“You must be Andie,” he says, holding out a hand, which she happily takes. After a quick shake, he repeats the gesture with Eli. “And I take it you’re the boyfriend?”
“Eli. Good to meet you, man.”
With the greetings all out of the way, and nothing to fill the uncomfortable silence that rises, I jump at the opening to ask the one question that’s been burning in my head since I first saw this boat. “Who’s Lucia?”
A warm smile instantly lights up Damian’s features. “My abuela. This yacht used to belong to my grandfather, and he named it after her.”
“How sweet,” Andie says with a fond look at Eli before letting out a loud gasp that would give her dramatic cousin a run for her money. “Oh, my god, is that…a jacuzzi?” She points to what looks like a small inset pool at the opposite end of the deck.
Damian follows her gaze with a bewildered frown tugging at his brow, as if a jacuzzi on a two-hundred-foot mega yacht is to be expected. Hell, for all I know, it is. “You’re welcome to use it if you like.”
Andie’s eyes lock on mine, and she stares at me like a child wordlessly pleading for their mother’s permission, excitement bleeding across her face. Honestly, between this and Ronnie’s elation over the prospect of free champagne, you wouldn’t know the pair come from a family with money. Eli appears to be just as excited—though, I think that’s likely more to do with the thought of being in a hot tub with his beautiful girlfriend than the hot tub itself.
I shake my head. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit. But you guys go.”
Andie exchanges a glance with her boyfriend, and then they’re off, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake until they’re down to nothing but their swimwear. In the Uber over here, Eli had complained about how uncomfortable it was wearing swim trunks under his pants, but Andie had insisted they wear their suits “just in case.” I had thought it an odd choice given the time of year, but joke’s on me, I guess.
Damian chuckles, and his breath tickles my ear when he leans in close and murmurs, “You could always just go in wearing your underwear, Dornan. It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t seen before.”
I shrug off his arm, which still hangs across my shoulders, and take a step away. “No thanks,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “By the way, who else are we waiting for?”
He gives me a perplexed look. “No one that I’m aware of. Why?”
I turn my head, taking in the expansive deck around us. This level alone could comfortably hold fifty people, and yet, it’s only the five of us here.
“It’s just us?”
“Yes?” he answers, like he’s not entirely sure what I’m asking.
I stare at him hard for a moment, unsure which of the two of us is more confused. “I thought you said we could bring friends.”
“Yeah…?” Damian draws out the word, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to communicate with someone speaking a different language. Sometimes, it really feels like we are. “I said, ‘invite your friends,’ and you did.”
“Butyoudidn’t invite anyone?” I clarify since he clearly has no idea what I’m getting at.
“Was I supposed to?” he asks. He cocks his head to study my face, like he’s a golden retriever and I’m a doberman, and he’s not sure if I’m friendly or not.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I just mean…what aboutyourfriends?”
“Ah. Right. I understand the confusion now.” He nods vigorously for a moment as if in silent contemplation, then shrugs. “The truth is, I don’t reallydofriends.”
“Like you don’tdogirlfriends,” I retort, hooking my fingers into mocking air quotes.
Damian gives me a surprisingly withering look. “Pretty much.”
I consider this information, trying to make it fit into the puzzle that is Damian. Before we started this whole fake-dating agreement, I thought he was fairly predictable and easy to figureout. After all, he only seemed to care about two things: status and sex. But the more time we spend together, the more I’m beginning to realize that might not be entirely true, and the overall picture isn’t as apparent as I once thought it would be. Trouble is, I’m missing too many of the pieces to work out what I’m meant to be seeing.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I mutter, speaking more to myself than to him. I glance around the deck again, taking in all the empty space, before swiveling my head to look up at his still perplexed face. He reels back slightly at the accusation in my gaze. “Aren’t you, like, in a frat or something?”
Damian barks out a mortified laugh. “What? No. What made you think that?”
“Well, you’re always partying with them,” I point out, my tone biting. I don’t bother adding that we hooked up last month because we literally bumped into each other at a frat party.
“I’ve also partied with the Kardashians,” he counters. “Doesn’t mean I’m looking to become one.”
“I—” My skin flushes as I try and fail to think of a comeback. “I’m not following.”
Damian averts his eyes, running a hand through his thick hair, and it takes all my inner strength to stop myself from reaching my own hand out and doing the same. Brief flashes of the two times we had sex fill my mind, my fingers twitching with the flesh memory of what his hair feels like and how good I know in my gut it must have felt to touch it. To grip it. To clench it in my fists.
