Chapter 9 Brielle #2
“No way,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s three questions. Back to you.”
He pauses to think about it. “My parents divorced when I was little, but they stayed friendly, so that made it easier for me to bounce between them.”
“Did either of your parents remarry?” I ask.
He glances at me, one brow raised. “My turn for a question.”
“Uh-uh. I answered two of yours,” I smile at him, not wiping the smugness off my face.
His eyes darken, but he plays along. “They both did.”
Technically, he answered my question, but this would be so much easier if he gave me anything else. Does he like his stepparents? Does he have any stepsiblings?
“How did you get to Boston?” he asks again.
“I hate to disappoint you, but if I gave you three guesses, you’d get it in the first,” I tell him with a shrug. “College. I came here for Boston University and never left.”
“Accounting degree, right?”
“Obviously.” I don’t keep the snark out of my voice. “What are your stepparents like?”
He stares at me for a long minute. I can’t decipher the look on his face. He’s like a blank slate, and for a moment, I think he’s going to refuse to answer.
“Okay, where did you go to college?” I ask instead, changing the question to one that he might actually answer.
Damian swallows, the column of his throat bobbing in a distracting way. “No,” he says finally. “You asked about my stepparents. I’ll answer.”
I eat my dinner like I’m not waiting on bated breath. He seems totally unaffected on the outside, but the storm in his eyes tells a different story. A story I suddenly really want to hear.
“My mother fell in love and remarried when I was about seven, I think. Bruce is fine. He treats my mother right, which is all I can ask for. He’s a little too jaunty for me, but as long as she’s happy.”
A small laugh escapes me. I can’t imagine jaunty being up Damian’s alley.
“And your dad’s wife?” I prod and then immediately feel bad.
Damian’s eyes turn dark, his lips pulled down in a frown.
Whoever she is, he isn’t a fan, that much is clear.
I’m about to change the topic, just so I can see that little bit of light behind his eyes again, when he speaks.
“They’re divorced.” His voice is colder than I’ve ever heard. “She slept with his business partner, tore the firm apart, and left him with nothing.” He lets out a heavy breath and, with the smallest shake of his head, goes back to eating his dinner.
Oh, shit.
We go back and forth for another forty minutes. The questions stay at a surface level after that, but it’s stuff that we would know about each other if we really were in a relationship, if only superficially.
Outside, the snow seems to have stopped. I can’t see how much has accumulated, but at least it isn’t still coming down.
“Looks like the snow has let up,” I say.
Damian looks out the windows, surprise rounding his eyes quickly before it’s gone.
“Stay here. I’ll get the car and pull it around,” he says, collecting my tray and piling it on top of his.
“You don’t have to do that. I can walk back,” I tell him.
Again, he glares at my shoes like they’re the epitome of evilness.
“Stay here,” he says again.
He’s cleaned up our dinner and is out the door before I can say anything else. A few minutes later, I see headlights in the window and go out to join him.
Damian is halfway to the restaurant, but he pivots and opens the passenger door for me instead.
“Thank you,” I say, slipping inside.
He closes the door, and for a quick second, it feels almost intimate, like this is a date. I shake myself out of it, reminding myself that we’re only here together because we need to be.
The ride back to my apartment solidifies that for me. Instead of continuing our conversation and lobbing questions at each other, we sit in silence again.
If this were a date, it would not be one that would have me agreeing to a second date.
He pulls up in front of my apartment building on the other side of the road.
“I’m glad we did that,” I say, breaking the silence. “Have a good night.”
He wordlessly opens his door and steps out, coming around the car to my side. I have the door open before he gets there, but he holds it open for me, closing it when I’m out of the car.
“You don’t have to walk me in,” I laugh.
“It’s dark, and this neighborhood is sketchy,” he says like that’s all the excuse he needs.
After learning more about him, I’m starting to put together the pieces.
Damian is a secret protector. Not the big, scary bodyguard type—although he is quite tall and can definitely be intimidating.
He isn’t overly broad, and his imposing presence comes from his intensity more than it does physicality.
No, Damian is the loyal protector. The kind of friend who had your back, even when he knew they would lose the fight.
He gestures for me to go in front of him, but he trails only half a step behind.
I haven’t brought anyone back to my apartment in ages. The reminder of dates past, the ones that ended in my bed, must short-circuit my brain.
“Should we practice holding hands?” I ask.
The look he gives me makes me feel like an idiot. Why would I ask that?
“Do you need practice holding hands?” he counters.
“No,” I say quickly. “I was just thinking to make it more habitual, like it’s something that we do all the time… Never mind.”
He threads his long fingers through mine, and my stupid heart flutters. He doesn’t smirk or huff or say something flirty. He just does it. His palm is warm and soft against mine. He has the hands of someone who works behind a desk. I wouldn’t think I’d like that, but I do.
Probably too much.
He doesn’t stop at the door to the apartment complex, instead following me inside. We walk up three flights of stairs hand in hand like we do it all the time.
I turn to him and offer a tentative smile. Can he tell that my pulse is racing? He probably thinks I’m a weirdo for ever suggesting that we hold hands.
“Well, this is me,” I chuckle awkwardly at my door.
“It is.” We stand at the door, tension growing as we stare at each other. He leans in, and I instinctively tilt my chin up to him. His spicy cologne invades my senses. My eyes flutter as he closes the small gap between us. “Good night, Brielle,” he whispers in my ear, sending a shiver down my body.
“Good night.” My breathy voice betrays the rapid rate of my pulse, and I hope he doesn’t notice.
Damian takes a step back and waits until I unlock the door before turning to leave.
It isn’t like I wanted him to kiss me. Still, I pretend like the pang of disappointment isn’t there as I close the door behind me.