“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 withnothing.” 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 youneedpractice 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.
