t just a casual ride home. But nothing with Dominick is ever casual, I suspect.
Still, he’s letting me decide.
“I’m absolutely ready,” I tell him and hope he hears the deeper meaning in my words too. Judging by the approval I see in his eyes as he hands me back the bouquet, he heard it loud and clear.
He escorts me to the door on his elbow, oohs and ahhs echoing behind us, but it’s not the usual romantic gesture I’d expect. Instead, when he opens the studio door, he steps outside and scans before he lets me exit. He crosses the lot to his car, but he doesn’t hold my hand and walk beside me, rather staying one step in front of me, his head on a swivel the whole time.