I hate him.
Okay, not really.But kind of.Maybe.Ugh.
Because one look — one look — and suddenly I'm forgetting that I was supposed to be mad. That I am mad. That he left me hanging with my heart practically gift-wrapped and served on a gold platter, and he just… blinked at me.
And now?
Now he's nice.
Not in the fake, polite way. In the Damien way. Quietly loyal. Sitting beside me like his place is there by default. Staring at me like I'm the sun and he's just remembering how to orbit again.
It's infuriating.
And it's melting me.
I walk beside him after class, our hands not touching but close. So close. My fingers ache to reach out, but I dig my nails into my palm and keep walking.
"You're quiet," he says finally.
"I've been awake since five," I huff, refusing to look at him. "Law students don't get to sleep. It's an unspoken rule."
Damien chuckles — actually chuckles — and my stomach does that thing it shouldn't be doing right now.
"Want coffee?" he asks.
"I hate your black coffee."
"I'll get the sugary kind with all the whipped cream and sprinkles."
I eye him suspiciously. "You hate that kind."
He shrugs. "Maybe I'm softening."
Oh, you absolute menace.
"Fine," I mutter. "But I'm not forgiving you."
"Did I ask you to?"
"No," I grumble. "But you will."
He grins. Grins.And my legs nearly stop working.
We get to the café. He actually orders two drinks: his ridiculous bitter roast and my sugar-loaded vanilla marshmallow abomination. I sit on the window seat, knees tucked under my chin, pretending not to notice how he watches me while we wait.
"So," I say. "You chased me."
"I did."
"Are you going to keep doing that?"
"Do I need to?"
I glance at him — finally meet his eyes — and the smirk fades just a little. There's something softer there now. Something dangerous.
Something I could fall into all over again.
"Yes," I say. "You do."
And for the first time since I said I love you, he reaches for my hand. Not halfway. Not hesitantly. Just takes it.
And I let him.Don't Look At Me Like That
I hate him.
Okay, not really.But kind of.Maybe.Ugh.
Because one look — one look — and suddenly I'm forgetting that I was supposed to be mad. That I am mad. That he left me hanging with my heart practically gift-wrapped and served on a gold platter, and he just… blinked at me.
And now?
Now he's nice.
Not in the fake, polite way. In the Damien way. Quietly loyal. Sitting beside me like his place is there by default. Staring at me like I'm the sun and he's just remembering how to orbit again.
It's infuriating.
And it's melting me.
I walk beside him after class, our hands not touching but close. So close. My fingers ache to reach out, but I dig my nails into my palm and keep walking.
"You're quiet," he says finally.
"I've been awake since five," I huff, refusing to look at him. "Law students don't get to sleep. It's an unspoken rule."
Damien chuckles — actually chuckles — and my stomach does that thing it shouldn't be doing right now.
"Want coffee?" he asks.
"I hate your black coffee."
"I'll get the sugary kind with all the whipped cream and sprinkles."
I eye him suspiciously. "You hate that kind."
He shrugs. "Maybe I'm softening."
Oh, you absolute menace.
"Fine," I mutter. "But I'm not forgiving you."
"Did I ask you to?"
"No," I grumble. "But you will."
He grins. Grins.And my legs nearly stop working.
We get to the café. He actually orders two drinks: his ridiculous bitter roast and my sugar-loaded vanilla marshmallow abomination. I sit on the window seat, knees tucked under my chin, pretending not to notice how he watches me while we wait.
"So," I say. "You chased me."
"I did."
"Are you going to keep doing that?"
"Do I need to?"
I glance at him — finally meet his eyes — and the smirk fades just a little. There's something softer there now. Something dangerous.
Something I could fall into all over again.
"Yes," I say. "You do."
And for the first time since I said I love you, he reaches for my hand. Not halfway. Not hesitantly. Just takes it.
And I let him.