Chapter Twenty-Six Julia
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I’m great at flirting. I might’ve invented it.”
—Remington
Julia
Oh God, I thought as we went into what appeared to be a very dark bedroom with a huge king-sized bed in its center.
And I thought oh God yet again when Damion closed the door behind us.
“Oh my God,” I whispered as darkness engulfed us. “I am so sorry about this—what was I thinking?”
He sounded like he thought it was funny when he quietly murmured, “You were trying to stick it to Coco, I think.”
“I was,” I said, hating her so much. “She was just so… rude with the Corn Queen stuff that I wanted to piss her off and make her jealous.”
“And you probably succeeded,” he said, sounding absolutely unfazed. “She’s probably losing it right now.”
“I’m such an idiot, though,” I said, my eyes adjusting enough for me to see the outline of him as he stood beside me in the dark. “How long do you think we need to stay in here?”
“That depends on what you want them to think we’re doing,” he said, and I knew if I could see his face, he’d be smirking.
And if he could see my face, I’d be dying of mortification.
“Can we turn on the light?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
“Same answer,” he said.
“Is fifteen minutes a respectable amount of time to spend in here?” I asked, feeling absolutely unsettled as I whispered to him in the darkness.
“You’ll ruin my reputation,” he teased with a laugh. “You gotta give me at least forty-five minutes.”
My stomach went all light as I forced myself not to think about what that meant.
“Can I call in a bomb threat?” I said, sighing as I stepped away from the door, as I tried adjusting the slouchy sweater that kept sliding off my right shoulder.
“I’d advise against it,” he said, laughing. I could feel him stepping closer toward me. “You don’t want the cops here.”
“Well, what are we going to do in the dark for forty-five minutes?” I whisper-yelled, panicking at the thought of it. My steps led me backward, away from his presence, but he was right there with me.
Back, back, back… until I hit the wall behind me.
And he was still there, towering over me.
Damion’s voice tickled my skin when he said, “Oh, Nebraska, you’re killing me here.”
I laughed in spite of the tension. Nervous laughter because what else was there when I was alone in a bedroom with Damion Rutledge?
“I suggest we move to the bed,” he said when I finally caught my breath. “We can get comfortable until the bomb squad arrives.”
“Well…,” I said, trailing off because the idea of being on a bed with him, in the dark, was too much for me to handle.
Just like this current situation, this very minute.
His face inches from mine. The smell of whatever cologne he was wearing, suffocating my senses as I tried to guess if his eyes were more blue or green today.
“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he said, pushing himself away from me as if he weren’t all up in my personal space. Then again, maybe he’d made that move dozens of times. Maybe even with Coco. “We can play a game.”
You mean besides the one you just played with me?!
“Or maybe we can just talk?” I asked, trying to regain my composure and avoid something nightmarish like truth or dare.
“Come on,” he said, and I felt his hand grab mine. Oh my God. I let him pull me through the dark room, and then my heart stopped when we reached the bed and he gave me a tiny push.
He immediately followed, jumping boyishly onto the surface beside me, flipping onto his back so he was lying flat and staring up at the ceiling.
Blue or green eyes right now?
“I’m not playing this game,” I said nervously.
That made him laugh. “I won’t bite, Nebraska. If we’re going to be in here for a while, I want to be comfortable. That’s it, I promise.”
“Oh.”
There was a safety in the removal of eye contact, like the darkness was making it okay to take a risk.
So I lay down (a safe distance) next to him, and we both stared up at the ceiling.
It was oddly comfortable, the silence between us.
And I was glad for it, to be honest, because how could I ever explain to him why I’d inserted myself into this situation?
You looked like Coco made you nervous.
It made zero sense. If there was anyone in the world who didn’t need saving, it was Damion Rutledge.
But eventually he asked, “Are you okay with this, or are you going to die of embarrassment when we exit the bedroom?”
He probably didn’t know just how many rumors were already flying about us and the fact that we’d been “hanging out” since I moved in. I didn’t love what this would look like to a lot of people, but I was used to the judgment.
Okay—not used to it, I would NEVER be used to it, but I didn’t think this would make it any worse.
“I’m good,” I said. “The embarrassment will be debilitating but not fatal.”
“Worth it?”
