Chapter 66: I Say Yes To A ’Not A Date’ Date

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That got a real laugh from him, brief and genuine, spilling out before he could rein it in, the kind of laughter he reserved for moments of unguarded amusement. I hated that I could now tell the difference.

I was halfway down the hallway, dignity still mostly intact and retreat almost complete, when his voice called after me.

"What’s so wrong with two friends hanging out?"

I halted.

Turning around slowly, like I had just caught someone misusing a word that needed addressing.

"Friends?" I said.

"Yes."

"We are not friends."

"Really?" He feigned thoughtfulness as if he was being completely genuine. "We eat dinner together."

"Against my will."

"You watch movies with me."

"Also against my will."

"You stole my blanket last week."

I shot my finger at him so quickly my brain barely kept up. "That is not what happened, you fucking gave them to me."

"But you didn’t return it, did you? You were wrapped around it like it owed you money."

My face flushed. "That proves nothing about our relationship status."

"It proves we’re comfortable enough for you to use my stuff in your sleep, which is arguably more intimate than friendship."

"I will argue against that—"

"It’s a compelling data point."

"It is not a data point; it’s a blanket—"

"Oliver." He said my name with an amused patience of someone who knows they’re winning and is trying not to show it too much. "You’re deflecting."

I couldn’t fucking stand this guy. Honestly, I was starting to doubt my own argument each time I tried to defend my position, which was a problem, but I stood by it nonetheless.

I crossed my arms. "We are just roommates."

"Roommates can be friends."

I fully uncovered my face, pointing at him emphatically.

"See? That’s the problem. That’s why this—" I gestured between us with the authority of someone identifying a significant issue, "—is complicated."

"Why?"

"Because we’re not dating. Why should I go on a ’date’ with you?"

A slow smile crept across Damien’s face, the kind that suggested something that had settled in comfortably. "Oh?"

I recognized that look. Somehow, I had developed an instinctual response to it over the past few weeks, which was immediate suspicion mixed with a drive to defend myself.

"We are definitely not dating, you moron!"

"I didn’t say we were." He met my glare with a perfectly innocent expression, which was somehow more unnerving than if he had just admitted to it outright.

"Why do you want to go with me so badly?" The words slipped out before I could second-guess myself, unconfrontational, not a deflection, just the straightforward question, hanging between us before I could pull it back. "What about your dumb friends who follow you around like your little minions?"

Not two long ago, there was a series of rules created to stop this very thing from occuring, for fuck’s sake he made them! Now he was to go on a date? A hangout?

The kitchen fell silent. Not uncomfortably, but in that way a room goes quiet when something real has been said and both people can feel it.

Damien’s expression shifted. The teasing was still there, but now it had a weight to it, something settled that felt intentional, like he had decided to drop certain barriers for this moment.

"Because I only want to go with you," he said simply.

The statement hit me like a physical blow. I instinctively stepped back, not far, just enough of a reflexive move in response to something unexpected.

Oh my God, I stared at him with my eyes as wide as saucers.

His smile softened slightly. "What?"

"That was kinda gross." I said, making the butterflies in my stomach.

Wait a fucking moment, why the fuck were there butterflies in my stomach now? God, I was far gone...Joey was right.

"I was being honest." He laughed, warmly and effortlessly, at home in the kitchen in a way that was hard to ignore. I hated that laugh. I hated how it sounded more genuine lately, less guarded. I hated how my heart raced every time his gaze lingered too long on me.

This entire situation felt so unfair.

I glanced at the tickets, then back at him, then back at those tickets. The counter that separated us wasn’t giving me the neutral ground I desperately wanted.

Something shifted again, maybe against my better judgment.

There were two paths from here: I could refuse and head to bed, lying awake thinking about this mess, or I could acknowledge that here I was, standing in the kitchen after a long day staring at Damien Lockwood, who had stayed up for me, with cold coffee, an awkward apology, and these VIP hockey tickets pointed at me, specifically.

The coffees he made before I woke up, the breakfasts with notes, the neat laundry he did with more care than I had ever managed, the dinners, the ridiculously genuine apology.

I groaned, a long, heartfelt sound that came from deep inside me, like a ship taking on water.

Damien looked like he was straining not to grin. He wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

"You look conflicted," he said.

"Shut up, I’m thinking."

I stared him down. He met my gaze with a calm, unhurried demeanor, and the weight of the evening hung between us, the argument, the apology, the cold coffee, the tickets, and the sentence from him that I still couldn’t confront directly.

