Cold Dark Heart by Julie Kriss

Twenty

Andie

Damon livedin the top apartment of a duplex on a street packed with old houses and big trees. At least, that was what I found when I went to the address he’d given me on his paperwork. Even though I wasn’t paying him, I’d still made him fill out paperwork. It was the bookkeeper in me.

It was two days since the incident with Miles. I hadn’t gone into work at the Wild—I’d been busy. I’d had so much to do that I’d let Damon deal with everything at the bar, alone. I’d barely even checked in with him.

Now it was early evening. I’d gone to the Wild, expecting to find Damon there, but Jimmy said he’d gone home. I’d pulled Damon’s address and come here. But when I rang the buzzer for the top apartment, no one had answered. I rang it again, and when there was still no answer—and the old man in the lower apartment glared at me from his window—I walked back down the steps, not sure what to do.

He wasn’t expecting me. I could call him. Maybe he was grocery shopping or running an errand; I had no idea what Damon did in his off hours, really.

Maybe he was on a date. Did he date?

I should leave, but then I realized Damon’s car was in the driveway. Wherever he went, he was walking. Or someone had picked him up. His date?

Why was I so worried about Damon going on a date?

Why was I so twisted up? I really wanted to talk to him, but I didn’t want to call him. What would I say? I showed up at your door because I’m pathetic? Undecided, I sat on the front steps of his building. I’d give it five minutes—no, ten—and then I’d take my humiliation and go home.

I blew out a breath. This was stupid. I had worked with Damon for weeks. There was no reason he should make me nervous. I wasn’t nervous.

In the dimming light, I saw a figure come around the corner, and, to my embarrassment, my whole body woke up. It was Damon. He was jogging, his body moving with powerful grace and ease as his strides ate up the sidewalk. He was wearing gray sweatpants, a zip-up hoodie, and earphones. A dark vee of sweat soaked the front of the hoodie. When he saw me, his gray eyes locked on me, but his stride didn’t break.

He slowed as he got to the front walk, then stopped a few feet from me. He lowered the headphones so they were hooked around his neck.

I kept my hands in my lap. He looked good, I realized. Not just hot—Damon was hot—but good. He looked healthier every day, it seemed. His body had filled out. His muscles were taut and strong. The skin on his neck was flushed with exertion and a drop of sweat trickled down the hollow of his throat. He was a perfect male specimen, standing right in front of me, and suddenly I forgot why I was here.

Still watching me from those dark-lashed eyes, Damon put his hands on his knees as if he was winded, though he didn’t seem particularly out of breath. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I replied.

He waited, but when I didn’t offer anything else, he said, “Should I ask why you’re sitting on my front step?”

“I came to talk to you, but you weren’t home,” I said.

He waited again. The breeze blew in the trees, rustling the new leaves, the air crisp and slightly damp. Something arced between Damon and me—something that had always been there, maybe. Something I didn’t want to face—but wanted to grab with both hands at the same time.

He didn’t look away. If he found my behavior weird, he gave no sign.

Finally, he spoke. “Andie.”

“Thank you for the other night,” I said. “For your help. I would have lost my mind without you.”

He narrowed his eyes a little. “That isn’t why you came here.”

“It’s partly why,” I argued. “I also wanted to say that Miles and I talked. When he sobered up I didn’t yell at him, and we really talked. We’re going to make some changes. His teachers are letting him redo a couple of assignments to pull his grades up. We’re going to look for a therapist, see if there’s one he feels comfortable with. So maybe he can talk to someone while he goes through this shit with Terry.”

“Uh huh.” Damon’s voice was flat.

“He liked you,” I said. “He didn’t tell me what happened really, what you two talked about. But whatever you did or said, it helped.”

“That’s nice.”

“He’s really a good kid. I mean it.”

“I know.”

I twisted a lock of hair around my finger, let my gaze wander past his shoulder. “I also think we should talk about the fact that our four-week trial period is up.”

He was so still, his hands on his knees, the line of his back and shoulders stark in the fading light. “We should,” he agreed, “but that’s also not the reason you came here.”

I blew out a frustrated breath. “Are we going to talk outside? Or are you going to invite me in?”

A smile touched the corner of Damon’s mouth. “Andie, I’ll invite you in when you tell me the real reason you came.”

My pulse raced hard in my throat. “I came because we needed to talk.”

“No.”

I was starting to quietly panic. “I thought I should update you.”

“No again.”

“I was going to—”

“No again.”

I stared at him helplessly. He waited. We had a silent standoff.

After a moment he said softly, “I know why you came here, Andie. I want to hear you say it.”

Something unwound deep in my belly. Like someone had cut a string that was pulled too tightly, and I could practically hear the zing! as it snapped. I stopped panicking and I felt heat moving through me.

How did he know me so well? How did he know what I wanted when I was still trying to figure it out myself?

I said on an exhale, “I came because I wanted to see you.”

Damon’s eyes went dark, but he didn’t move. His voice was a rasp. “You wanted to see me what?”

I’d never done this before—never talked to a man like this. Never said these kinds of things to anyone, even my ex-husband. “Naked,” I said. “I wanted to see you naked.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Good,” he said. “That’s very good. I want to see you naked, too. I always have. How much time do we have?”

I swallowed. “Miles is spending a few days with my father.”

“So we have all night.”

“Yes.”

The smile touched Damon’s mouth again. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Come in.”