Chapter 34: My Denial Be Working Overtime
•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•
"You should go home," he said. "You look tired."
I stared at him. "What? Like you’re the boss of me?"
He looked at me with the certainty of someone who had made a decision and wasn’t asking for my input. That seemed to be the full answer.
At that moment, Joey materialized from somewhere in the crowd, drink in hand, beaming like he’d just discovered gold.
"There you are!" he exclaimed, as if he were delivering a monologue he’d rehearsed for ages. "I’ve been looking for the newlyweds."
"Joey," I said.
"No, seriously." He grinned like he was born to be mischievous. "Should I start planning something? Because whatever went down in that closet clearly—"
"Complete that sentence," I warned, "and I will end you."
Joey’s expression was serene, as if he knew he was safe and relishing the moment. "By the way, you look insane. Totally unhinged. Good look for you."
"Thank you. Goodnight."
"I’m just saying, the tension has been obvious for weeks—"
"Not another word," I shot back.
Meanwhile, Damien had already left us alone with the implacability of someone who had made their mind up and was heading out, hands in his pockets, effortlessly navigating through the crowd.
The audacity. The utter, breathtaking audacity of this guy to just kiss me out of nowhere! Then tell me to go home afterwards like he knew what was best for me!
And somehow I ended up going back to the dorm.
Mostly because the alternative was to stay in this room with everyone staring at me, and my nerves had already lodged a formal request for fresh air and no witnesses.
Joey walked beside me as we left, practically buzzing with everything he wasn’t saying, which was in many ways worse than the things he had said.
"So," he started as soon as we stepped outside into the cool night air. "How was it?"
I didn’t say a word.
"Did you really kiss?"
Still nothing.
"Oh my God, you definitely kissed." He paused dramatically. "Was there—"
"If you finish that sentence," I said flatly, "I will walk into oncoming traffic."
"I’m just asking—"
"Joey."
"As your best friend—"
"Joey."
"Who cares about your emotional wellbeing—"
"I will leave you here."
He erupted into laughter, the kind that made him grab my shoulder for support, and I trudged forward, resigned to my situation.
I climbed into Joey’s car feeling like my soul had been left behind somewhere around the second minute in the closet, still stuck there, probably on someone’s old coat.
The ride back was a special kind of torture. Joey, bless him, eventually calmed down after I threatened him a few more times, which brought an uneasy silence. But then my mind took that as an opportunity to replay the events in excruciating detail.
The grip on my waist. Strong and assertive, no hesitation, the wall against my back, the heat of him leaning in, the kiss, going from urgent to slower and more passionate, which only added to my overall agony, the sound of his uneven breath when he pulled back.
I squeezed my eyes shut, staring out the window instead.
Nope! I wasn’t doing this.
I had kissed a guy. More specifically, I had kissed Damien Lockwood, who set out seventeen rules against emotional connection and had somehow decided that those rules didn’t matter in a frat house closet.
And the worst part, the part that would probably lead to a week of therapy...was that I had kissed him back. With enthusiasm, no intention of stopping whatsoever.
I had never looked at a guy and thought, yes, I would like to kiss him. Girls, sure. Girls made sense. Melanie made sense...warm, funny, straightforward, with a smile that felt safe.
Damien felt like getting blindsided by something fast and unexpected. Nothing about him was simple or safe or manageable. He was cold and infuriating, and he’d said actually said, out loud, in that low, rough voice, you’ve been driving me fucking crazy since the day you moved in.
My stomach sank again just thinking about it.
I pressed my forehead against the cool window glass.
Preston Hall eventually came into sight, polished and tranquil under the night lights, a blend of glass and architecture that radiated expensive beauty, unchanged by what had just happened to me.
Joey pulled up, spinning around in his seat, his face one of someone preparing to deliver a grand finale.
"Well," he said, "this is officially the most interesting roommate situation in history."
I opened the door. "Goodnight, Joey."
His laughter echoed as I stepped out, still strong as I walked away, which felt fitting.
By the time I reached the apartment door, my nerves were practically buzzing. I kicked off my shoes near the door, going through the motions out of sheer habit because actual thought was temporarily out of reach.
The apartment looked just as it always did. Clean, pristine, and perfectly arranged. The kitchen gleamed. The furniture was perfectly placed, something that had gone from infuriating to just the backdrop of my daily life. The list of rules was still there on the fridge, neat and laminated, rule one glaring at me.
And all I could focus on was Damien’s lips against mine.
Fantastic. Just great. Love this for myself.
I drifted toward my bed like a malfunctioning robot trying to do what felt normal but completely failing. I sat on the edge of my bed, covering my face with my hands for a moment, just breathing, letting the quiet of the apartment wrap around me.
I lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling, letting my thoughts spiral wherever they wanted to go.
Maybe it was just the heat of the moment. Parties and closed spaces did weird things to people. Maybe it was a one-time incident, like a passing weather system that had come and gone.
Maybe I’d been possessed in some way. Like I’d borrowed from something out there and returned slightly altered. That seemed reasonable, and I fully intended to consider that theory.
Because there was no credible way to rationalize that I had genuinely, sincerely enjoyed kissing Damien Lockwood.
Right?
Right.
My lips were still tingling.
I touched them absentmindedly, just checking, and dropped my hand as soon as I realized what I was doing, like I had touched something hot.
Nope. Not doing that. Not thinking about how he kissed me like he’d been contemplating it for longer than just tonight. Not thinking about his hand in my hair. Not thinking about that low, rough sound he made against my mouth.
My stomach flipped.
I rolled onto my side with a groan that came from deep down. I slowly closed my eyes.
This was going to complicate everything. Living here, coexisting in this space, sitting across from him while he studied as if nothing had happened.
The scariest part? I wasn’t dreading it.
The scariest part was that, underneath all the panic, the denial, and the persistent tingling of my lips...
I wasn’t sure I wanted to forget it.
I wasn’t even sure if I didn’t want it to happen ever again.
