Roommates With Benefits [BL] Chapter 60: I Fear We Need To Talk

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By the ti I got back to Preston Hall, my brain felt like it had been tossed into a blender and left on high speed all the way ho.

Given everything that happened that day, that felt pretty spot on. Between Joey practically drawing up a guest list for my imaginary wedding with Damien Lockwood and Maya looking at with that calm, knowing gaze, like she’d already figured everything out and was just waiting for to catch up...

I was completely wiped out in every way possible. ntally, emotionally, physically, spiritually. Maybe even at a cellular level.

The evening air had cooled quite a bit on my walk back, carrying with it the scent of rain that hadn’t made up its mind yet. You know that charged feeling the air gets when a storm is considering whether to hit?

Students were andering through campus in loose, laughing groups, living their uncomplicated lives with the carefree attitude of people not currently having a ltdown, and I envied each and every one of them.

I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets and stepped into the elevator.

Normal folks don’t get nervous about going ho. That just doesn’t happen. Ho is supposed to be where you go to unwind, breathe easy, and be yourself without any pretense.

The thing is, I hadn’t been particularly normal for weeks. Not since that certain wealthy, infuriatingly attractive roommate of mine kissed during a party ga and then quietly turned my entire world upside down, one cup of coffee and one loaded comnt at a ti.

I reached the door to our apartnt and paused for a mont.

Then I sighed. "Get it together, Reyes."

The hallway, wisely, said nothing.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The first thing that hit was the light, warm and golden, spilling from the kitchen into the living room, which ant soone was ho, and that was sothing my nervous system needed to prepare for.

The second thing I noticed was the sll. Sothing was cooking, and it slled rich and leisurely, the kind that hints at soone with access to great ingredients and ti to spare, which described exactly one person in this apartnt.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t .

I lingered in the doorway for just a beat longer than necessary.

Well. He was ho.

My stomach did a flip that was both athletic and entirely unwelco.

Not because I was nervous. I was just experiencing a brief mont of internal organ confusion. Totally physiological. Nothing emotional about it at all.

If I was more honest with my own damn feelings, I’d say that I was happy he was back ho.

Well I’m not so, I wished that he was ran over by a bicycle instead.

I kicked off my shoes and closed the door behind , and the sound must have carried, because a second later, there was movent in the kitchen, and then, through the warm light...Damien looked up.

Our eyes locked.

Everything suddenly felt a bit too still.

The stove was quietly hissing, the refrigerator humd. A clock ticked sowhere behind . The apartnt was filled with sound, technically, but the space between us had this quality of silence that made it all seem irrelevant.

Damien was sitting at the kitchen island, a mug beside it. The mug didn’t have any steam coming off it. It was probably cold, sitting there neglected, like sothing left in place out of habit or just the refusal to accept that ti had passed.

Interesting. Very interesting. I wasn’t analyzing anything, just taking in the facts.

His gaze lingered on for a fraction longer than necessary. Then he looked back at his screen, putting on that calm composure of soone who’d had a few hours to prepare for a conversation and chosen to start with sothing that sounds neutral but isn’t.

"You’re late again."

His voice was calm, the kind of smoothness that suggests soone has spent a good chunk of ti preparing for this mont, easing in with what seems like a neutral opener.

"Hello to you too," I replied.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I said you’re late."

I rolled my eyes, "And I said hello, we’ve both communicated. This is going well."

His expression remained perfectly neutral. He had a knack for that, always had...but I’d lived with him long enough to tell the difference between the genuine neutrality and the one with a hidden agenda. One felt more textured; one was doing a lot of quiet work beneath the surface.

The fact that he looked up the mont I walked in was a little suspicious. The cold coffee? Suspicious. And the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly when I opened the door, that involuntary release? Okay, that was the most suspicious thing of all, and I was absolutely not going to think about it.

I walked toward the kitchen, needing water, because water was safe. It was a reasonable, uncomplicated request that carried no emotional weight whatsoever.

Damien stood up at the sa mont.

Of course he did.

We almost collided. Both of us halted, recalibrating, stuck in that awkward space between the island and the counter where it felt like we’d forgotten how to navigate close quarters.

For a ridiculous mont, we just stood there. Too close, again, because the universe definitely had a quirky sense of humor when it ca to .

He was, I was reminded with exasperation, incredibly tall. Unreasonably tall. The kind of tall that forces you to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye contact without looking ridiculous, which felt downright unfair given that dignity was already in short supply that night.

His blue eyes t mine, and my pulse made a decision that I didn’t authorize.

First my stomach betrayed , now my freaking pulse does the sa?!

I looked away. Water, I needed water. I reached past him, grabbed a glass from the cabinet, and filled it at the sink. The glass quivered slightly in my grip, which I promptly blad on dehydration and the exhaustion from a long day. Absolutely nothing else.

Damien leaned against the counter. Close enough that I was aware of him, like you’d notice warmth in a cold room...not touching, not imposing, just there in such a way that made everything else fade away.

As if he was trying to make aware of him sohow, as if he was trying to make it so it was impossible to ignore him.

I hated this, I hated that I had beco so finely tuned to his presence that I could sense him without looking.

I hated being aware of the faint cedar scent of his cologne, or the fact that his hair was a little ssy tonight, or the way he altered his posture after being alone for a while compared to when he was assembling his persona for an audience.

I drank so water.

Then another sip.

Then a third, because as long as I was sipping, I didn’t have to say anything, and right now, silence was the best strategy I had.

Unfortunately, my mouth had never been too loyal to my strategies.

"So," I finally said.

Damien glanced over from his lean against the counter. "So?"

I set my glass down carefully, as if I was resisting the urge to throw it across the room. "You know."

His expression didn’t change at all, blank, patient, waiting. "Know what?"

I stared at him. He stared back. The clock ticked, and the refrigerator continued its indifferent hum.

"Oh, I don’t know," I said, throwing my hands up with what I thought was perfectly proportionate dramatic flair. "Maybe the part where you stord out of the apartnt last night after dropping a line that could’ve co straight out of a premium drama? Six words, very loaded, very mysterious...and the door slam for dramatic effect? You know, that part?"