The Lineup(110)

“And if she hurts me again?”

“Then you talk it through. It’s when she stops wanting to talk that you need to worry.” She pauses, takes a sip of her cocktail. “Trust me.”





Five days in the Bahamas with my sister should have been relaxing, but it was anything but.

Not only did the resort staff keep calling us Mr. and Mrs. Orson and sending champagne to our two-bedroom suite—awkward—but every second of my vacation was spent worrying over Dottie and whether or not I should fly straight to California from the Bahamas.

If you’re wondering . . . I didn’t.

So when I showed up at Knox’s door, looking for a chat and he told me to get lost, I knew I fucked up.

I don’t blame the dismissal.

I told him I loved her. I told him I wanted to be happy, not right, but when it came down to it, I chickened out.

That was until last night.

Last night, when I was lying in my bed alone, staring at the ceiling, I replayed my entire relationship with Dottie.

I thought about how I wish I’d known her in college and wondered about the feelings she had for me back then. Were they purely physical, or was there more substance to those feelings?

I thought about our first date, how she looked so strong and confident, but there were little moments where I caught wariness in her eyes, nervousness, almost disbelief that I’d brought dinner to her for no other reason than to honor a promise. Now, knowing how she’d been treated before—dishonestly—I understand why she had me dragged out by security. I hadn’t earned her trust. I saw something in her and as I thought about it, I knew it was interest, maybe infatuation. I knew there was more to this woman and I was determined to find out what it was.

Throughout our relationship, I was always peeling back more layers to her. And even though there were rare moments where I saw how vulnerable she was, I witnessed her caring side, her beautifully intelligent side, and of course her sassy side. If she was faking our relationship, just using me, I never would have seen so many parts of her. I would have barely broken the surface, if that.

But Dottie, even though it was slow, showed me who she was, a strong-willed but also reticent woman. Her heart was jaded, and I should have realized it would take time to soften her rough edges. No, I should have listened more, because it was there. I had gotten close to her, and from what I know about Dottie, that was rare. It was about time I finished what I started.

It’s why I’m standing outside her parents’ Malibu house, the ocean crashing into the shore in the distance, and the bright sun shining down on me. Even though this might be terrifying, it’s going to be a good day.

Stepping up to the door, I give it a few loud knocks and then wait.

I sent a text to Knox this morning telling him was I was going to make everything right and he said it was about damn time and to not fuck it up, because apparently he’s never seen me as happy as I am when Dottie is around.

I have to admit, he’s right.

The door opens and a woman in a white leisure suit answers. There are qualities about her that look just like Dottie, which causes me to assume this is her mom.

“Oh,” she says, looking startled. Hand to her chest, she asks, “Are you Jason?”

I nod. “Yes, ma’am. Am I right to assume you’re Mrs. Domico?”

“Why, yes.” She lends out her hand and I give it a shake. “Are you looking for Dottie?”

“I am.” I glance past her. “Is she here?”

She nods and parts the door open. “She’s out on the balcony with her coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“Uh, it will make me too jittery. I’m good.”

“Okay.” She steps to the side, her eyes giving me a full once-over. Not in a leery, old-woman way, just a are you good enough for my daughter way. Totally understand that one. “Please, come in. She’s right back there.” She gestures to the giant sliding glass doors that take up an entire wall.

Damn, this house is nice.

I give her a curt nod and make my way across the concrete floors, past the ostentatious fireplace—when you have money, you have money—and to the parted sliding glass door where I find Dottie sitting in a lounge chair, feet tucked into her body, blanket over her shoulders, a cup of coffee in hand. Her raven hair is stacked on top of her head and her feet are covered in white slippers.

In that moment, observing her, I realize I want nothing more than to push my need to hold a grudge to the side and bury my head into her sweet scent, to have her arms wrap around me and hold me close. I want every inch of her, every piece, even if it takes years to earn.

I take a step forward and say, “Good morning.”

Her head whips to the side in surprise, her eyes widening when she spots me. And that’s when I see her tear-streaked cheeks. She quickly wipes at her face and straightens up.

“J-Jason,” she stumbles. “What are you doing here?”

Once again, I feel tongue-tied and unsure of what to say. I scratch the side of my jaw and say, “I, uh . . . shit,” I mutter, looking at my feet.

She reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me to the edge of her lounge chair. When I glance at her, she says, “Now that you’re here, please don’t leave.” Tears fall down her cheek. “Please don’t leave, Jason.” Eyes bloodshot, absolute sorrow in her voice. I did this. I hate that I caused this pain.