by Layla Hagen
He takes my hand, and I feel oddly secure as I walk beside him, even though this place creeps me out. As we walk by a few warehouses, I can't help thinking Damon was right. My dress, my shoes...they don't belong here. They make me feel out of place and vulnerable. We finally come to a stop in front of one of the warehouses. It looks like all the others, but there is one notable difference: while the others were silent, obviously empty, it's clear this one isn't. The crowd Alex was talking about must be inside here. We go around the warehouse. In front of the entrance, I see two dozen or so bikes and as many cars. Damon squeezes my hand gently as Alex opens the door to the warehouse.
A few people whistle as we go in, while others chant, "Finally." It's obvious the welcome is for Damon, but he doesn't acknowledge them. I look around wildly, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. In the center of the warehouse is an empty circle with rows of people huddled, waiting for something. Once I see the guy pacing inside the otherwise-empty circle, things get more confusing. When the crowd parts at the sight of Damon and someone from the crowd yells, "I've bet on you, Damon. You'd better win this one," I finally get it.
"You're a fighter," I whisper. Of course. That explains the bruises. Damon lets go of my hand, turning to me. His eyes have lost their usual sparkle. He assesses my outfit again.
"Alex," he calls. "Keep an eye on her."
"I will. But that doesn't mean others will keep their hands off her. Especially dressed like this. No offense, but they might mistake her for a hooker."
Damon curses. "Just stay put here; nothing will happen to you."
"Why are you doing this?" I ask.
"I'll explain it to you later. Just—damn it, I shouldn't have brought you here," he says through gritted teeth. To our right, a group of three hooligans stare at me hungrily. They definitely think I'm a hooker.
Damon shoots daggers at them with his eyes. He puts one hand on my waist, still watching them. He seems to consider something—possibly punching them. Then he turns to face me. With a jolt, he pulls me toward him until we are so close, so impossibly close that I feel his warm breath against my lips. I look at him, a question hanging on my lips. He answers it with a kiss. The moment his lips touch mine, something ignites inside me. Warm and rough, his lips are like magnets—they pull me in with a devastating force. Everything else fades into meaninglessness. The sounds, the people...
When we break apart, my knees sway. Luckily, Damon's arm is still around my waist. The moment our gazes lock, I become aware of the voices around us, beckoning him to start the fight. Damon drops his jacket and the two helmets on a nearby table.
I'm still floating somewhere above everything while Damon walks backward toward the ring. Just before he turns around, he mouths something that instantly snaps me from the clouds. One word. Sorry. I watch him step inside the ring while the question haunts me: sorry for what? Kissing me? The question drowns in fear when the fight starts. Punches fly in both directions.
"Don't worry," Alex says. "Damon's a pro."
"He's got bruises all the time," I counter.
"Of course. It's part of the job."
"How long has he been doing this?"
"Who knows? He joined us a few weeks ago and fights like he's been at it for a few years. He's the best there is right now. All the other fighters hate him." He beams.
"Why are you so cheerful about it?"
"Means he and I can make some good money. Tonight's match will turn the tide, so to speak."
"What do you mean?"
"Gabe," he motions to the guy Damon's fighting, "used to be the best before Damon arrived. It looks like Damon will beat him tonight. That'll mean a lot of money, but also trouble. Gabe isn't used to losing. He's the leader, and owes a lot of dangerous people money. If he starts losing matches, he’ll have nothing to pay them back with."
He directs his attention to the fight next. I can tell he'd like to go closer to watch, but he stays put, throwing a glance in my direction every now and again, keeping an eye on me, the way Damon asked him to. He needn't bother. The same guys who looked at me with what were clearly indecent thoughts in the beginning, now look at me like I have a disease. I realize the kiss was Damon's way of letting everyone know I am out of bounds. And he was sorry for the kiss. Well, I’m not. It made me blissfully happy, even if just for a moment.
