Page 31 of Deliah
He let out a low laugh. “You’ll give it when you’re ready. The brat act just makes it more fun.”
I leaned back in my seat, legs crossed like a queen on a throne. “Careful, Damion. I’ve broken bigger men than you.”
His jaw tensed. “Good. I like my girls with bite. They obviously weren’t built to handle you. I am.”
Silence fell again. But it wasn’t calm. It was a loaded gun between us, waiting for someone to pull the trigger.
When he pulled up outside my apartment, he didn’t speak. Didn’t ask to come in. Just looked at me with that maddening calm.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said finally.
“And what exactly did you expect?”
“Someone easier to forget.”
I gripped the door handle, but he was already out of the car, walking around to open it for me. The bastard even held out his hand like I was royalty. I stepped out and turned to go, needing to escape before I crumbled under the weight of him.
“Wear red next time.” The words landed like a punch to the chest.
He didn’t wait for a response. Just got in the car and drove off—like he hadn’t just hijacked my entire nervous system. I stood there for a minute. Maybe longer. Then I walked inside on shaky legs and collapsed face-first onto the bed.
What. The. Fuck.
My mind was racing—Jay, Damion, me. The whole fucking mess of it. I felt like a contradiction. I was desperate for control and aching for surrender all at once. He didn’t even kiss me. He didn’t have to. Damion was the first man in months who made me forget Jay even existed.
Chapter 14 –
Where the Stars Don’t Judge
The next day, I thought about texting him. More than once. But I didn’t. Not after dinner. Not after that smug little “wear red next time.” I told myself it was just a moment. A slip. I wasn’t the kind of girl who got reeled in by clean shirts and quiet confidence anymore. Not after Jay. I knew better. But a couple of days after, there it was. Another message.
“Be outside at six.”
What the fuck? How did he even know I was off tonight? I didn’t care. I was excited. He was just the distraction I needed—a fucking hot distraction with an attitude problem that gave me a thrill. I didn’t text him back, just to see if he’d show up without a reply again. I told Cherry everything while we got ready for work. How sure of himself he was. How he didn’t beg for attention. How I liked that more than I should’ve.
She grinned like a schoolgirl. “You’ve got that giddy look again.”
I scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You do!” She tossed a makeup brush at me. “You like him.”
I rolled my eyes. “I like that he’s not up my arse 24/7. It’s… refreshing.”
“You like him,” she repeated, smirking. “It’s okay, babe. It’s just nice to see you smile again.”
I didn’t reply. Mostly because she was right. So I got myself ready. I didn’t wear red. That was deliberate. A tiny act of rebellion just to see what he’d do. But I did wear red shoes. Just a hint. Just enough.
At exactly six o’clock, he was there. Not with flowers. Not with some over-the-top gesture. Just parked outside, engine running, eyes on the road like I hadn’t spent two days ignoring him. I stepped into the car, and he clocked the shoes immediately. One raised brow. That was it. No comment. But I saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth—the one that betrayed more than he meant it to. We didn’t do anything wild. He just drove to the cliffs. To nowhere. To silence. Said nothing for the first ten minutes. Just handed me a takeaway coffee and pointed up at the stars like he’d arranged them himself.
“You think you’re that smooth?” I teased, sipping the drink.
“No,” he said. “But you needed quiet. And stars help.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Not yet.”
We talked for hours. And laughed. God, we laughed. He was funny—not in that loud, performative way. But sharp. Dry. Clever in the quietest way. He didn’t need to take up space. He just filled it with calm. And when I got chaotic—when Ichallenged him, talked too fast, said things I should’ve kept to myself—he didn’t flinch. Didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t try to fix me. He just listened.
