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“What if I need more?”
Silence. The seconds tick by.
I’m glad darkness surrounds us, masking my humiliation. He turns to face me, and if it’s even possible, he looks even more beautiful with the shadows of the night embracing his facial features.
“Define ‘more.’”
“I know nothing about you.” It’s true I don’t. Can I really justify further betraying Harv and everything we ever stood for for a man I don’t even know?
“It’s better this way, don’t you think?”
I shake my head in disagreement.
He sighs. “Well, fire away. What do you want to know?”
I look out the window, then close my eyes briefly. I know what I want to ask. I want to know why he doesn’t want more. Why he’s single. Why he has very sad paintings that follow him around: his home, his office.
I know anything of this nature will set him off, so I start easy.
“What were you like as a teen?”
“That’s what you’re dying to know?” He scoffs in disbelief, his hand lying lazily atop the steering wheel. It’s not, not at all, but it’ll have to do for now.
“Were you a player?”
“No. No, I wasn’t. I was skinny back then.” He says it as if that would’ve changed his pretty face. I don’t believe for a second that he didn’t break a few hearts, even if unknowingly.
He takes his other hand and grips the back of my neck. “And you? How many hearts did you break, Gemma?”
I avoid his stare. I’m breaking one right now. A very, very important one. A heaviness tugs at my chest, the physical pain becoming more pronounced.
Can’t you see? You’ll be the one to break mine.Harvey’s words the night we met take stage front and center in my mind.
“I dated a guy my last year of high school...” He removes his hand from my neck. And I miss it. I miss his touches when they’re absent. “Then I dated, nothing serious in college.”
“Until him.” He doesn’t say his name, but we both know he saw it on my phone screen.
“Yeah.” His fingers flex around the steering wheel, and I wonder if he isn’t a little bit curious the way I am about his past.
We approach our work building, and my heart drops at the thought of being away from Damon. It’s a silly feeling—it’s sick even—to be this dependent on him.
When he parks next to the van, he turns to me, his thumbplaying with my bottom lip, his scent hitting all the right spots. “Thank you for coming tonight.”
I nod. “Hopefully I earned that overtime,” I mock, and I think he’s smiling; it’s always so hard to tell with him. Despite wanting to kiss him, I don’t. There’s so much to think about, so much I need to process before I dip my toes further into the Dreygon pool.
Like a gentleman, Damon steps inside our building to grab my leather winter boots. Then he hands them to me out in the parking lot, touches my cheek with his forefinger before I walk to my car.
My drive back home is quiet. I don’t put music on. I don’t answer Gia’s phone call.
Nothing.
Except me and my thoughts.
And plenty of Damon.
And Harvey.
My chest hurts. My heart hurts. I don’t want to hurt Harv.