As the fight gets more violent, I can't help moving forward. The punches grow more vicious, thrown with one purpose: win. Damon's good; even I can tell that. Still, he gets hit, and every time that happens my stomach churns violently. At least he manages to block most of the punches Gabe aims at his face. I turn around when I'm sure the fight is only minutes away from being over, unable to watch anymore. When the crowd erupts in cheers, congratulating Damon, I breathe with relief.
"Well done, Damon," Alex calls loudly.
"Shouldn't we go to him?" I ask.
"No, it's best to stay out of the ring, even after the fight is over." Alex remains by my side as the crowd moves. One moment, I see Damon washing himself at a sink at the back of the warehouse, but the next moment, I lose him. I bite my nails, only stopping when he appears in front of me.
"Dani, are you all right?" he asks.
"Yeah. You—?”
"I'm okay. I'll just have a black eye." He smiles tightly. "Let's go. Alex, I'll call you tomorrow."
The hall is still buzzing with people when Damon puts an arm around my waist, beckoning me toward the exit.
"Damon," a strong voice resounds in the hall. The buzz turns to silence so fast it's scary. Though I never heard his voice before, I know it's Gabe who spoke. "I want a rematch."
Damon and I turn in unison. A livid Gabe stands at the edge of the ring. People step apart, forming a corridor between us and Gabe.
"Certainly," Damon says in a measured tone. "Alex can schedule it."
Gabe smirks, but his eyes grow colder with fury. "Make sure you don't bring your beautiful friend. It might turn ugly for you. Wouldn't want her to witness it or...get caught in between." Damon's arm grows rigid around my waist. For the first time tonight, I feel a real pang of fear. Damon opens his mouth, and I sense he won't reply so calmly this time. Alex must sense it, too, because he steps in.
"I'll schedule the match. Let's go."
Damon grabs the jacket and helmets from the table. People still congratulate him on the way out, but much quieter than before. They are afraid of Gabe.
The second we're out the door, I ask, "Why did you agree to a rematch?"
Damon looks at me in surprise. "You can't deny an opponent that."
There is a lot of commotion outside, as people rev their bikes and cars.
"I don't like it," I say.
"Neither do I," Alex says. "Gabe won't fight fair next time."
"I'll deal with that when it comes to it," Damon replies in a final tone. "Alex, call me when you've scheduled it."
Chapter Thirteen: Dani
We walk in silence past the warehouses until we reach Damon's bike. As he puts his jacket around me and I slip into the smooth leather carrying his scent, I remember how his lips felt on mine and shudder. "Where are we going now?"
"Depends." He doesn’t meet my eyes.
"On what?"
"On whether, after everything you've seen tonight, you want to stay as far away from me as possible or go on a date."
Suddenly, I’m dizzy. I inhale deeply, his scent overwhelming me. It doesn't help the dizziness. "Why did you say you were sorry after you kissed me?"
His lips inch upward in a smile. "Because bringing you here was a lousy idea. I didn't anticipate you'd dress up like this, but I knew if those idiots thought you were mine, they'd leave you alone."
Mine.
Shivers run through me at the word. Coming from his lips, it sounds just right.
"You didn't answer, Dani. About the date." He looks wearily at me as if there might be a real chance I would say no.
"Why wouldn't I want one? Because of this?" I point around t
o the warehouses. "It's not what I expected, I admit. But you have your reasons. You can explain them to me if you want to," I grin, "on our date."
"I can think of better things to do on our first date."
"Okay," I say, almost out of breath.
"Where do you want to go?"
"The beach. I know it's dark, but—”
"The beach it is. Do you have one in mind?"
"Yes."
I give him directions, and we settle on the bike again. This time, I cling to him even tighter. Part of me fears that none of this is real. I'd like to pinch myself to see if I wake up, but once the death machine starts speeding, that's impossible. The light evening breeze turns into a cold wind during our ride, but funnily, I don't feel as cold as I did the first time. Warmth bubbles up inside me, fueled by the memory of his lips, and that one word: Mine.
