corners of his mouth quiver. “Good. Get your shoes on then. And maybe a bra, unless you’re good with letting the girls swing free. Either way is fine with me.”
“My girls are perfectly happy swinging free! And I’ve never heard you complain about my not wearing a bra.”
“I’m not complaining.” He grabs me as I walk past him, headed to my room to put on a bra. I seldom wear one at home, but I don’t actually like to leave the house without one. Then he pulls me into a quick kiss. He tweaks one of my nipples through my shirt as he pulls away. “If you want to let the rest of the world see how delectable your body is, you go right ahead and do it.”
I pretend to grumble as I pull out of his embrace, but both of us know it’s not real.
HIS FRIENDS ARE ALREADY at the coffee shop and sitting around a table in one corner when we arrive. There are only six of them there (I count), so it’s not as large a group as I feared. They’re a motley assortment of individuals, looking like they range from their midtwenties to their forties. Most of them have a kind of low-key academic look, which is affirmed when I learn that Damian knows them from graduate school.
Only one is in the English department. The others are in different disciplines, plus one guy who is an accountant and the boyfriend of a philosophy PhD student. They’re all excited when Damian introduces me. He’s obviously told them all about me. They know who I am and what I do and what he and I are doing together. I’d feel awkward about it if they weren’t all so friendly and welcoming.
I’m not good with remembering people’s names when I’m hit with several all at once. I try, but the only one I remember is Giselle, who is as gorgeous and elegant as her name. She looks around my age, but otherwise we have nothing in common. She’s working on her master’s in history, and Damian recommended her to Companions for Hire, so she’s been working there for the past year. She’s got dark hair, dark eyes, flawless olive skin, and a slim, graceful figure. She’s one of those people who can somehow look glamorous even in everyday clothes. She’s wearing leggings and a soft sweater—an outfit not very different from mine—but she somehow still looks like she could be a fashion model.
She’s not the least bit snotty, so it’s impossible for me to not like her. Her smile is warm and sunny, and she makes an obvious effort to get to know me, asking me easy questions and acting like I’m already a friend.
I’m not a social person, and I usually don’t like hanging out in crowds. But I find myself having a good time with these people anyway. They obviously all love Damian—which makes me ridiculously happy—and they seem to like me all right too.
When Giselle asks about my mom’s upcoming wedding, I tell them about Pop and his handlebar mustache and his gruff bossiness. I must do a good job with the storytelling since they’re all roaring with laughter at the end. Damian’s arm is draped loosely over the back of my chair, and I can feel him shaking with amusement too, although he’s not laughing out loud like the others.
One of the guys whose name I can’t remember is wearing a tie-dyed shirt and has a soul patch on his chin. He leans over and says, “You’re hilarious. No wonder Damian is so into you.”
I’m so startled by his words that I grow still. I notice Giselle giving the guy a little kick under the table. I turn toward Damian to see if his expression will lend me any insight.
It doesn’t. He lifts his eyebrows slightly in that bland, questioning look that’s cool and smug and unrevealing.
Clearly he is not a man who is hiding deep feelings. Soul Patch is probably just trying to get under Damian’s skin. Or else he means Damian likes me better than most of his clients (which I’m pretty sure he does).
I let the rest of the confusion slide off me since it feels messy and worrisome. And I don’t have time to think about it again because Giselle asks a question about my mother.
The rest of the evening is easy. Fun. I have a really good time. And I can’t help but wonder if Damian will let me hang