“Ah, yes. I know. I see myself slipping into my softer side sometimes. It’s the Stella effect. Spend enough time around her, and she’ll get to you, too.”
She left the house, and my chest still felt heavy. My heart was beating at an insane rate, and the palms of my hands were sweaty.
“Maple,” I called out, finding myself standing on the front porch, looking out toward her as she climbed into her car. She paused and looked my way, waiting for me to continue. “I won’t hurt her,” I repeated, speaking about Stella. “You have my word.”
“I feel like your word is important to you.”
“It is.”
“Then thank you for giving it to me.” She smiled Stella’s smile. Even though they weren’t related by blood, I saw the similarities. “I believe you. Protect her, too, okay? If she needs it?”
I didn’t know why, but I promised I would.
Later that afternoon, Stella returned home, and somehow the space didn’t appear so dark anymore. I was in the kitchen cooking dinner, and she walked in with a bag filled with fresh vegetables and fruits.
“Oh, hi there,” she said, seemingly surprised to see me.
“Hello.”
“It smells delicious in here,” she mentioned as she began to unload her groceries. “Pasta?”
“Yes.”
Her stomach rumbled, and she chuckled a little. “And here I am with a pack of ramen noodles for dinner.”
“Maple,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“She stopped by this morning. She brought me photographs of Kevin’s work.”
“Oh.” Her hands fell to her chest. “That must’ve been a lot, seeing that stuff.”
“I haven’t looked through it.”
“I see.”
She didn’t say anything more, but she kept staring at me. Her stares made me uneasy because they felt like a comfort I didn’t know existed. I shifted my feet and went back to staring at my pasta dish. “She’s kind. Maple.”
“She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. She actually stopped by my art class today and mentioned you to me, too.”
“What did she say?”
“She made me promise I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Well, shit, Maple.
Way to pull on my tattered and bruised heartstrings.
Stella finished unloading all her groceries and then tossed her reusable bags into the pantry. As she walked past me to head out of the kitchen, her stomach rumbled again before she headed to her bedroom.
About fifteen minutes later, I knocked on her bedroom door.
She opened it and smiled. “Hi there.”
“Hello.”
The same words we always exchanged. “Hi there” and “Hello.”
“Can I, uh, help you with something?” she asked, confused by me knocking on her door. “Is everything okay?”
“No.”
“It’s not?”
“I mean, yes.”
“Okay…?”
“I mean,” I grumbled and rubbed the palm of my hand against the back of my neck. “There’s extra.”
“Extra what?”
“Food.”
She smiled more and narrowed her eyes. “I feel like the point you’re getting to is right there, but still, I need to be guided a bit more.”
“There’s extra food if you want it. I made a lot.”
“Don’t you normally save it for leftovers? Isn’t Friday your meal prep day for your upcoming week?”
Did she watch me that closely?
“I have business lunch meetings this coming week. I won’t need it.”
“I don’t want to impose, but if you want me to eat with you—”
“I don’t.”
Her eyes dimmed, and the corner of her mouth twitched as if I made her nervous by snapping. Maple was right. Stella did showcase every single emotion across her face.
“What I mean is, I have work to do. I’ll be eating in my office. But you’re free to eat any remaining food.”
“That’s very nice of you, and I’ll take you up on the offer. Thank you, Damian.”
“Yup.”
“If you ever do want to eat a meal together—”
“Not interested, Stella.”
“Okay then. Have a good night.”
I wanted to tell her, “You too,” but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
12
Stella
* * *
Damian was a fantastic cook. After I finished eating, I cleaned up the kitchen and then headed to the living room, where I’d end up spending the remainder of my evening. I was able to pick out the movie I wanted to watch, which ended up being one of my favorite romantic comedies. I was almost certain I’d seen every single romantic comedy ever made, even the ones in different languages with subtitles.
If there was a love story, I was going to be there to watch it—with tears and all. Plus, the cornier, the better. Bring on the cheese, Hollywood.
As I sat in the living room with a blanket wrapped around me, Damian walked through the hallway, holding an emptied glass in his hand. His eyes fell on me and then onto the television. He huffed and went to continue his way.
“Don’t do that!” I remarked.
“Do what?”
“Huff at my movie choices.”
“I didn’t huff.”
“Yes, you did. You always huff.”
“If I always huff, how do you know it was at your movie?”
“I, well, I don’t, but it was because of my movie. You did that grumpy frown of yours when you looked at the screen. Don’t deny it.”
“I won’t. I don’t like romantic comedies. They make unrealistic standards for relationships.”
“Uh, news flash, that’s kind of the point. Reality is already bland enough. The movies deserve to be over the top and cheesy.”
“Why would you want to watch something unrealistic?”
“Because I’m manifesting the unrealistic for my reality.”
“Oh. You’re one of them.”
“One of what?”
“Those people who think they can manifest certain things into their lives with their thoughts alone.”
“I do think that your thoughts are a powerful tool, yes. Mock me all you want, but I’ve manifested many things in my life, and it works better when I focus my thoughts.”