***
When we arrive at our destination, we leave the bike in a small parking lot then proceed to the beach. There are a few light stations along the length of the sidewalk adjacent to the beach, giving a faint glow. I passed this beach a few times when James drove me from home to his apartment, and I always wanted to come here. Taking off my shoes, I relish the familiar feel of sand beneath my toes and discover I’m shivering. When Damon takes my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine, he notices, too.
"You're cold."
"Not at all," I lie. I don’t want to leave. We make our way to the shore, and the light from the streetlamps barely reaches us as we sit on the sand.
"Do I make you nervous?"
I’m grateful for the darkness. "Yes," I admit in a small voice.
He takes me in his arms from behind, so I sit with my back to him, facing the sea.
"What kind of nervous?" he whispers playfully in my ear. "The good kind, or the bad kind?"
"Definitely the good kind." I fidget in my spot, sweat dotting my palms. What if he doesn't like this place? I bet he had something more fun in mind when he thought of a date. I should have let him choose the spot. "Do you like it here? We can go somewhere more fun if you want, where there are people—”
"This is perfect," he interrupts. "If there were more people around, I'd have to share you, or at least your attention. I’m greedy. I want you all to myself."
"Oh."
I freeze when I feel his lips tugging at my earlobe, then trailing along my cheek.
"Dani?"
"Yes."
"Are you still sure about this? I can take you home if you want. We can pretend this night never happened. It won't change anything, I swear."
"Why do you keep asking that?"
"Because I keep thinking you’ll finally come to your senses and realize you should be going on a date with someone more like yourself. Someone who's grown up in a mansion, plays lacrosse in their free time, and has an Ivy League spot waiting for them, and later a brilliant career. He should’ve had the privilege of having your first kiss. I hate him already."
"I already gave my first kiss to you." I pull his arms tighter around me. I don't have an Ivy League spot waiting for me, but Oxford. This doesn't seem the right time to bring that up. In fact, in this very moment, the idea of attending college across the ocean doesn't fill me with the usual elation.
"Tell me about the fighting. Why are you doing it? How did it start?"
"After Mom got sick, she couldn't work anymore. Her benefits were a joke. I had to get a job. She wouldn't let me drop out of school, so I could only work a few hours after school and on weekends. I tried different jobs, but they paid almost nothing. Then someone approached me about fighting. When I realized I could make more money working less, I didn't look back. I never told her."
"What did she say about your bruises?"
"She thought I was getting into fights at school." His voice trembles slightly. "And toward the end, she was too far gone to notice."
"I'm sorry." I wedge myself closer into his arms, and he rests his head in the crook of my neck. "You don't have to keep doing it now, though."
"Yes, I do," he says forcefully. "I don't need that prick's money."
I let the subject drop, and we remain in silence for long moments.
"Damon, is this how first dates are supposed to be?" I ask, worried he wants something more exciting.
"Not at all. First dates are showtime, where people pretend to be something they aren't to impress someone who is acting just as fake. This—...you and me—...it's different." He shifts until he’s next to me, and then kisses me gently until I melt in his arms and moan against his lips.
"I didn't know kissing could be like this."
After a pause, he whispers back, "Neither did I."
"You’ve kissed a lot of girls, haven’t you?"
"None like you." I shiver in his arms as a cold breeze reaches me. "Are you cold? Don't lie."
"No," I lie, but then I sneeze.
"Okay, that's it, I'm taking you home."
***
"This tops all the firsts we’ve had until now. Breaking in my house, in my room." I decided it was too risky to use the entrance, in case my parents are still downstairs. My bedroom is on the second floor, but climbing there isn't too cumbersome. There is a massive oak tree right in front of my room with a tree house in it. We have no business with the tree house, but the ladder leading to it comes in handy. Luckily, I left the window open. Reaching inside, I turn on the lamp on my desk in front of the window with shaky hands. I've never had a boy in my room.
As we both climb inside and down my desk, Damon asks, "A lot of firsts with me, huh?"
"I hope to have a lot more." I swallow hard, glancing at him in the dimly lit room. We’re both still leaning on the desk. "You made all the firsts extraordinary."
