Chapter Thirty Damion
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Sometimes October bashes you in the face with gold-tipped joy.”
—Remington
Damion
“Damion!”
I closed my locker, glad the day was over, and turned just in time to see Julia running toward me.
Literally.
She was grinning, her smile enormous as she waved a piece of paper in the air and jogged in my direction, all long legs in motion.
And I felt… lost.
What the hell?
For starters, she was wearing tall socks today, tall socks with tiny bows on top that made it impossible not to notice the soft skin between the hem of her skirt and those flirty little bows.
Dear God.
But also I was lost because, like… was she yelling to some other Damion?
Because she never looked at me like that, like raw happiness was coursing through her veins.
No, she usually looked at me like she expected me to pick her fucking pocket or slip her a roofie.
“What’s up?” I asked, very interested to know what the hell was going on.
I could see over her shoulder that other people were noticing her running toward me as well.
“My practice test scores—look.” She was beaming, holding out the paper, and I swear to God she made a little squealing sound.
I snagged the results and as my eyes scanned the numbers, I whistled.
“Holy shit, Nebraska, you nailed these.”
“Right?” she said, and that squeal was still there. “Five points over the cutoff.”
“I told you,” I said, and I couldn’t not smile back at her as she beamed up at me like an overexcited puppy. I looked down at those glossed-over grinning lips and said, “I knew you’d kill it.”
“Thank you!” she said, and then she threw her arms around my shoulders.
Around me.
My chest pinched a little as she squeezed the shit out of me, because she’d worked her ass off for this. She’d studied hard and it hadn’t come easy, yet she’d pulled it off. It felt great.
Wait. Hell, was I proud of her??
Before I could let my thoughts settle, I felt her.
All of her.
Dear Jesus.
Because when she hugged me, I’d reflexively hugged her back. My arms went around her body naturally. Easily. Perfectly.
But suddenly all I could focus on was the feel of her arms pulling me closer, the press of her soft body against mine. I wrapped my arms around her waist—because what else would I do when she was gluing herself to me—and crushed her more tightly against me.
Julia. Julia. Julia.
She was warm and short and smelled like something I wanted to taste as she gripped me like this was completely normal for us.
But it wasn’t.
This was Julia, for the love of God, so why wasn’t I pulling back?
“I hate to admit it,” she said, looking up at me with a teasing grin. Her arms lowered but slowly, where I felt the relaxing drag of her fingertips as they left my shoulders. “But it’s kind of all because of my tutor.”
“Careful, Jules,” I said, staring into a face so full of unchecked joy that I kind of didn’t want to ever look away. “You sound a little grateful. To me.”
“I know,” she said with a giggle, her nose crinkling. “It’s nuts to let Damion Rutledge feel my gratitude, right?”
How is a nose crinkle so cute? It was just a movement on her face, but something about the way it paired with the squint of her eyes when she laughed made it seem like the physical embodiment of her joy.
This version of Julia had forgotten about everything in the world except happiness, and it was… really something.
It was her.
Get a grip, Rutledge.
I needed to look away from that face, so I lifted my hands and adjusted her crooked tie instead.
Said with just the right amount of innuendo, “I mean, I’d be all in on feeling your grat—”
“Stop,” she interrupted with a laugh as she looked down at where my hands were fixing her Windsor knot. “Don’t ruin my gratitude by being a pig.”
I tilted my head to see if the tie was straight now, needing another minute of looking at something other than her face. I nodded. “Much better.”
“What are you doing now, Rutledge?” she asked, running her hands down the silky tie.
“Besides fixing your abominable knotting work?” I said, dropping my hands. “I was going to go to the park,” I admitted, though I wouldn’t admit to what I’d been planning on doing there.
“Well, I’m going with you,” she said, “because we need to celebrate.”
“Celebrate as in… ‘cel-e-brate good times—come on…’?” I asked, still feeling out of sorts and confused by this happy-little-elf version of Julia who was being all fucking… nymphish. With me. “Is the park really the best place for a cel-e-bration?”
“Just shut up and come on,” she said, grabbing my sleeve.
What was with her today? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it, but that was just because the juxtaposition was entertaining and I loved to be entertained.
I liked the unpredictability of whatever this was.
She said, “Save that sarcastic wit for later. Right now I’m going to shower you with a few of my favorite things on the way.”
“Sounds messy,” I complained as she started walking, as she jerked my arm and pulled me behind her.
“You’re going to love it.”
“I cannot believe you walk your cat.”
