Page 63 of Damián

Finnian leans closer. “Nae, Damián, I haven’t, because you never touched them unless they touched you first. With Oliver, you kept touching him, all the time.”

“Pss…” I say, mostly because I have no response to that.

I was touching him all the time.

But he felt so soft. It’s not my fault; my hand likes how it feels to touch him.

“An’ that kiss? Ooft!”

“Look, that’s how boyfriends act, no? So if you think about it, I’m just fucking great at doing my job.”

Finnian glares at me and snatches the receipt back. “Fine, do whatever you want, you stubborn mule. Just be careful, Damián, because feelings can get hurt very easily when the lines get blurred.”

“Then you can stop worrying about Oliver, because he is way too used to sleeping around, and dumb stuff like holding hands means nothing to him. So relax, Finni… he won’t ever catch feelings for me,” I explain, trying my hardest to ignore the uncomfortable feeling I have in my chest after saying that out loud.

“Dami…” He pats me on the arm. “I wasn’t talking about his feelings.”

I scoff, waving off his stupid comment.

“You know what, instead of playing Dr. Phil, you should pay attention to your damn staff. Kai almost intentionally smashed a drink on Ollie.”

“That will be dealt with.”

“…Thanks,” I say, snatching my receipt from the counter before leaving.

I wait outside for a couple of minutes until Oliver comes back, and then we walk to my car so I can give him a ride home.

I open his door, get in the car, turn on the music, and drive, zoning out.

I drive for five minutes silently, my eyes fixed on the taillights of the traffic ahead of us. I’m like a damn zombie, with my brain unable to go beyond what fucking Finnian said…

Fuck… this is absurd.

I like Finni a lot, but he is a baker, not a damn psychologist. Just because he saw me put my arm around my fake boyfriend and do fake things for almost two hours, he can suddenly decide I am emotionally invested.

The hell with that exaggeration.

I let out a deep breath, shaking my head to clear it. I then shift my weight in the driver’s seat… only to realize my right hand isn’t on the gearshift, but on the center console, my fingers completely intertwined with Oliver’s.

Fuck!

I immediately pull my hand back, wrapping both hands tightly around the steering wheel, because of course, now I drive like a Grandma…

Get a grip, Soto.

We drive in silence for another couple of minutes, and this damn quietness is eating at my nerves. Oliver is usually chatty, but right now, he is staring blankly out the passenger window, and this isn’t helping.

Did he hear what Finnian said?

No… That’s impossible.

I made sure he was outside before I even got close to the counter.

“Hey,” I say, lightly patting his knee. “Is everything okay over there?”

The second my palm connects with his jeans, my brain screams.

You are touching him again fucking idiot!