“No.” I was so done with this argument. Already, I could feel the exhaustion creeping in.
“But, Krista…”
Damien stepped up then and put his arm around my mother’s shoulders. “Well, I think it’s time for you to go,” he said, leading her toward the front door. She tried to turn away from him, but he merely grasped both of her shoulders to keep her moving. I trailed behind them, amazed at what he was doing.
“I had a lot more to say,” my mom said, glaring up at him indignantly.
“Well, you know how stubborn she is. You might as well give it up and let her make her own choices. It’ll only hurt your relationship if you keep pressuring her like this.”
“I’ll come back again,” she said like a belligerent teenager. “As soon as she struggles to pay her bills or gets sick or her car breaks down, she’ll need me.”
Damien opened the door. “You don’t give her enough credit. And besides, she has me now.” As soon as he had her through the door, he stepped back inside. “Be sure to call before coming over next time. Goodbye.”
And then he shut the door in my mother’s face, turning the deadbolt with a smirk of satisfaction. He turned back around and leaned against the door, shoving his hands down into his hoodie pockets again. Then he studied me, his expression growing more and more difficult to read.
I didn’t know what else to do besides stare back at him. As quiet as we were, it was easy to hear the sound of my mom’s car starting up and driving away. Once it faded to nothing, I let out a deep breath and prepared myself to face Damien’s reaction to the crazy things I’d said. Would he be mad? I doubted it. From his reaction earlier, he was more likely to tease me mercilessly about it.
“Well, I understand a few things better now.”
I scrunched my brows together. “Like what?”
“She’s the fire that forged you into iron.”
I blinked at him. “I don’t feel like iron.”
“I know. But just because you don’t feel strong doesn’t mean you aren’t. We barely even know each other, but I’m so freaking proud of you right now.”
I pressed my lips together but couldn’t completely stop myself from chuckling, though it sounded more like a grumpy huff of air. “I can’t believe you hung around. I’m so sorry about…wow.” As the horror of everything I’d said rang in my head, I rushed over to sit on the stairs before my legs collapsed beneath me. I pulled my knees up close to my chest and buried my face in my hands. “I can’t believe the things that came out of my mouth.”
I waited there, wondering what Damien was going to say. I mean, my mom and I had just dumped a bucket of crazy over him.
But he didn’t say anything at all. He looked at me for a long, quiet moment, then sat down two steps below me, angling his body to lean against the wall, and stretched his long legs out. He took up so much room that I waited to feel claustrophobic, or at least uncomfortable. But I didn’t. In fact, having him sort of fill up all the empty space around me…well, it was oddly comforting.
Best of all, he didn’t even look at me. He just leaned his head against the wall and stared up at the ceiling—which was not that interesting.
My quick, shallow breathing slowed and deepened. The trembling tension inside me eased away. I stopped clenching my teeth.
He smelled like morning air and coffee. He felt…safe.
“Why aren’t you talking?” I asked at last, my voice almost a whisper.
His eyes shifted to meet mine. “I thought you’d rather be quiet.”
Because I knew what a normally talkative person he was, that single sentence felt more like friendship than any other interaction we’d had.
I couldn’t let this happen—I couldn’t be friends, but for the moment, I was grateful. “Thanks,” I said, hoping he’d understand, since I wasn’t capable of saying any more than that.
He smiled and went back to looking up at the ceiling. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m sitting here plotting ways to convince you to go to the wedding with me.”
“Even after the mother-daughter freak show you just saw?”
His eyes found mine again. “Now more than ever.”
Chapter Six
It took me a whole day to recover from my embarrassment and find enough courage to go knock on Damien’s door to pay my late rent on Monday morning.
The cold air stung my eyes and lungs. I wore a thick cardigan over my T-shirt, but it was no match for the arctic wind gusting around me as I waited forever on the porch for him to come to the door. I knew he was home because his truck was parked in the driveway, but maybe he was still asleep.
Sure, I could have just slipped the envelope through the slot on his door, but I wanted to apologize and explain that the extra amount included the late fee and what I guessed he’d spent on my gas. I rang the doorbell one more time, waited thirty seconds, and sighed. Oh well. As much as I wanted to do this face-to-face, I wasn’t about to freeze to death in the time it took him to appear.
Giving up, I stepped forward to stick the envelope through when the door swung open.
Relieved, I looked up and opened my mouth to speak, then froze in a more complete and devastating way than if I’d actually turned to ice.
Damien stood in front of me, bare-chested and glistening with sweat, toweling himself off. “Hey. Sorry. Did you wait a long time?”
Gathering my wits and tearing my eyes away from his abs, I said, “I’m half popsicle now.”
He laughed. “You’d better come in and warm up.”
Go inside? When he looked like that? No way. “I’m just paying my rent. Here.”
But when I held out the envelope to him, he grabbed hold of my wrist and pulled me inside. Once I was across the threshold, he let go of my wrist and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him so he could shut the door. My brain was barely functioning at that point. And who could blame me? I could actually feel the heat radiating off his skin and smell the earthy saltiness of his sweat. And there was just so much gorgeous skin.
