Valentine: Yes.
Me: What if I don’t want coconut chicken curry?
Valentine: Then you can eat before you get there. But you’ll be upset you missed out.
Me: So, it’s not about the dinner. You just want me to come over.
Valentine: See you at 7:00
The rain seeps through my cute but impractical jacket, the fabric of my shirt clinging to my body. Gray skies threaten to open up above my head as I power walk back to my apartment to change. Spring in New England can either be beautiful, with warmer temperatures andlonger days. Or it can be one endless, gloomy cloud, rain day after rain day until you forget what sunshine on your skin feels like.
This year is the latter.
I duck my head, turning into the shortcut through the alley, when I hear someone yell something behind me.
It isn’t the first time I’ve come across someone looking to get a rise out of me in this dark corridor, although it’s pretty infrequent. Most days, this alley is entirely empty, and on the occasion that I do find myself in the company of someone else, we often ignore each other and be on our merry way.
I pick up my pace incrementally, conscious of looking too eager to run but also wanting to get out of here as fast as possible.
The wind tunnels through, pushing me from behind and propelling me forward, when a hand grabs hold of my arm.
I scream, spinning around quickly and tugging my arm to free it from his grasp. I can feel my heart beating wildly in my throat.
“What the hell? You scared the crap out of me,” I yell. Damian is towering over me, rain dripping from the ends of his hair.
“I was calling you.”
“Well, I wasn’t listening. When someone starts shouting at you in a dark alley, you don’t stay and make friends, Damian. You get the hell out of there.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t be walking alone down dark alleys. Get in the car.” His voice drips with command, low and throaty. The intense look in his eyes should feel menacing, but it doesn’t.
I turn heel and start toward where Damian parked his car on the side of the road. Not because he commanded it—even if it did send a shiver of awareness through me—but because it’s the practical thing to do.
“It’s perfectly safe when no one is shouting at me,” I mutter under my breath.
Damian opens my door for me. The sound of my wet clothes hitting the leather seats makes a cringy plopping noise. He slides into the driver’s seat with more elegance than should be allowed. Meanwhile, I’m sitting beside him looking like a drowned sewer rat. My hair is stuck to my face, my clothes plastered to my body.
We drive back to my apartment with the radio turned down, listening to the sounds of the rain. Damian finds a spot not far from the door and pulls over.
“Thanks for the ride.”
He tips his chin toward my apartment building. “I’ll wait for you here while you get changed.”
“Oh, okay.” I reach for the door handle, then turn back to him. I’m not embarrassed by my apartment, but I’d have to be blind not to compare it to Damian’s penthouse. Still, I ask, “Do you want to come up?”
A small smirk tugs at his mouth. “Yes.”
He comes around to my door, opening it. The rain picked up on the short drive over here, the large droplets landing in splats on my head. Damian pulls his suit jacket off and holds it above our heads for protection as we jog from the car to the front door.
“Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence today,” Holly shouts from her bedroom when I let us into the apartment.
“Hey, Hols. I—”
She cuts me off before I can say anything else. “Is it just my daily ten minutes of Bri-time, or are you finally going to pull your weight and make a dinner around here?”
“I can’ttonight—”
“Of course not. You have to go seeDamian.” She says his name in a mocking schoolgirl tone.
