Then for good measure (and to avoid her showing up uninvited), I add:
Me
And you shouldn’t skip. What if they teach something that’s on your midterm and you fail and then you need to make up the credits and we end up not graduating together? I wouldn’t forgive you for that
It’s surprisingly easier to lie to her than I thought it would be, which I guess is a good thing considering how much I’m going to need to lie over the next nine months. Though, I don’t feel great about the graduation comment. Ignoring the fact that it’s still nearly three years away, the odds of skipping one class affecting her grade enough that she fails altogether is highly unlikely. Still, I can’t risk her going to Izzy’s and seeing Damian and me together. Inpublic. She’d only end up butting her head in where it doesn’t belong, and the last thing we need is some wild rumor that she’s one of Damian’s jilted ex-fucks. Which she isn’t, but her reaction would definitely give that impression because it would almost certainly be aggressive. And possibly violent.
She’s going to find out about it regardless,my conscience rudely reminds me. Ronnie can smell gossip eight miles away, and as soon as word of our first outing hits social media—and whatever trashy magazines Ronnie subscribes to—she’ll know I lied to her.
But as far as I’m concerned, that’s Future Lexi’s problem. For now, I just need to focus on my first “date” with Damian not turning into a catastrophic disaster. Which means ensuring Ronnie stays as far away from us as humanly possible. Her showing up unexpectedly would be the very definition of cataclysmic.
My phone buzzes in my hand as I make my way up the auditorium steps.
Ronnie
Curse your big brain and the good point it just made le sigh I guess I’ll see you this afternoon after ALL my classes then
Exhaling a breath of relief, I stow the device in my pocket, and pull open the heavy wooden lecture hall door.
“There you are! Finally!”
I nearly jump out of my skin again at the jubilant voice booming in my right ear, and I stumble a little as I turn to find Damian standing to the side of the doorway.
“Fuckinghell, you scared the shit out of me! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I snap. Although I stare very sharp, very stabby daggers at him, he just laughs me off.
“You’ll be fine,” he assures me with a placating grin. “Ready to go?”
When he steps toward me, I glower at him, only now grasping just how tall he is. I’m hardly short, and he nearly has a whole head on me.
And I really,reallydetest how my body reacts to that knowledge. Clearly, I have an as-of-five-seconds-ago undiscovered kink for guys who tower over me, and I almost swoon at the realization. It takes the reminder that this is the guy who fucked me to tick a box on a bucket list to keep me on my feet.
My mouth is a desert, but I force out the words, “Have you…” only to trail off when the auditorium door opens again, and a few more students exit the lecture hall behind me. They glance at us as they pass, speculation sparkling in their eyes like gemstones. Once they’re out of earshot, I redirect my attention to Damian, drop my voice, and try again. “Have you been waiting out here this whole time? I did say I would text you.”
Damian shrugs. “I mean, not to put too fine a point on it, but I didn’t trust you not to flee the state at the first opportunity. I figured, if I stuck around, I would at least make sure we got our date today since I did pay in advance. Gotta get my money’s worth and all that.” Panic ratchets up my heart rate as I glance down the length of the hallway to see if anyone heard him, but we’re the only two in the immediate vicinity. “Besides…” He leans in close, a teasing smirk on his lips. “It can’t hurt for everyone to see just how into you I am.”
I snort. “Right, because waiting for someone to finish class is a huge sign of devotion.”
“Hey, it is if you have a reputation for being a playboy.”
“I believe the term you were looking for is manwhore,” I correct him.
Damian waves a dismissive hand. “Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe. The point is, Damian Navarro doesn’t waste his time loitering in hallways for just anyone.” He then reaches out and boops me on the nose.
I flinch, batting his finger away, and step back to put some space between us. His smug expression falters, and a slippery feeling slides down my back, like an icy fingertip along my spine. He’s peering at me strangely now, almost…deviously. Which cannot be good.
“What?” I hedge. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He blinks as if my question has snapped him out of a daze. “No, nothing,” he says. “I just realized you’re wearing some of the clothes I got you.”
My brow twitches as I peer down at myself. I don’t hate what he got me, which is surprising seeing as my wardrobe typically consists of pun-related graphic tees, hoodies, and the odd knitted sweater. The few skirts, revealing tanks, and high heels I own, I reserve for the rare occasion I attend a party or function that requires upselling myself on an aesthetic level tothe opposite sex, which isn’t often considering I find most social situations exhausting. The party where I encountered Damian at the start of the semester was an anomaly—a deviation from my quiet hermit life where my idea of a good time is drinking at home in my pajamas while watching Netflix, or the odd night out at Grape Expectations in whatever I wore to class that day. I am the definition of casual when it comes to my wardrobe, which typically means sneakers and jeans.
Today, however, I’m wearing an incredibly soft beige fitted turtleneck, with flattering high-waisted tailored shorts and matching over-the-knee black suede boots, which, ironically,doresemble something Julia Roberts would wear inPretty Woman, based on the stills I saw on Google Images. All three items are from a luxury designer I’ve never heard of before (though that says very little), and while it’s not something I would’ve picked out for myself, I find I like how I look in it, even if I am terrified of food or drink coming within a ten-foot radius, given how much it all cost. It’s not that I’m self-conscious when it comes to my looks—even next to Ronnie and Andie, who are both genetically blessed, I know I’m considered conventionally attractive—I just…don’t care. I have way more important things to worry about, like Mom, and my scholarship, and ensuring my life in general doesn’t implode. But today…dressed like this…well, for the first time, I can kind of understand why Ronnie always makes such a fuss about fashion. There’s a certain power in feeling good in what you’re wearing. If you feel good in the clothes, you’ll feel good in your skin, and I suppose that’s worth more than any amount of money.
Not that I’d ever tell Damian that, or give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m happy about this. As far as I’m concerned, he can go to hell for treating me like his own personal Barbie.
“Uhh…wasn’t that the whole point of buying this stuff?” I remind him. “So I would lookacceptablewhen we’re together?”I don’t bother masking the disdain in my voice. I don’t think I could have even if I’d tried. “If I recall correctly, you even called it my uniform.”
Damian gives me an incredulous look. “Man, you really can’t take a compliment, can you?”
