“Was any of that true?”
“That depends.” The toes of his shoes scuff mine as he stops just in front of me. “Does honesty matter to you?”
I frown, unsure what he means.
“Lots of girls prefer being lied to,” he continues. “Being told they’re beautiful, they’re special.” He bends level, hot breath tickling the hairs on my cheek. “They’re the only one.”
I duck my head, folding my arms. “Yes, I’d prefer you told the truth.”
“Okaaaaaay,” he drawls. “Ihavemoved high school four times, and Ididstep on your glasses. The rest…?”
He leaves such a long pause, I prompt, “The rest?”
Another laugh. “Sorry. I shrugged, my bad. The rest is mostly fiction.”
“Why did you move schools, then?”
“This time? Punched a teacher.”
I clench my jaw, stifling the inappropriate laugh that bubbles up, unbidden. There isn’t a hint of regret in his voice, and it sounds kind of liberating.
“So, I guess it was because of bullying,” he adds.
I can’t help it. I snort with laughter, staring at his face, just a few inches from mine. And his expression changes, going blank. Like he’s removed the mask he usually wears in public, revealing his true self.
Dread creeps across my shoulders, but the twist in my lower belly? Excitement. He looks like he could slice me open and not even blink.
I expect him to withdraw, but he stays there, heat pulsing off his body, breath sweet enough to be intoxicating. “Why do your eyes move like that?”
Usually, I’d get defensive but there’s no judgement in his voice. “It’s called nystagmus, it’s involuntary.”
“Makes you look shifty. It’s kind of cool.”
Millimetres away now and how can someone so pretty, look so menacing? Do I have a death wish?
Well, obviously.
His fingers brush my bruised cheekbone. “Why are you smiling?”
“Private joke.”
How far Chelsea would run if she saw him like this? Miles, I’d bet, and the answer heats my lower belly.
“Rothschild usually has a nine-month waiting list.”
The change of topic takes a second, then I click. The expensive optometrist. Hope and disappointment war inside me.Usually?
“But I got my dad to pull a few strings. They share… similar interests. He’s set aside an appointment next week if you want it.”
I swallow the automatic ‘Yes’ that forms on my lips. “And you’d pay for everything?”
“Yeah, I could agree to that.” Damien plants his hands either side of my head and stucco dents my shoulders as his torso cages me. “But I’d want something in return. Something more than you helping me with music class. That’s only fair.”
He tilts his head, and deep shadows fall across his face.
“Let’s say I pay for the impossible-to-get appointment, and in return…”
The pause stretches until I can’t handle another single, solitary beat. “In return?”
