Seducing Mr. Grumpy

3. Do you accept or not?

Summer Cooper’s message vault to Dominic Pauls:

I went skydiving! It was the most thrilling, adrenaline-filled experience I’ve ever had. Nic, doing things like that might finally help you get that stick out of your ass once and for all.

Sincerely, a very bold Summer.

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3. Do you accept or not?

Summer.

If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not hungry. But eating something at the hotel restaurant buys me time. Time surrounded by people, feeling safe, in a place where my demons can’t reach me. There’s something true about this false sense of relief: it can’t last forever.

When I can’t delay it any longer, the empty plate in front of me a reminder, I summon an artificial courage and leave. My suitcase rolls behind me as I make my way to the hotel room.

Seeing my hand tremble as I hold the keycard makes me feel even more hysterical, but somehow, I manage to open the door and step into the spacious room. I try to ignore the trembling overtaking me and the fear accelerating my heartbeat, but my mental state is unraveling into something physical. A knot rises in my throat, cutting off my breath. Just the sight of the bed makes my stomach turn—the food I just ate threatening to come back up.

I run to the windows and throw them wide open, not caring about the freezing air clinging to my bones. Maybe the numbness from the cold will help. But it doesn’t.

With shaking hands, I reach for my phone and scroll through my contacts, but my closest friends live in different cities, even countries, and I don’t want to be a burden to anyone.

I try to remember the breathing exercises my therapist taught me, but my mind is so foggy I can’t focus.

Am I going to die?

I feel like I’m dying.

I don’t even know how it happens, but suddenly my feet are running toward the door, blindly, desperately, my only goal being the exit—to see people, to breathe. Then I crash into someone. A solid, unmoving chest. And I lose what little sanity I had left.

“Let go of me!” I scream like a maniac, fists pounding against him, voice cracking in desperation. “Let go, let go, let go!”

“Summer, it’s me.” Strong hands grab my shoulders, shaking me until my head jerks back and deep black eyes find mine. “It’s me.”

The weight of the past few days pours out of me all at once, my eyes locked on Dominic’s, filled with concern.

“It’s me,” he repeats in a whisper so soft it sounds like he's afraid even the slightest noise might break me again.

“Nic.” His name escapes my lips almost reverently. Without hesitation, I rise onto my toes and wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face there and breathing him in.

It’s him.

I cling tighter. My legs lift, locking around his waist as I hold on with everything I have. My breathing is shaky—I can’t even cry—I just stay there, breathing unevenly, trying to calm down.

It’s him, I repeat to myself.

It’s Dominic.

“Breathe,” he says, stepping firmly into the room.

I’m still trembling. I know I should say something. I know I shouldn’t be clinging to him like this. But logic has left my body. All that’s left is cold and agonizing panic.

I shake my head against his neck, squeezing tighter when he tries to set me on the bed.

“No,” I say out loud to the soft mattress.

No.

My teeth chatter. My whole body could house the Arctic chill, but Dominic’s warmth pressed to mine slowly brings me back, giving me a shred of lost sanity.

“Summer, help me here,” he whispers into my ear. “I don’t know what to do.”

Then I notice it—his stiffness. I’m holding on to him, but he’s not really holding me. His hands hang at his sides, body tense, his words almost forced out.

But I don’t want to let go.

“Not the bed,” I beg him.

“Summer…”

“Please.”

I feel him nod before he starts walking, taking me straight into the bathroom. It’s spacious. He sets me gently down on the countertop. My arms slide from his neck, my face lifts, but my hands stay on him, holding the back of his neck, needing his warmth close.

He looks completely confused.

I glance over his shoulder, at the open door where the bed is still visible, and my teeth chatter again.

“Close the door,” I ask, keeping my eyes on him.

Dominic doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

“You’ll have to let me go if I’m to do that,” he says.

“Kick it closed.”

“Summer…”

“Move your foot back and—”

“I know how to do it.”

“Then do it,” I say, gripping the back of his neck tighter.

He looks at me like I’m the strangest thing he’s ever encountered, but he does it—kicks the door shut. The bang of wood meeting wood soothes me. Not seeing the bed calms me. And though I’m still trembling, I no longer feel like I’m about to die.

I focus on a single point: his eyes. My fingers seek out texture: his hair. I breathe in and out, using him as my anchor. I don’t think we’ve ever been this close. The fact that we spent five years apart only makes his presence feel larger, more intense.

I match my breath to his, lost in his gaze but finding myself in it too.

My nails graze his scalp, and he winces, trying to shake me off. So I pull my hands back, letting them fall limply to my thighs, giving him the space he wants.

Did that really just happen?

Did I just have a panic attack in front of him?

Wasn’t he supposed to be at his flat?

“What are you doing here?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Dom steps back, brushes down his suit lapels like he’s trying to regain composure, and looks at me with complete neutrality, like nothing just happened.

