“Death threats are my love language,” I said, taking another sip of my wine while he laughed, his cheeks turning a touch pinker than I’d ever seen them before.
“It’s a pleasure to be the target of all your voodoo attempts to be rid of me,” he said. “It’s nice seeing you relaxed like this.”
“You sound like a therapist,” I said.
“Do you have a habit of looking at your therapist’s lips, wanting to kiss them?” he asked.
“If he’s cute enough.” And charming. And chivalrous. And gentle. And so, so focused on me that the world seemed to have fallen off the edge, and we were the last two boys sitting here.
Damon’s teeth moved over his lips, and he lifted his glass. “To first dates. And all that will follow.”
I toasted that, taking a long sip and looking into his warm eyes, attention burning in them. “We’re not really dating, though.”
“You keep bringing that up like it changes what tonight feels like,” Damon said.
I would have let him have me right here and now if it weren’t for our food arriving. No, we were not dating. That was a disastrous idea. But I could get used to being treated like this.
See, I’d dated in Chicago. I’d done all the things you’re supposed to do when you’re a student with spare time and an undying wish to be someone’s boyfriend. I’d signed up for dating apps, gone to social events, joined parties I was invited to, and even ended up at a few post-game hockey parties when the Steel Saints lost to the Arctic Titans in their home rink. I could have sworn that I’d seen Damon from a distance, lost to the devotion of the followers and the attention of the camera crews, moving like a blur of flashlights and disappearing before I could be sure it was him.
And in all those times, I had never gone on a date where I felt like the center of someone’s universe. Even when those dateswere romantic and promising, when the possibilities were not so limited as ours, I’d never believed for a second that I mattered.
This hit differently. We knew where the lines were, and Damon still crossed them just for the fun of it. Just to pretend. Just to see what it was like.
“It feels good,” I admitted, taking a bite of my food. “I might give you my number if you play your cards right.”
He smiled mischievously and nodded. “Now we’re playing.”
“Your turn,” I said. “Tell me about yourself. Who is Damon Pierce?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Damon is the handsomest boy who has ever lived, and he’s very sweet and totally deserves to be invited to your place whenever you’re feeling blue. Or lonely. Or happy. Or, let’s be honest, horny.” He ate, nodding appreciatively at the food. “Don’t waste time scrolling through my profile when you can have a private showing anytime you ask.” He bit his lip briefly, making me press my thighs together. “I like it when you look at me like that.”
“Like I’m plotting your murder?”
“Exactly,” he said.
“But really,” I said, leaning a little closer to him. “How many people did you take out like this?”
“Define people.”
“If I throw a salad at you, will you flirt with it?”
Damon shrugged. “It would depend on the salad.”
“God, we’re about to find out,” I said, touching my nearly empty plate. The fact that he could just keep teasing me, keep making me want to drag him into the restroom and lock the door, drove me crazy. Crazy for him. We never should have done this. It messed with my head in ways I wasn’t equipped to resist.
He lifted the menu from a passing waiter and flipped through it. “How about something sweet?”
“I’d kill for a little treat,” I said.
Damon shot me a look that said it all, undressing me and pointing it out without speaking a word.
“I’m so gonna stab you before the night is over,” I said.
“Let me order for you,” he said.
I crossed my arms and leaned back. “Order wrong and I’m going to use your skull as a flower pot.”
“You’d water me weekly, pour all over me,” he mused with a nice little sigh.