“Did you manifest me, Cinderstella?”
“No. I’m still trying to figure out how the heck you ended up here.”
“Probably that one bad thought you had last year or something,” he joked.
He… joked. He was being playful with me. At least I thought he had been. It was hard to read Damian. It was as if his whole existence was written in the ancient Greek text, and I had to use context clues to try to decipher his meaning.
“You’re probably right. You probably showed up after that one night I had explosive diarrhea, and I cussed the universe and asked if they had any other shit to send my way.”
He smiled fully this time—and it stayed a little bit longer than the last one.
Do that more often, Damian.
He tilted his head in pleasure. “You’re welcome.”
I laughed.
I liked this side of him. The one that didn’t feel so heavy. Don’t get me wrong, his stance was still intense, and his posture was still stern, but his eyes… they seemed softer. I wasn’t certain I wanted the interaction to dissipate, so I shifted it.
“So, you’re not into romantic comedies?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then what do you watch?” I arched my eyebrow. “Let me guess, documentaries.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”
“I don’t… it’s just a boring thing.”
“You think I’m boring?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know? I have no clue what you’re into. You don’t really share much with me.”
“Don’t take it personally. Even though I ge
t the feeling you take everything personally.”
I sat straighter. “I do n…” I started, but the words simmered away from my tongue.
I did take everything personally. It was one of my biggest struggles in life.
“Was that self-realization I just witnessed?” he mentioned.
“A little bit.”
“Proud of you, Stella.”
I pretend curtsied from the couch.
He looked down at the glass in his hand and then toward the kitchen. Yet, instead of walking away, he cleared his throat. “I don’t do documentaries.”
“Oh?”
“They are often based on sad situations, and I don’t like watching sad situations. I’ve lived enough of them on my own. I don’t like adding extra sadness to my mind.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d hate to accidentally manifest more sadness into my life.”
I smiled, and I gestured toward the emptied side of the couch. “Which is why you should watch this romantic comedy with me. I’m all about feel-good things.”
“They are so cookie-cutter,” he grumbled.
“I know. That’s why I love them. Because, no matter what, no matter the struggles, you are guaranteed a happily ever after. I think the world could use a few more happily ever afters. So, again…” I gestured toward the emptied couch cushion.
He huffed. It wasn’t his annoyed huff, though. Over the past few weeks, I’d been able to learn the difference in the type of huffs, grumbles, and grimaces Damian shared. Some were for when he was mad. Others when overwhelmed. Even a few for when he felt discomfort.
This one was the latter, I believed.
I’d hoped.
“I have work to finish,” he said, rejecting my offer.
“Oh. Right, of course. Well, have a good night. I’ll be here if you change your mind.”
He nodded once before walking off to the kitchen. I went back to my blanket, snacks, and ridiculously corny movie, without much thought about it. When Damian came back through the hallway leading to the kitchen with a full glass, he didn’t look my way, but I glanced toward him. Then back to the television my stare went.
I hadn’t even noticed that Damian paused his steps until he cleared his throat, bringing my attention back toward him.
“Yes?” I asked.
“I, um, I should be done with work within thirty to forty-five minutes. You know. If you start another cheesy movie.”
I smiled big. Was he asking to be invited to join me for the next film?
“Of course. This one only has like fifteen minutes left, but I’ll wait for you to join.”
He frowned. “No. It’s fine. You go on. It’s not a problem.”
He started walking away, and I called out, “Damian.”
“Yes?”
“I’ll wait for you.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he parted his lips as if he were going to deny my suggestion of waiting, but I cut him off.
“I’ll even make you some popcorn.”
His brows knitted, and it surprised me how attractive his frown lines were. I didn’t know a frown could look so effortlessly good.
“With butter?” he asked.
“And salt,” I replied.
He grumbled a bit. This grumble seemed to be from his nerves. Was he nervous?
Before I could question it, he nodded and flicked his thumb against his nose. “I’ll check in once I finish.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be here. Stuffing my face. Text me a bit before you’re done so I can have your popcorn waiting.”
He almost smiled at me before he left. At least that’s what my mind wanted to believe.
When twenty minutes passed, Damian shot me a popcorn text message. Eight minutes later, he reappeared. This time, he wasn’t wearing his stuffy suit that looked uncomfortable. Yet, he was dressed in a plain white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. Somehow that made him appear more human than the robot he seemed to be on the regular.
Somehow those sweatpants also made my stomach fill with butterflies due to the very clear and present thick imprint in his crotch area. It was clear as day that Damian wasn’t lacking much down below.
I smiled ear to ear and clapped my hands together, trying to shake off the inappropriate thoughts shooting through my mind. “Perfect timing. The Proposal is up next.”
“Let me guess, some kind of fake marriage situation.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen it?”
He blinked at me a few times before taking his seat and his bowl of popcorn. “Kind of living it.”
Touché.