“I mean,” I said, shrugging. “Sure. It felt good to ruin her happiness.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Believe me, I get that.”
“Yeah, what’s the deal there?” I asked nonchalantly, positive he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. “Maybe I misread it, but you definitely looked like you didn’t want to talk to her. You looked… hesitant.”
“Hesitant,” he repeated, reaching behind his head to fluff the pillow he was lying on. “Yeah, that’s a good way to put it. I’m always hesitant to go anywhere near her because she’s not exactly nice.”
“Like any of you are,” I said without thinking.
“Any of you?” he said, sounding amused and outraged. “Who specifically are you referencing here?”
It wasn’t wise, but I admitted, “The entire student body of Gardenwood Academy…?”
He made a noise in the back of his throat, some sort of an agitated sigh. “It’s a little insulting, Jules, for you to lump me in with Coco and the Skins or the Toms. Talk about a gross generalization.”
“But…” Even more unwise, I heard myself ask, “How exactly are you different?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” he asked, his voice quiet but thick with outrage, like I’d actually insulted him.
He turned over on his side to face me, a challenge, so I did the same.
I rolled over, and even though it was dark, my stomach flipped because I could see how intently he was watching me.
I couldn’t have actually insulted him, right?
Impossible.
“I mean…” I didn’t have any explanation, any words of clarification, but I wanted to know. I wanted him to tell me how he was different from everyone else at the academy. “You just said Coco isn’t nice, and you’ve specifically told me that you aren’t nice, either, so how exactly are you different?”
“For starters, Coco tears people down for fun. It’s like a sport to her.”
I bit down on my lip, but then I thought screw it and said, “Again, you’re different how?”
He made that offended noise again. “I only do it when I have good reason.”
What in God’s name could he mean by that? “Good reason? When have I ever given you a good reason to tear me down?”
At that his stare lingered on me for a bit too long. It may have been dark in that room, but I knew when Damion Rutledge’s hazel eyes peered into mine. It was a unique feeling all its own. It made a shiver trip down my spine, especially with what he said next.
“Maybe it isn’t ‘tearing down’ at all.” His voice was as dark as the room when he said, “Maybe it’s flirting.”
“Oh, okay,” I scoffed, because of course he would say that.
“Speaking of flirting,” he said, his subject change silky smooth. “Since we’ve got time to kill in this cozy bedroom, I’d be more than happy, as your tutor, to volunteer to give you a flirting lesson.”
He was so close, it was so dark.
“Oh my God, I don’t need a flirting lesson from you, Mr. Ego,” I said, sounding as flustered as I felt, “but thank you so much for the offer.”
“No, think about it,” he said, scooting slightly closer, a smirk in his deep voice. “I’m an expert in Gardenwood flirting. You are not. Let me tutor you in something fun, free of charge.”
“Wow, a flirting lesson free of charge? From Damion the Expert?” I mocked, but my brain was kind of crashing out because this was too intimate of a topic to be discussing in this dark of a room.
On this big of a bed.
I said, “Oh my God, you’re so selfless.”
“Right?” he replied, and I could hear he was grinning his dirty grin, the one that always made my stomach dip.
My stomach was dipping just from picturing it, actually.
He said, “I mean, eventually you’re going to meet someone you’re interested in, and won’t it be nice if you’re equipped with the skills to land them?”
How can he be so arrogant? I wondered.
“How do you know I haven’t already met them?” I said, annoyed by the way he was acting like I was a clueless child when it came to flirting.
He said, “I’m flattered—”
“Not you,” I scoffed, even though there was, of course, no one I was flirting with in this hellscape where people hated me.
“Really.” His tone changed. “Then who, Miss Lowell?”
Miss Lowell.
I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t let him win. His cocky know-it-all attitude on full display in this very intense moment was too much. It was the only explanation for why I said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but your friend Beckett is interesting.”
“Beckett?” He sounded shocked.
Good.
“You’re interested in Beckett?” he repeated, his voice a little louder. Less smooth. More agitated.
“I mean, I don’t know if I’d say I’m interested,” I said, suddenly feeling good about my lie. I liked that I’d caught him off guard. Made him lose the cockiness in his voice.
It inspired me. And suddenly I wanted to shock the hell out of Damion the Rebel. I smiled at him in the darkness and said, “But Beckett is definitely interesting.”
