Chapter 52: I Fear I Have Made Things Worse
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For what I was pretty sure was the first time since I’d met him, Damien genuinely looked confused. Not the usual controlled confusion, actually confused, the mask slipping a little. "...What?"
I pointed at him with a teasing grin. "You heard me."
His eyebrows drew together. "What girl?"
I stared at him. He stared back. We both held that moment, two people definitely not communicating clearly but fully aware of it.
Perhaps this would serve as a little revenge for him doing all he could to tease me and make me blush like a sixteen year old girl seeing her celebrity crush for the first time.
I’d take the girl he was interested in, show him just who’s boss.
I grinned, slowly to the point I probably looked like a psychotic troll, the kind of grin that says I’ve just discovered some unexpected leverage and plan to use it, which is to say irresponsibly. "Guess you’re not as hot as you think you are if she chose."
The expression on his face suggested he was genuinely weighing the potential consequences of various responses, probably involving throwing something.
I counted that as a win.
For the next hour, the apartment settled back into quiet. On the surface, anyway.
Because underneath, something had changed.
I noticed it first when Damien got up from the table, nothing unusual about that... but instead of retreating to his room like he usually did, he lingered in the living room.
He headed to the kitchen for water and then coming back. Finding, with impressive creativity, a series of small reasons to stay in the same space.
It was subtle, circumstantially deniable. The behavior of someone who, if confronted, would have a dozen perfectly reasonable explanations for why they were standing right there.
But I noticed. Mostly because I had been spending the past three weeks becoming an unintentional expert in the patterns of Damien Lockwood, which was knowledge I hadn’t asked for and couldn’t seem to shake.
My phone buzzed again. Melanie, keeping the conversation rolling with the cheerful momentum of someone who had decided we were already friends and was just filling out the paperwork. The message made me laugh, a real laugh, sudden and unexpected.
I felt it before I looked up. That feeling of being watched.
I glanced up.
Damien immediately averted his gaze. With the vibe of someone who had definitely not been watching and was deeply insulted by the suggestion.
I narrowed my eyes at the side of his face.
He didn’t look back.
Sure. Fine. Completely normal.
A little later, I went to the kitchen for water, which was a straightforward mission with no ulterior motives on my part.
Damien showed up about thirty seconds later. Coincidence? Definitely. People need things from kitchens all the time, right?
I opened the fridge. Damien opened the fridge, the same one, even though there were two, and one of them was technically unplugged but still technically there.
"Do you need something?" I asked.
"No."
"Then why are you just standing here?"
He thought about it like it was a reasonable philosophical question that deserved a well-thought-out answer. "I live here."
I hated when he was technically right. It made arguing so much harder. "Fair point."
I filled my glass. He stayed where he was, leaning against the counter with his arms folded, and his gaze flicked briefly to my phone on the counter beside me.
"So are you going somewhere with this...girl, soon?"
I nearly dropped the water bottle. Not because the question caught me off guard, I half-expected it but because of the particular casualness in his voice, the careful neutrality of someone trying to sound like they’re discussing the weather while clearly thinking about something else.
I took a slow drink, buying time. "Maybe."
"Hm."
That was it. Just that single syllable, noncommittal and somehow loaded, like a punctuation mark that changes the meaning of an entire sentence. The man could turn a single sound into psychological warfare. It was genuinely impressive in the most annoying way.
"You know," I said, setting my glass down, "most people would just ask."
His eyes met mine. "Ask what?"
"Whether it’s a date."
Something flickered across his face, it was dark, quick, carefully controlled, gone before I could read it properly. "So is it?"
I held his gaze for a moment. "Maybe."
His jaw tightened. Just a bit, just enough for me to catch it, a small shift that most might miss, but I had spent three weeks involuntarily cataloging Damien Lockwood expressions, so I noticed it the slightest tension there, then smoothed back into composure.
I had never seen him look like that before. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t shivers run up and down my spine.
I fought the urge the hide a snort, look who’s possessive over a random girl when Joey says half the girls in college wanted him.
"Right," he said quietly.
Then he just walked away. No follow-up, no reaction, just turned and left the kitchen as if the convo had wrapped up and he was perfectly fine with where it landed.
I stood there in the kitchen, holding my glass of water, staring at the empty space where he’d just been.
Later that evening, after dinner, I sat on the couch with my phone as the conversation with Melanie flowed smoothly, which it did easily because she was great at that. She was funny in a quick, natural way that never felt forced. Easy to chat with.
The conversation moved effortlessly along, one message leading to the next, and there was nothing complicated about it. No subtext to decode. No expressions to catalog, no heavy silences that felt weighty for no reason.
This was what normal felt like. I’d almost forgotten.
I typed out another response, confirmed Saturday, coffee, somewhere near campus, simple and straightforward, exactly what I told myself I wanted. No weird emotional complications. No confusing roommates.
No mysterious stares or loaded single syllables, and definitely no memories of a kiss I had absolutely no business lingering on.
My phone buzzed.
Melanie: Can’t wait to see you on Saturday 😊
I smiled a real smile...the kind that didn’t make me want to overanalyze myself afterward. Then I looked up and froze.
Across the room, Damien was watching me. Not glaring, not the cold, dismissive glare I had grown used to in the earlier weeks, the kind that said you’re an inconvenience in my life. Not annoyed, not irritated, he was just watching, with that new quiet intensity I hadn’t seen before...it was a bit clearer now, his pale blue eyes locking onto mine the moment I glanced up and not diverting away.
There was something in his expression I couldn’t quite place. Something dark and careful and just beneath the surface, something that looked almost like —
He looked away. The moment he realized I’d caught him, his gaze dropped to the table, whatever had been there smoothed over, composed, and gone.
But not before my stomach did something complicated and uninvited.
Crap, I sure hope I hadn’t gone and fuck shit up just like I was prone to do.
My pulse felt loud. The apartment felt smaller than it had just ten seconds ago, warmer, and the air felt slightly harder to breathe. I glanced back at my phone. Melanie’s emoji sat there cheerfully, blissfully unaware of what was happening a mere twelve feet away on the other side of the living room.
Just one date. That’s all this was. One date with a cute girl who actually liked me, who texted back right away, who used exclamation points without irony and made me laugh effortlessly. That was a good thing. A normal, healthy, uncomplicated good thing.
So why was it that just one look from Damien, silent, unreadable, gone almost before I recognized it...made my heart do more in three seconds than an entire evening of easy conversation had managed?
I didn’t have an answer.
I was beginning to think that was the issue.