“Listen, if you have a secret romantic comedy kink you’re hiding from me, don’t. We don’t kink shame here. To some women, that would be a huge turn-on.” I paused. “I mean, if you’re into dating. I mean, it’s fine if you’re not. But, well, are you in a relationship? We haven’t really spoken about that, and—”
“Stella.”
“Yes?”
“Are we going to play twenty questions or are you going to start the movie?”
I sat up straighter, hopeful.
He underestimated how much I would’ve enjoyed a game of twenty questions.
“No, Cinderstella,” he muttered.
“But, Beast—”
“Hit play.”
I pouted but did as he said. We began watching the movie, and every now and again, Damian would give his bitter commentary, which I’d combat with my witty humor, and he’d almost smile, and I’d almost like it, round and round like a hamster wheel.
Then during one scene, it almost looked like he teared up. Though, he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth before the glassy eyes could stay. I parted my lips to make a comment, but my phone ringing interrupted my thoughts.
I saw Jeff’s name flash across the screen. Damian’s eyes looked over to me, and he grabbed the remote and hit pause on the movie.
Thank you, I mouthed.
He nodded in acknowledgment and went back to his popcorn.
I answered the call and slightly turned my back toward Damian. “Hey, Jeff, what’s going on? Shouldn’t you be starting your—”
“Uh, hi. This is Kate,” a voice said, cutting through the line. “I’m calling on behalf of Jeff.”
I sat straight. “Oh? Who are you? Why do you have his phone?”
“I work at the club that Jeff was supposed to be DJing at. He ended up wasted off his ass before he could even start the gig. It took everything to get him to be able to open his phone for me to call you. Can you come get him?”
“Oh my goodness, yes. Is he okay?”
I noticed Damian sit up a bit straighter out of the corner of my eye.
“Yeah, he’s just drunk. A bit of a dick, too, but you know, alcohol can do that to a person.” Kate gave me the address of the club, and I thanked her before hanging up quickly. I stood to my feet, and Damian stood at the same time as me, with an alarmed expression.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. Jeff. He, uh, he got a bit intoxicated and needs a ride home tonight. I have to go pick him up.” I glanced at the television and back to Damian. “I’m sorry we have to stop the movie. You can continue if—”
“I’ll wait for you to return.”
I frowned. “No. It’s fine. You go ahead. It’s not a problem.”
“Stella.”
“Yes?”
“I’ll wait for you,” he gently stated, repeating the same exchange we had earlier when I told him I’d wait for him to begin the film. I swore for a moment he smiled, but it was gone as fast as it appeared. I parted my lips to reply, but he shook his head. “Go.”
So, I went.
Jeff wasn’t a fun drunk. Quite the opposite, honestly. I knew whenever he had a big gig coming up, he’d try to use alcohol to calm his nerves. Unfortunately, he didn’t know his limit and was a professional at surpassing it.
“Jeff, what are you doing?” I asked as I approached Forty-Four nightclub to find my drunk
partner sitting on the bench outside of the club with his gear beside him.
He stood and muttered something as he stumbled toward me. “Can you believe these stuck-up assholes? They kicked me out!” he blurted.
There was a line to get into the nightclub, and a pool of embarrassment hit my gut as everyone stared at us. I wrapped my arms around the drunken six-foot-two man who was slouched against me and whispered, “It’s fine. Let’s just get you home. Where are your keys?”
He muttered something unrecognizable.
“Hey, lady, you gotta get him out of here,” the bouncer said with lowered brows and eyes packed with annoyance.
“Suck my dick, asshole,” Jeff shouted as he grabbed his junk through his jeans in the palm of his hand. Mortified didn’t even begin to describe what I was feeling.
“Stop it, Jeff,” I whisper-shouted, pulling him along.
“Hey, baby, you can suck my dick, too, if you want.” He turned my way and bopped my nose. Shockingly, blow jobs were the last thing on my mind. I would’ve much rather been at home watching Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds fictionally fall in love.
I got him into the car after a few more crass comments from him. Then I tossed his equipment into the back of my car. Equipment that looked extremely nicer than what I was used to him having. Which would definitely be a discussion for another day. How had he found the money to buy those turntables?
After shutting the trunk, I climbed into the driver’s seat of the car and looked at my wasted boyfriend swaying back and forth in his seat, completely sozzled. An odd tingle hit my gut as I turned the key in the ignition. “Do you have your house keys, Jeff?” I asked.
“Do you have your house keys, Jeff?” he replied, mocking me.
I knew I couldn’t get him back to his place without said keys, and the more I tried to engage with him, the more annoyed I grew.
“Forget it. You’ll just stay with me tonight,” I declared, but he didn’t seem to mind or even notice my comment. He was too busy untying his shoes and tossing them on my dashboard as he went on and on about some new music artists that I was too uncool to know about—his words, not mine.
When we pulled up to the property, Jeff was still talking nonstop, some gibberish, some words I could pinpoint, and some comments that hurt my feelings a little.
Western Waves Page 11