40. Roman
Roman
Damon is still stretched out on my bed, looking wrecked in the best fucking way—his dark curls a mess, his lips swollen, his bare chest covered in faint red marks from my teeth. But his eyes… his eyes still hold a shadow that never quite leaves him.
I need to get him out of his own head before he spirals again. Before he starts convincing himself that he’s broken and that he doesn’t deserve this.
So when his eyes close, I slap his thigh and sit up. “Get dressed.”
Damon barely cracks an eye open. “What?”
I nudge his side. “You heard me. Get up, get dressed. We’re going out.”
His brow furrows. “I’m tired.”
I smack his ass hard enough to make him grunt. “I don’t give a fuck. Get up.”
Damon groans dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. “No.”
“Yeah,” I say, shoving him again. “Let’s go.”
“If this is some elaborate scheme to get me to work out at night, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
I roll my eyes and pull the blankets off him. “You’re such a drama queen.”
“I am dramatic,” he says, stretching out with a lazy smirk. “And you love it.”
I ignore the way my stomach tightens at that, because—fuck, I do. But I’m not feeding his ego tonight. “Clothes, now,” I say, standing and tossing his jeans at him. “Or I’m dragging you out of here in your boxers.”
Damon grumbles but drags himself out of bed, pulling on his jeans and grabbing one of my hoodies—my hoodie, which should not make my chest feel as tight as it does.
“Where are we going?” he asks as he pulls on the hoodie.
“You’ll see.” I check my phone, making sure the texts I sent were received.
Killian: Got you. Key’s in my locker.
Luca: Lmk if you need anything else, lover boy??
Thorn: This is disgustingly sweet, Bishop. Proud of you??
I roll my eyes at Thorn’s comment and shove my phone in my pocket before I lead Damon downstairs. The guys are in the living room, but I ignore them, making a beeline for the garage.
Damon stops dead when I press the key fob and the lights of my truck flash. “Since when do you own a truck?”
I smirk. “Since always. I just don’t like to drive.”
He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Then why are you using it now?”
I shrug. “Felt like it.”
Damon huffs but doesn’t argue as he climbs in. Once we’re on the road, he turns to me. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“That’s the point of a surprise, Trouble.” His eyes flicker at the nickname, and I don’t miss the way he shifts slightly, like he’s feeling that word more than he wants to admit.
I don’t say anything, just smirk as I turn onto the highway. The first stop is a tiny coffee shop downtown, one that’s open late and has the best hot chocolate. Damon wrinkles his nose when I tell him that’s what he’s getting.
“I’m not a child.”
I slide the cup across the table to him. “Just try it, asshole.”
He sighs like this is a huge burden, but when he takes a sip, his eyebrows shoot up.
I smirk. “Good, right?”
He scowls, taking another sip. “Fuck off.”
I don’t call him out on the way he’s holding the cup close like it’s comforting. Next stop is a bookstore. Damon pretends he doesn’t care, but within five minutes, he’s flipping through an art book with rapt attention.
I lean against a shelf, watching him.
“What?” he mutters, not looking up.
“Nothing,” I say, grinning. “Just watching you be a nerd.”
He flips me off without missing a beat and I buy the book for him when he’s not looking.
Dinner is at a hole-in-the-wall diner that serves the best burgers and milkshakes. It’s nothing fancy, just a small place with dim lighting, decent food, and booths tucked into the corners where we can have some space.
Damon raises an eyebrow as we slide into a booth. “A fucking diner?”
I shrug. “Good food. Good shakes. Plus, you need to eat.”
“I do eat,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Not enough,” I counter, flipping through the menu. He scowls at me but doesn’t argue. Fuck me, my boy is grumpy as all hell.
When the waitress comes by, I order a double cheeseburger, and Damon, after glaring at me for a few seconds, sighs and orders the same. But he raises an eyebrow at my vanilla shake when our order arrives. “That’s the most boring shit I’ve ever seen.”
I steal a fry from his plate. “Not all of us are obsessed with black coffee and cigarettes, Ward.”
He smirks. “And yet, you’re obsessed with me.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t deny it. He looks down at his plate for a second, then up at me, his expression softer. “This is nice.”
I reach across the table, taking his hand. “I’m glad you’re reluctantly enjoying our date, baby.” Damon groans, but I don’t miss the way his fingers tighten around mine.
We eat, we talk, and I keep touching him every chance I get—brushing my foot against his under the table, running my fingers over his wrist, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.
And yeah, it is throwing him off. But the longer we sit there, the less tense he becomes, and the more I see his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile.
The last stop is the rink.
Damon frowns when I pull into the empty parking lot. “Seriously?”
I grab the keys Killian left for me and smirk. “Trust me.”
Inside, the arena is silent and the overhead lights cast a soft glow on the ice. I lace up my skates while Damon watches, arms crossed. “You do know how to skate, right?”
He gives me a flat look. “We grew up in fucking Michigan, Roman.”
I grin, standing up. “Then get your ass out here.”
Damon grumbles the whole time he laces up, but when he steps onto the ice, he moves easily, smoothly, like he’s been doing this forever.
I skate backward in front of him, smirking. “Not bad.”
He scoffs. “I told you I could skate.”
We glide around the rink, just the two of us, the silence between us easy. Then I grab his hoodie and pull him to me, pressing my forehead against his.
“Having fun?” I murmur.
He huffs, but there’s a small smile on his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”
I take his hand and start skating with him, slow and easy. “You’re smiling, though.”
He rolls his eyes, but I see the way his lips twitch. Then, out of nowhere, I pull him close and dip him low right there on the ice. He lets out a startled laugh, gripping my shoulders. “You asshole—”
I shut him up with a kiss, soft and deep, my hands holding him steady, my body pressed against his. When I pull back and straighten us, he’s breathless. “You really planned all this for me?”
I shrug. “Wanted to give you a night without all the bullshit.”
He bites his bottom lip and looks down at our hands, then, quietly, he says, “No one’s ever done something like this for me before. Thank you.” He gives me a shy smile, but I don’t say anything. I just pull him closer, pressing my lips to his temple.
Then… he laughs. Not a smirk, not a scoff—a real fucking laugh. Wide and free, his green eyes bright, his whole face alive in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen.
Something warm settles in my chest, something that makes my ribs feel too tight, and my breath hitches just a little.
I love this man.
Damon catches my expression and tilts his head. “What?”
I shake my head, smirking. “Nothing.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re fucking staring.”
“Yeah,” I admit, not bothering to deny it. “You’re hot when you’re happy.”
Damon blinks, his cheeks turning faintly pink before he scoffs. “You’re so damn annoying.”
I grin. “Yeah, but you like it.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s a softness in them now, something I know he doesn’t show to just anyone.
And fuck, I’ll make sure I see it again.