“I know. Clank is a weirdo,” Julia said, holding the leash as the cat paraded around the Upper West Side like a little boss.
“A weirdo who knows what she likes,” I said, because I fucking loved it.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anything as adorable as her fluffy white cat walking around like a dog.
“Yeah, she loves it. Just like you are going to love this place.” Julia grinned as we entered the bodega around the corner. She went straight back to the deli counter, and before she even opened her mouth, the old guy behind the glass said, “Where’s your coat, Jules? It’s cold out there today.”
“This blazer’s warmer than it looks,” she said with a grin, gesturing to her school uniform. “Where’s Chippy?”
“She got sick of my jokes and went home, but she left your book on the table,” he said, his shrewd gaze moving over to me. “Who’s this guy?”
Julia looked at me with an overexaggerated sneer as she stepped over to a tiny table and pocketed a book that I was actually very familiar with.
She said, “Just a prep-school kid who followed me here. His name’s Damion or Dave, I can’t remember which.”
“Dave?” I said quietly, a little… mystified by this carefree version of her.
Who was this fucking girl?
Was this who she was in Nebraska?
Or was this just the version of her that existed when she wasn’t being bullied at the academy?
She grinned at me before saying to the guy, “He seems hungry, Saul, so can I get two red dogs with onions and mustard?”
“I’m afraid to ask,” I said. “But what’s a red dog?”
“Do not waste one on this guy, Jules,” Saul said, shaking his head. “I can tell by looking at him that he won’t appreciate it.”
“Ouch,” I said, not sure what the hell that meant, but I was certain it was an insult.
“He keeps surprising me, though,” she said. “Every time I think he’s the biggest jackass in the world, he does something… slightly less jackassy. And he helped me with my math, so I figure I owe him one.”
I owe him one.
Was that all this was? Just paying back a debt?
And why did the thought physically hurt me?
“Then two red dogs with onions and mustard, coming up.”
As it turned out, “red dogs” were Fairbury brand red hot dogs that apparently came from somewhere in Nebraska and couldn’t be bought outside the Midwest. When Julia told Saul (who she called the sweetest old grump) about them, he managed to get his hands on a few boxes and kept them in the back, just for her.
And him.
It sounded like she and Saul—along with Chippy, his wife—shared hot dog lunches on a regular basis.
Again—who the hell was Julia Lowell?
Because I didn’t know this carefree girl who was apparently friends with boomer grocers, who leash-trained her cat, who exchanged books of poetry with people named Chippy.
“This is so fucking good,” I said, chewing as we walked toward Riverside Park, doing my best not to get onions and mustard all over the front of my shirt. “I’m sure the dye in this hot dog is going to kill me, but I think it’s worth it.”
“Right?” she said, nodding through a mouthful. “But hurry up and finish, because it’s almost time for your dessert.”
She made me wait outside with Clank when she ran into a bakery with a sign so faded it looked out of business, but when she emerged from the place with a box in her hand, she was grinning. “Now take me to the best place in the park to sit and eat cake.”
I didn’t plan on taking her there, but as I listened to her ramble while we strolled leisurely, my legs just went in the direction of my bench.
“So Liam thought it’d be funny to take her for a walk, but he basically just dragged her down the hallway because the old girl refused to stand once the harness was on.” She laughed and said, “She looked like a corpse.”
“So then you trained her?” I asked as the cat strutted along the path beside us.
“I did, and now she’s insane about her walks.”
“Insane like her owner.”
“Haha, you’re hilarious,” she said.
“Yes, I am,” I said, giving her a push because something felt right about being physical with her.
Julia drew out the part of me that was compelled to tug on her hair, pinch her chin, pull her by her sleeve, and deliver teasing little pushes.
Christ, I thought.
She drew out the eight-year-old in me.
I wasn’t sure what it was, but I always wanted to be closer.
I always wanted hands-on.
“You think you are,” she replied, rolling her eyes and giving me a one-handed nudge.
Yes, please.
“So what was with the Milk and Honey?” I asked, dying to know. “Is Chippy a poet?”
She looked surprised, though I wasn’t sure if it was in response to the question or the fact that I’d seen the book. She blinked, thinking hard, then finally shrugged and said, “Chippy is an avid consumer of literature who thinks she detests poetry.”
“So the book…?” I prodded, fascinated by this unexplored side of her.
Christ, had she always been there and I’d never stopped to look?
“My attempt to change her mind,” she said with a self-deprecating smile.
“Give me a line, Nebraska,” I said. “And choose carefully, because I judge harshly.”