“You left this at home,” he says, pulling something small from his pocket that I can’t quite see.

I tilt my head with real curiosity and hold out my hand. He drops the item into my palm, and I stare at it in surprise.

I look up at him, and I’m pretty sure I’m the one staring at him like he’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen now.

“An earring?”

“Is it yours?”

“Well, yeah,” I say slowly, “it’s mine.”

Dominic says nothing. So I ask—just to be clear, “You came here for an earring?”

“An earring you left at my place,” he clarifies.

I close my fingers around the little object and put it back on, watching him the entire time.

It’s… strange, but it’s distracted me from the fear.

“Are you going to tell me what just happened, Summer?”

“Oh,” I try to smile, “I had a panic attack.”

“I know that,” he says. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

I grip the edge of the counter and try to get down, but my legs fail, so I climb back up. I grit my teeth when I see he notices my instability.

“Is there something I don’t know?”

“About me?” I turn slightly to reach the tap and turn it on. The sound of water is soothing, and even more so when I wet my hands—it brings a bit of peace. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

You never cared to ask, I add silently.

He lets out a heavy, audible sigh.

“I’m not doing this game where I ask questions and you avoid them. It’s childish.”

“Mmm,” I hum, still running water over my hands, then patting my face with them for comfort.

Dominic mutters something under his breath, steps closer, and shuts off the tap, looking frustrated—like I drive him mad.

“Alright, grab your suitcase. You’re coming back to the flat with me.”

What?

“No, wait!”

I reach out and grab a fistful of his silk shirt, pulling him toward me. His jaw knocks into my forehead, and I wince just as he pulls back, gripping the counter to keep some distance.

I look up at him, rubbing my forehead. He glances at my skin, jaw tightens, then meets my eyes and raises a brow, waiting for me to speak.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” I tell him.

“You’ve been a burden my whole life. I can handle a few more months.”

I grimace.

“That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“I’m not nice, Summer.”

That’s true.

I press my lips to the side, thinking through my options—not that I have many.

Besides, being close to him is… good for me, I realize. Dominic dulls everything else. He eclipses everything. He becomes the main attraction—like he’s always been to me.

“I can pay you rent,” I offer, trying to compromise.

“I don’t need the money.”

I raise my eyebrows at his lack of modesty, though he says it matter-of-factly.

Alright then.

“Then I can cook.”

“I usually eat out.”

“Oh…” I pause, then smile slightly. “Then I’ll find a way to make it up to you, you’ll see.”

“I’ll settle for you staying out of my way. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Still holding onto his shirt, I pull him closer, looking up at him sweetly.

“Then I’ll say no. I won’t be a stranger to you. Five years were enough.”

“I share the flat with Heaven. She’s not always there, but when she is, we hardly see each other. Good luck if what you’re after is being near me.”

“You’re so egocentric,” I grumble. “I’m not trying to be near you. Just want a peaceful cohabitation. Avoiding each other isn’t something I want for us.”

“There is no ‘us.’”

“I’m not saying there is.” I meet his eyes. “You know I had boyfriends, had s*x, fell in love with other men over the past five years?”

“Congratulations.”

“It’s not your d**k I’m after,” I say, blushing a bit. “Or your wallet. But I care about you. I’ve always cared. Loving you doesn’t mean I’m in love with you. There’s a huge difference.”

“Is there?”

“Massive,” I say truthfully. “And you’ve always been my weakness. I love you so much, and—”

“Summer,” he growls.

“And I love having you near me. You’re like… the sun to me. And I’ve never needed the sun more than I do now. So if I live with you, we won’t be strangers. I’ll seek you out. I’ll insert myself into your life, and—”

“Summer,” he growls again.

“And,” I continue, smiling, “I’ll find ways to make your life better. I’ve always tried to pull you out of your lonely shell, give you happiness, take care of you. You know I’ve always been like that with you. I never give up on you and your well-being.”

“Unfortunately.”

“It’ll be good for me. It’ll be good for you. You’ll see. When was the last time you smiled?”

“When I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

He sighs, glancing at the ceiling.

“What the hell am I getting myself into?”

“Do you accept or not?” I ask, waiting. “As you can see, I have some issues. Sleeping alone, with no one around, triggers something bad in me. But I’m strong. I’m working on it. So I can always stay here in this hotel room and—”

“I accept.”

I smile wide, showing all my teeth, pull on his shirt again, and wrap myself around him—arms, legs, and heart.

“Now carry me to your car. My legs are still weak,” I whisper, resting my cheek on his shoulder.

Dominic seems to consider it, then finally slides an arm under my thighs, returns to the bedroom, grabs my suitcase with his free hand, and carries us both out of the hotel—ignoring the curious stares of the people we pass.

And just like that, Dominic and I begin our story.