The clicking of the door latch jump-started my systems again. “What are you doing?”
“Inviting you in for breakfast,” he said, releasing me and walking down the hall, completely calm and casual.
I followed him, because what else could I do? Stay in the foyer and yell at him across his house?
His place was exactly like mine, only flipped, so it felt at once familiar and strange. It was definitely warmer than my place. Not surprising, since I kept my heater set just high enough to keep me from freezing. Which was why I’d been wearing warm sweaters and socks for the last couple of days. His had a lot more furniture, a big screen TV, and it actually looked lived in, with stray articles of clothing, shoes, and game controllers scattered around.
I looked across at Damien as he bent and rummaged around in his fridge. The pose highlighted the perfection of his shoulders and back. Which, if life was fair, I would never have seen, but now that I had, I’d never be able to erase from my mind.
Time to put the brakes on this train to disaster.
“I can’t stay for breakfast. I just came to drop off this check. It includes the late fee and there’s enough to pay for the gas you put in my tank.” I paused, feeling awkward. “Thanks for that, by the way. I forgot about filling up and would have run out of gas on my way to work yesterday.”
He straightened up and studied me a moment with a carton of eggs in one hand and a package of bacon in the others. “You’re welcome. Do you always wait till the last minute to fill up?”
Since he clearly wasn’t going to take the check from me, I dropped it onto his counter. “More often than I’d like.”
Damien glanced down at the envelope but didn’t say anything about it as he put the eggs and bacon down. He bent and pulled a frying pan out of the bottom cabinet next to the stove. “How do you like your eggs?” he asked.
“Man, you are stubborn.”
He looked over his shoulder at me, grinnin
g. “Bull-headed. That’s what my mom calls it. So you might as well give in. Unless you’ve gotten groceries since yesterday, I know exactly how empty your fridge is.”
“Oh.” Giving in, at least for a minute, I sat down on one of the bar stools in front of his counter. “Things have been tighter than I expected when I moved in. I didn’t know utilities would be so much or that I’d end up making so little. But don’t worry. I’m going to work some extra shifts, so I’ll pay rent on time next month.”
The sizzle of bacon in the pan filled the silence that stretched out between us. After a second, he turned and washed his hands at the sink. I had to force my eyes to focus on something besides his bare skin. It felt indecent. Feeling too warm all at once, I pulled my cardigan off and set it on the stool next to me. When I looked up again, Damien stood directly across from me, drying his hands with a towel. I didn’t think he was trying to show off, but it had the same effect on me anyway. Could he just go put a shirt on already?
He dropped the towel and braced both hands on the counter to lean toward me. “I’m not worried about your rent being late, Krista. I only have the late fee in the rental agreement for people who tick me off. And I didn’t intend for you to pay me back for the gas either. So I’m going to return all of that to you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
I held his gaze, determined not to look away first. But he seemed just as determined, so I said, “Don’t burn the bacon.”
He muttered something that might have been a curse and spun around, grabbing a spatula.
I heard the spitting sound of hot grease right before Damien gave a grunt of pain. “Ouch. Dang.”
“Are you okay?”
“I got popped,” he said, moving the pan off the burner before grabbing a towel to wipe the shiny flecks of grease splattered across six inches of his stomach.
“Well, what kind of idiot fries bacon with his shirt off?” I asked.
“This kind, I guess. Don’t worry. It’s not that bad.”
I sighed. From the look on his face and the delicate way he poked at the burns, it was painful. “Do you have some burn cream? Or some aloe?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll get my first aid kit.”
He ran upstairs and came back with a red plastic case. He set it down on the counter next to me, so I helped him sort through it. His arm brushed mine, and our fingers bumped together a few times before I finally found a few single-use packets of burn cream. “Here you go.” I handed him one.
“Thanks.”
But he had a hard time opening it with his big fingers. I took it back. “Here. Let me do that. I’ve got nails.” I opened it and squeezed some of the medicine out for him.
He swiped it with his finger and dabbed it on his burns. He had a hard time reaching the one on his side, so—without thinking—I squeezed some onto my finger and applied it for him. His stomach flexed in reaction, and only then did I realize that I’d just touched his bare skin.
I jerked my hand back. And instead of apologizing, I barked an order. “Now go put on a shirt. I’ll finish cooking.” I hopped up and hurried around to the stove, desperate to put some distance between myself and temptation. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Over easy,” he called back, already at the other end of the hall. The guy could certainly move fast.
I transferred the slightly burned bacon to a paper-towel-covered plate and put the pan back on the heat. I kept the heat low so I wouldn’t burn anything. Working carefully to not drop any shells in the pan, I cracked four eggs into the hot bacon grease and looked around for bread to make toast.
Damien was gone for about five minutes, and by the time he came back, I’d finished breakfast and had it dished out on plates. I’d had to make myself at home in his kitchen to do so, which felt odd, but he just smiled in excitement.
“That looks great.”
He now wore a pair of jeans with a white T-shirt, and his hair was wet, but styled. He’d obviously taken a shower, which was a miracle in and of itself. It took me at least fifteen minutes to shower and dress, but he’d managed it in one-third that time. And was there anything Damien didn’t look good in? A hoodie and flannel pajamas? Sweaty and overheated? Still hot. Wet head and a plain T-shirt? Just another kind of hot. This was ridiculous.
