Page 42 of Broken Pieces
Then, why can't you stop thinking about it?
We’re finally back home, and the first thing I did when I landed was call an emergency girls' night with Sophia and Isabella. My girls came through—not that I had any doubt—so now we’re at my apartment, wearing some comfortable pajamas as we sip on some mojitos Sophia has been making all night.
I’m feeling the buzz, so I decide to get it over with. “Damian and I kissed,” I whisper between Soph’s and Isa’s laugh about a horrible date fiasco Sophia had last week.
Isabella shrieks at my confession as Sophia hums proudly, like she almost knew it was going to happen.
“Oh God help us all,” Isabella whisper-shouts.
I jump from my seat, ready to defend myself. “He kissed me! I was minding my business on a date. He interruptedus with this out of nowhere possessive caveman vibe and scared my date off. We got into a fight and as I was in the middle of yelling at the top of my lungs he… he just grabbed me and kissedme!”
Isabella groans in disbelief as I down the rest of my mojito in one gulp, getting ready for the questions they’re going to fire my way.
Sophia sits up. “Okay, okay. The real question here is, how was the kiss?”
“Don’t answer that,” Isabella says.
Sophia hits Isabella’s arm with her elbow. “Shut up!”
I sigh as I close my eyes and sit back down, remembering the kiss. That kiss was desperate, needy, addicting—fuckingeuphoric. The way Damian’s lips sealed on top of mine, his tongue demanding, swiftly dancing with mine, his teeth biting my bottom lip, creating that fire in my belly. The reminder still haunts me, making me shiver and feel a throbbing need.
“It was good, like…reallygood. But it was a mistake. I know it can’t happen again, but I can’t lie that I wouldn’t be too upset if it were to like… happen… again,” I say as I bite my lip because I know what I’m saying sounds crazy.
“Did anything else happen?” Sophia asks, raising her eyebrows.
The better question is what didn’t happen? Between the panic attack and the brief moment we had in the kitchen, where he, for the first time ever, brought his walls downenough and confessed how he relates to me. I’m not even going to mention any of that.
I shake my head. “Just a kiss. I stopped it, freaked out, and left.” Technically, not a lie. Iwastrying to leave.
“You should bone him.” Sophia shrugs.
“Absolutely not,” me and Isabella say at the same time.
Isabella grabs my hand and says, “It’s up to you, honestly. I just… I know him. He’s a complicated man to say the least. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I mean, as long as you and Damian are clear on what you guys want, it can be a purely physical relationship. No harm, no foul,” Sophia points out.
True. What’s the harm?
Your heart is in harm’s way. You know you can’t handle this.
I am so tired of overthinking though. For once, I want to jump into the unknown and see where it takes me.
I love Sundays. Well, most of the time. Except when Sophia cancels our brunch because of work. She said she was still working on the article about the Rome heist, trying to contact the lead investigator on the case. The hype around this heist has yet to die down, with people wondering who was crazy enough to steal such an importantpiece. It is crazy, honestly. If they catch whoever did it, they are in for someserioustrouble.
I tried to drag Isabella out, but she was a no-go. Decided to stay in and do whatever the hell she likes to do. That girl is too closed off, you can never get a read on her.
I really like this friendship we’ve been developing, all three of us. Sophia is the wild one, I’m the calm one, and Isabella is the grumpiest of us all. We make quite a trio.
Since I have no plans whatsoever, I will take advantage of the solitary moment and work on my painting. I’ve been feeling inspired lately, so it’s best I keep going before I get into another rut. I did a quick run to the craft store, getting some necessary things like pencils, painting, notebooks, and a few small canvases. I tend to draw sometimes, but not as often as I paint. There’s something so liberating about getting my hands dirty with paint, and the way my body always hums with excitement when I create a new piece.
As I enter the lobby, I’m hit with that clean cedarwood smell that has become so familiar and sends a shiver down my spine every time I’m near it. As I look up, I see Damian standing there, all six foot five of glory with his lazy smile and casual T-shirt and—are thosejeans? The world must be ending. I also notice the grocery bags he’s holding, leaving me officially confused.
“Uhm, hi?” I say more as a question than a greeting.
“Hey, Darling,” he replies with that melting, beautiful smile of his.
Okay, this is definitely not Damian. We should be bickering by now, like we always do.