“Interesting.” He was quiet for a second, then he said under his breath, “Huh.”
“Interesting and not an asshole,” I added, feeling a little light, a little playful.
“Is that what you look for?” he asked, his tone unreadable from the small space between us. “Not an asshole? Seems like the bare minimum.”
“It’s a good start.”
“So somewhere between ‘dickhead with a mullet’ and ‘non-asshole’ is your starting spot,” he said. “That’s a low bar, Nebraska.”
Was it just me or did he sound… mad? Annoyed. Big bad Damion can’t handle someone else messing with him for change?
“Don’t you worry about my bar, New York.”
“Oh, I’m not,” he said, a distinctness to his tone. “But I’m going to need you to move a little closer.”
“What? Why?”
“Because our lesson is about to begin.” Gravelly and low, his voice came out with an extra something that I felt in every cell in my body. It sounded like his usual arrogant flirtatiousness, but there was an edge to it.
An urgency, maybe…?
No.
Impossible.
“I told you I know how to flirt,” I said, and I was impressed by the confidence in my tone when I so didn’t feel it.
“Sure you do.” The mattress dipped and suddenly his face was right beside mine, his head closer on the pillow next to the pillow my head was resting on.
I was looking into his hazel eyes, and God, they were watching me as the smell of his wicked cologne slithered around my consciousness and made me hyperaware of every detail about him.
Glasses, eyebrows, sweater, cheekbones, eyes that seem to see everything…
“Has it ever occurred to you that you aren’t the best at everything?” I asked, trying not to focus on the fact that we were lying on pillows on a king-sized bed, dear Lord. “That your self-professed expertise might simply be that, your own opinion?”
“Nope,” he said quietly, reaching out a hand to touch my hair on the pillow.
I held my breath, unsure of what was going on as his eyes—and his long fingers—offhandedly trailed along a curl.
I was pretty sure I was going to spontaneously combust.
Get it together, Jules!
“Maybe I don’t need tutoring,” I said, ignoring the way my pulse was running wildly erratic. “Maybe you’re the one who needs tutoring.”
And then.
His hand stilled and his eyes shot to my face.
His Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed, and I watched his jaw flex.
Shit!
“Well, well, Nebraska,” he said, lifting his hand to set that exploring fingertip on my bare shoulder instead. The warmth of it sent a shiver down my spine. “Here you are, in this sweater, blowing my mind and giving me ideas.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said in a rush, but my voice came out so, so quiet, far too breathy. “I didn’t—”
“Teach me, teacher,” he said, the warmth of his hand still sliding along the skin of my shoulder as his gaze slid over my face.
My eyes wanted to close and my voice didn’t seem to want to work. “You misunder—”
“Apprendez-moi, ma?tresse,” he said, his eyes playful and so, so, close, oh my God, what is happening?
I couldn’t seem to speak, to move, to do anything as his voice toyed with me in another language, as his fingers toyed with my sweater, tugging it into place on my shoulder.
“Mi insegni, Maestra, in italiano,” he said on a breath, his lips so close to mine, his hazel eyes dipping to my mouth.
My heart was pounding in my ears as Damion leaned—
“Time’s up, we need this room!” I heard as someone banged loudly on the door, snapping me back into reality.
I gasped as the door flew open and the lights came on, and two people I didn’t know stumbled into the room.
I scrambled to sit up, squinting into the jarringly bright light as I very nearly leapt off that bed.
“Fine, it’s yours,” Damion said, and when I glanced over at him, he was smirking and climbing leisurely off the bed like this was no big deal.
Like he’d just been woken from a long nap or something.
He looked rumpled and beautiful, a fallen angel or boyish devil, as he adjusted the backward hat on his head.
What what what just happened with him??
I was totally freaking out.
He wasn’t looking at me, so I couldn’t read his expression, though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to or not.
Because I had no idea what was going on.
What in God’s name had just almost happened in the dark??
I followed his watchful gaze to the doorway, where Coco was standing, glaring back at him like they were having an angry, wordless conversation.
Fabulous.
“You ready, Jules?” Damion asked, and when I looked at him, he winked and grabbed my hand.
I forced my lips into a smile and nodded.
And then he lowered his head and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “That was one hell of a conversation, honey.”