Oh, Keep Your Shirt On - Michelle Pennington Page 0,12

Like I said, he’s my landlord—and nothing else.”

She’d been in the middle of wiping her nose and eyes, but she paused, raising one sharply plucked eyebrow. “Do most landlords hang out with their tenants this early in the morning while you’re both wearing pajamas?”

I looked at Damien, standing in his flannel pajamas, hoodie and socks, then down at my leggings. Also, I remembered for the first time that I wasn’t wearing a bra. Luckily, I wore a black T-shirt, so it was doubtful that either my mom or Damien could tell, but it suddenly seemed totally indecent. I folded my arms even tighter across my chest. “He helped me get my trash down to the road and then…” I paused. My explanation sounded weak to my own ears. “You know what, Mom? You’re right. I’m having a rip-roaring, steamy affair with my landlord. I can’t get enough of his hot body. In fact, as soon as you leave, I’m going to drag him up to my bedroom and have my way with him. For the second time this morning.”

“Krista!” my mother exclaimed, standing up so fast she nearly knocked her iced tea over.

I made the mistake of glancing at Damien. His eyebrows could not have gone any higher or his eyes any wider. But I’d gone too far to worry about his reaction now.

“And since I’m clearly so happy with my amazing new life, there’s no point in you trying to talk me into coming back home. So if there’s nothing else…”

She rushed around the coffee table with a move an NFL running back would have envied and pulled me into a fierce hug. “Oh, honey. Don’t you know this kind of thing won’t last forever? He’ll get bored and move on and—”

“Boredom won’t be a problem,” Damien interrupted, a gleam of unholy amusement in his eyes.

I flashed a glare at him and focused on my mom. “I’m not here for him anyway. I’m here for me. I want to live my own life. There is nothing you can do to convince me to go back home.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice now as sweet as cotton candy. “I understand that you want your own place. I mean, you’re twenty-four, after all—”

“Twenty-five,” I corrected.

“And,” she waved her hand at Damien, “you want your privacy. But why not come back to work for Martin and I?” She gestured to my painting. “Instead of wasting your life like this.”

“No.” I was so done with this argument. Already, I could feel the exhaustion creeping in.

“But, Krista…”

Damien stepped up then and put his arm around my mother’s shoulders. “Well, I think it’s time for you to go,” he said, leading her toward the front door. She tried to turn away from him, but he merely grasped both of her shoulders to keep her moving. I trailed behind them, amazed at what he was doing.

“I had a lot more to say,” my mom said, glaring up at him indignantly.

“Well, you know how stubborn she is. You might as well give it up and let her make her own choices. It’ll only hurt your relationship if you keep pressuring her like this.”

“I’ll come back again,” she said like a belligerent teenager. “As soon as she struggles to pay her bills or gets sick or her car breaks down, she’ll need me.”

Damien opened the door. “You don’t give her enough credit. And besides, she has me now.” As soon as he had her through the door, he stepped back inside. “Be sure to call before coming over next time. Goodbye.”

And then he shut the door in my mother’s face, turning the deadbolt with a smirk of satisfaction. He turned back around and leaned against the door, shoving his hands down into his hoodie pockets again. Then he studied me, his expression growing more and more difficult to read.

I didn’t know what else to do besides stare back at him. As quiet as we were, it was easy to hear the sound of my mom’s car starting up and driving away. Once it faded to nothing, I let out a deep breath and prepared myself to face Damien’s reaction to the crazy things I’d said. Would he be mad? I doubted it. From his reaction earlier, he was more likely to tease me mercilessly about it.

“Well, I understand a few things better now.”

I scrunched my brows together. “Like what?”

“She’s the fire that forged you into iron.”

I blinked at him. “I don’t feel like iron.”

“I know. But just because you