"That's what you deserve."
"Thank you for climbing here with me. You didn't have to."
"I wasn't sure you could climb that ladder on your own. You don't seem very sporty."
"Hey, I do yoga."
"That's...not a sport."
"Stay here tonight." I take a deep breath. "I mean, um...just to sleep."
"I know what you meant," he says reassuringly. "I don't think it's a good idea. What if your parents walk in?"
"My parents never come to my room. Their rooms are each in opposite wings of the house. Mine is right in the middle."
Damon frowns. "They sleep in different rooms?"
"They don't get along." I sneeze.
"Aha, you're getting a cold. I knew it."
"I'll make myself some tea," I say, pointing to the table underneath the book shelves. I have a water boiler and a broad selection of tea.
"Why do you have all this in your room?"
"I do all my homework and reading here, and I drink lots of tea. The kitchen is too far, and I feel bad asking our cook to bring me tea."
“Do you have some rubbing alcohol and cotton pads?” Damon asks, pointing to his lip.
“Sure.” I bring a bottle and some pads quickly. “Do you also need ice? So you don’t get so many bruises?”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He pours alcohol on a pad then brings it to his lip.
I break out into sneeze after sneeze. To my embarrassment, it goes on for about a minute.
"Go take a hot shower," Damon says. "It'll help with the cold."
"Will you be here when I return?"
He smiles my favorite smile, heartfelt and relaxed. His dimples are showing. "You can bet on that."
"Make yourself comfortable. I'll be quick."
My bathroom is adjacent to my room. I'm a nervous wreck the entire time I shower. The muscles in my thighs twitch and an empty feeling settles in my stomach. By the time I finish the shower, the twitch has turned into downright trembles. I can barely believe Damon is in my room. And I can't believe that every single pajama set I own consists of shorts and a simple cotton t-shirt. I don't have anything of silk or lace or any sexy fabric.
When I get to my room, Damon is sitting on my side of the bed, holding a cup. His eyes fi
nd mine, and I bite my lip as his gaze dips down my body. I don't think he minds my pajamas. I try to remember that he saw me naked, and this is nothing in comparison.
"Get in the bed, come on," he says eventually, and I detect a delicious tingle of tension in his voice. He pats the sheets twice, and I climb in silently. "I made you tea."
He thrusts the cup he was holding in my hands, and I melt. I usually make tea for myself when I'm sick, or the cook or maid does it. Mom avoids me like the plague whenever I get a cold because she has a fragile immune system and gets sick quickly. I'm not sure Dad ever knows when I’m sick. Damon isn't avoiding me, and having him next to me fills me with warmth. It also fills me with something else I can't identify, but I desperately want more of this feeling.
While I drink tea, Damon stands up and paces around my room, stopping in front of the bookshelves. "You have an impressive collection here."
"I'm very proud of it."
The second I put the empty cup on the nightstand, Damon returns to my bed. He watches me carefully. Concern and tenderness war with desire in his green eyes. Putting one knee on the bed, he leans over me, cupping my face in his hands.
A smile blooms on his face. "Would you mind sleeping next to an almost-naked man, Dani?"
"D-define almost nak-ked," I manage to stutter.
"I'll lose my jeans and stay in my boxers." After a small pause, he adds, "I'll keep the t-shirt."
"Lose the shirt, too," I say mischievously then hide under my cover, drawing it up to my chin.
"I don't mind if you look, you know," he says with a grin.
"I think we already established that."
"This is the second strip you get from me in two days. That's quite an achievement, Dani Cohen."
"I didn't look the first time, so that doesn't count." My bold and flirty words surprise me.
"Ah, you took a good peek while we were in the water."
"No more than you."
He laughs. "I didn't take a peek. I took an eyeful, especially when you got dressed."
I gasp, feigning indignation. "So there I was, trying to help you, and you were spying on me. You're an opportunist, did you know that?"
"Only when the opportunity is worth it." He grabs the hem of his shirt with his hands. "Ready?"