It almost seemed like he knew that I would have no choice but to say yes. Damn I really had to go and fall into his trap, huh?

"Fine," I said finally.

The word slipped out like it cost me something: mainly, any remaining dignity and my carefully built walls.

Damien’s posture shifted slightly, not dramatically, but enough to signal that he was receiving something he’d been anticipating. A brightness flickered across his face, quick and genuine, there before he even realized it.

"Fine?" he echoed.

"Don’t make me take it back."

"I wouldn’t dream of it."

"We can go. Together. To the hockey game." I held up a finger. "But."

The brightness halted, hanging in the air.

"This is not a date."

"It isn’t?"

"It. Is. Not. A. Date. Say it back to me."

Damien put on a face full of serious contemplation.

"It is not a date," he began.

"Correct."

He studied me for a moment, weighing my threat, which I’m sure we both realized wasn’t very serious. "It isn’t a date," he said, sounding like someone humorously accepting the terms.

"Good."

"A completely non-romantic sporting event."

"Exactly."

"Attended by two people who are definitely just friends."

"We aren’t—" I paused, then chose to let it go strategically. "Fine, friends. Whatever...since you’re so desperate."

"We’re friends now," he agreed, then added with perfectly timed timing: "Just a hockey game I’m attending with a very attractive man."

Heat rushed to my face before I even registered what he said. "What—"

"What?"

"You were —" I held up a finger at him. I let it do the talking because words were failing me right now.

"When is the game?" I finally asked after a sigh, with an exasperated tone that suggested I was ready to move on for my own sake.

He smiled with a glint of mischief. "Tomorrow."

I stared at him. "...Tomorrow."

The silence hung for three full seconds, enough time for the realization to sink in.

"TOMORROW?!"

Damien winced slightly, clearly anticipating this reaction but still caught off-guard by the volume. "That was—"

"You bought tickets for tomorrow? Specific, non-refundable tickets for tomorrow, which means you knew—"

"I hoped."

"You planned this?!"

"I prepared."

"You manipulated me."

"A bit," he admitted, serenity shining through. "But it’s in a direction you were already heading, which I think balances it out."

"You’re fucking crazy!"

He was shaking with suppressed laughter. He was holding himself together but starting to lose it, and seeing him, Damien Lockwood, laughing in his kitchen over something I said, struggling to keep his composure...did something to my chest that I was refusing to deal with tonight, along with an ever-growing list of other things.

This little fucker! The so called ’hangout’ was tomorrow, so I barely had time to prepare myself to deal with him.

This man really was full of surprises, a living example of the phrase ’never let them know your next move.’

"Be ready before I get back from my shift tomorrow," I called as I headed toward the hallway, clutching at the remnants of whatever dignity I had left.

"Or?" His voice followed me, still relaxed and low.

"Or I’ll change my mind."

"I don’t think you will."

Damn, if looks could kill... he’d already be six feet under. But, I didn’t respond because he was likely right, and acknowledging it would only fuel his satisfaction.

I was almost to the bedroom door when I heard him behind me, close enough that I realized he’d moved, and I turned to see him standing in the hallway, notably nearer than before, wearing that same settled expression, the one revealing he was done being unsure about whatever this was.

"I’ll be ready when you get back." He said.

For a brief moment, I forgot what we were even discussing. My brain had to reboot, sluggishly processing everything, and in that pause, I just stood there looking at him, aware of the closeness between us in a way that was inconvenient.

I took a step back, then another. "Good," I said, trying to sound resolute, even though I was grasping at straws.

Damien looked quietly amused.

I turned away and went to my room.

"It’s a date, then!" he called.

"Are you stupid?!" I spun around so fast the hallway felt like it tilted. "I just said it is NOT a date, you blue eyed demon!"

His laughter trailed after me through the door I shut behind me, bright and carefree, echoing down the hallway and slipping under my door into my dark room where I stood, back against the door, heart racing and face flushed.

One hockey game. I had agreed to one hockey game with my roommate, who had pre-purchased tickets, knowing I’d say yes, which meant he understood me better than I was comfortable admitting, adding yet another complication to this mess.

On the other side of the door, he sounded like the happiest person in the world.

I had walked away empty-handed tonight. I’d lost a hockey game, an argument, and probably a few other things I had yet to acknowledge.

And somehow...unreasonably, inconveniently, against my better judgment, I was already looking forward to tomorrow.

I was not going to think about that, because for the first time...I didn’t have an explanation otherwise from the fact that I secretly was glad he wanted to hangout with me publicly.