“The food’s getting cold.”
Damien grabbed both plates and moved them to the table. I followed with silverware. He put our plates down across from each other at his small, four-seat table. “What do you want to drink? I’ve got milk, orange juice, and some protein drinks.”
“OJ, please.”
A moment later, he plonked a plastic bottle of juice in front of me and sat down, shaking his protein drink. Our eyes met for a moment until I forced my attention back to my breakfast. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had bacon. Even the black edges weren’t going to put me off.
Neither of us talked while we ate, but as I wiped up the last puddle of yolk with my toast, Damien said, “I’m going to the grocery store after this. Do you want to go with me?”
I dropped my fork. “Huh?”
He shrugged and gathered up his dishes. “You need to go. I need to go. Why not go together?”
Keeping up with him felt like standing on a treadmill with lead feet. I’d land on my face in a second if I didn’t figure out how to respond. “A lot of reasons. I’m trying to figure out one for why we should.”
He grinned and came around to my side of the table to get my plate and fork. “Mostly so I can make sure you have more than mustard and margarine to eat.”
Bit by bit, I was beginning to see that this guy was totally sweet. Either that, or he knew exactly how to tear down my defenses and convince me to help him out with the wedding thing. But instead of the unsettling treadmill sensation, I now felt more like I was being dragged onto a high-speed train to Friendsville. And I was 100% certain it would be impossible for me to be friends with a guy like Damien and not fall for him. But just as I was on the point of turning him down, his doorbell rang.
Damien looked toward his front door. “Hold that ‘no’ a second while I see who it is.”
I watched him saunter away, perfectly relaxed as always. Annoyed, I turned on the hot water at the sink, ready to take my frustrations out on the dirty dishes.
Over the sound of the running water, I could only distantly hear the sound of conversation at the front door. Intent on scrubbing egg yolk away, I didn’t see that Damien had come back until he said, “Apparently we both have problems with our moms making surprise visits.”
Jerking my eyes up, I saw a petite but fierce older woman glaring at me across the counter. Uh…
Damien’s eyes met mine in a speaking way, as if trying to convey some secret message. “She thought I was making you up, so I brought her in to meet you. Mom, this is Krista.”
Above her clenched jaw and rigid posture, his mom’s eyes were wide and startled. The poor woman opened her mouth several seconds before she managed to respond. “Nice to meet you, Krista. Damien never mentioned—”
“It’s a recent development,” Damien said, jumping in quickly. For the first time ever, he looked slightly awkward. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled his mom around to face him. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. As you see, we just finished breakfast and we’re about to go grocery shopping, so if you just dropped by for a visit, it’s not the best time.”
My mouth dropped open. He was totally making it sound as if we had…as if we were…
Desperate to stop this madness, I said, “Don’t believe him. It’s not true. We aren’t.”
There. Maybe now that I’d denied it, I’d escape without Damien’s mom skinning me alive.
Chapter Seven
Damien shook his head at me, scrunching his eyebrows together in frustration. “Come on, babe. I know you hate grocery shopping, but we are going.”
I glared at him. He’d just completely twisted my whole
denial. “That’s not what I—”
Before I could finish, he slung his arm around his mom’s shoulder and propelled her back toward the door, speaking over me. “Don’t give her an excuse to get out of it. I swear I’ll come by your house later, and you can yell at me all you want to.”
I followed in shock, dripping soap suds from the sponge I still held.
Damien’s mom stopped, making one last stand. “But I want to talk now.”
“I know. But we seriously need to get going because Krista has to work today.” As he spoke, Damien released his mom and grabbed my free hand, pulling me to his side as he grabbed his keys off a hook near the door. “In fact, we’re going to follow you out.”
“Wait, my sweater,” I said, delaying the best I could.
But Damien was way too resourceful. He opened his coat closet and pulled out a hoodie for me—different from the one he’d worn yesterday.
When he led me outside, his mom had no choice but to follow. She shut the door behind her—hard. Not exactly a slam, but a dignified version of one. The cold wind prickled on my skin as I stood holding the hoodie in one hand and the wet sponge in the other.
Since Damien used his garage for a workshop and gym, his big gray truck was parked in the driveway. He unlocked it and ushered me around to the passenger door.
“Damien, this is ridiculous.”
But he ignored my angry whisper as he urged me into the truck. He held up one finger, signaling for me to wait, and went around to hug his shocked mother and force her into her car with the same insistent propulsion he’d used on me...and my mother yesterday. As his mom backed out of the driveway in a jerky, agitated way, he stood waving with boyish cheerfulness.
I’m sure she longed to spank him.
I sat in shock, breathing in the delicious scent of masculinity that hovered in his truck, wondering what in the world had happened to my uneventful life.
It was only a moment before Damien opened the driver’s door, grinning up at me as he got in. He started the truck and put his seatbelt on. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you right now?”
Oh, Keep Your Shirt On: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Shaped By Love Book 2) Page 4