Stained

Chapter 86

His jaw hardens and I try not to bristle at the sudden cold steel in his eyes. "We went to the same high school," he grumbles. 

"Oh." I debate asking if they're friends, but I'm scared he'll get angry... well angrier. Oh, forget it. "Are you friends?" Stupid question, I know. They went to the same high school and are now hanging out as adults but for some unexplainable reason, I need confirmation as to whether or not he would be friends with a cheater.

"Not really," he murmurs onto his cup of coffee, before taking a sip.

Then why are you hanging out with him? I want to ask but don't. Instead, I ask, "do you know if Hayden cheated on, Hannah?" Apparently, he's been claiming he hasn't despite the fact he came home to lipstick marks on his t-shirt...

Lipstick marks on his t-shirt... what am I saying, he obviously cheated.

"I don't fucking know."

I blanch at the venom in his tone.

His eyes show something that appears to be regret.

I barely give it a second thought and stand up. "I'm going to my car alone. I don't need a babysitter."

The plan was to never sit here after receiving our drinks anyway. We were supposed to drink on the way to my car.

Damien grabs my arm, spins me around and pulls me back to him. I glare up at him and try to fight his grip off, to no use.

"I shouldn't have raised my voice at you." No apology. "But I don't keep tabs on his infatuations."

"His infatuations!" I don't believe him. "She was his girlfriend, Damien."

"Like I said; I don't keep tabs," he deadpans.

Asshole. Absolute asshole.

I jerk my elbow. "Get off me."

"You're not going to your car on your own. Hayden knows where we are. I texted him. They'll come here once they're done fucking." 

I growl. Literally, growl at him.

His lips tip-up. "Did you just growl at me?" The disbelief and humour dancing in his eyes match his tone.

I glare harder, my eyes now at the brim of falling shut.

"Was that supposed to scare me?" His tone is disbelieving. "Baby, that was anything but scary. You sounded like a cute little puppy."

Did he just compare me to a puppy?

"Get off me," I snarl, despite the blush rising up my neck and the butterflies dancing in the pit of my stomach from seeing that beautiful smile again. Anything is better than the hurt, the anger, the calm scrutiny and the despair... anything.

"Don't leave," he says, but listens and lets go of me.

Don't leave. Trying and failing to not think too much into the words, I silently sit back in my seat. He sits back in his seat after a moment too.

Did he think I was going to run the second he sat down? Given our history, I don't blame him. However, I come to this Starbucks whenever I come to town — which isn't very often because I have social anxiety— and I don't want to be remembered as the girl who ran out of here as if she was being chased by a dog.