It had only been two days since my first day at Boston University, and here I was, stuck at home, sprawled on the living room rug, surrounded by a mountain of assignments. College brought more freedom than high school ever did—but that freedom came with its own weight. There were modules to catch up on, deadlines to meet, and somehow, despite having more free time, I felt busier than ever.
I groaned, pressing my chin against the table. Why did I have to be such a perfectionist? Maybe I should just stroll around town with Stacey, grab a pizza, or go shopping at the mall. But no, here I was, buried under notebooks and lecture notes, counting down the hours until my brother came home. Speaking of which… where was Jake? It was already 11 PM. He hadn't mentioned football practice. Or a date. Maybe he just… lost track of time. I blew a long sigh, trying to shake off my worry.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and my heart skipped a beat. That sound was like music tonight. "Coming!" I called out, tottering toward the door.
When I opened it, my breath caught. Damien stood there, hands in his pockets, that signature smirk tugging at his lips. Butterflies exploded in my stomach.
"Hey," he said, voice low, smooth, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
His outfit didn't help: a crisp white shirt layered under a black leather jacket, paired with ripped jeans. As always, he looked dangerously good—like he could make hearts break with a single glance.
"Hey," I murmured, soft and almost breathless. "Jake isn't back yet, but… come in."
Damien didn't move immediately. He just stared at me for a long moment, gaze sharp and unreadable before he finally averted his eyes. My chest fluttered. Flustered? Was Damien Wolfe actually… flustered?
I looked down at myself in horror, realizing I was wearing a thin tank top and very short shorts. Great. Way to make a first impression. I silently cursed my wardrobe choices and vowed to be more careful—especially since my brother's friends were likely to drop by more often.
Turning back, I led him into the house, and he followed silently, closing the door behind him.
"Make yourself at home," I said, trying to sound casual, though the words felt awkward.
He sank into the couch like he owned the place, and I returned to the rug, organizing my papers.
"Homework?" he asked with a teasing smirk.
I shrugged. "Yeah. You?"
He chuckled, low and amused. "I'm here for assignments too. Jake was supposed to discuss a new project with me."
I raised my brows. "Where's Jake, then? I thought he'd be with you."
Before Damien could answer, his phone buzzed. He scowled, muttering irritably as he listened. Then, abruptly, he stood.
"What's happening? Are you leaving?" I asked, worried.
"I'm picking him up," Damien said, heading for the door. "He's drunk."
"What?" I blurted, my heart thumping. Jake wasn't the type to drink often—especially not enough to get drunk. "How drunk?"
"One of those rare occasions," Damien replied, like he read my thoughts.
"Wait—I'm coming too," I insisted, grabbing my jacket.
Damien stopped, turning sharply to give me a look that could cut glass. "Then go change your clothes."
I blinked at him, cheeks heating, and dashed to my room. Of course. I couldn't look like this in front of his football buddies.
---
I threw on jeans and flats over my tank top, still feeling slightly exposed, and hurried to the foyer. Damien was already there, leaning against the wall. For a second, I thought he looked annoyed. Then, without a word, he walked to his car, tossing his black leather jacket toward me.
I caught it instinctively, feeling the warmth of the fabric seep into me. There was something quietly caring in the gesture—even if he did it in that brusque, infuriating way of his.
The car ride was tense with the bass of club music pulsing through the city streets. When we arrived, the club's neon lights and thumping music hit me like a wave. And there he was—Jake Spencer, at the center of a crowd, laughing and drinking with his teammates and a group of girls.
My stomach knotted. I had been worried, and here he was, grinning like the world was his playground.
Jake's eyes widened when he spotted us. "Look who just came for me," he slurred, gesturing to Damien with a grin. "Damien, the bulldozer," he added, earning an exaggerated eye-roll from Damien, much to his friends' amusement. Then, in a mock-heroic tone, he continued: "And my dear sister!"
I crossed my arms, exasperated. "Jake."
"Eyes down, guys," Jake barked at his teammates, turning back to me. "Hi, Lia. What's up?" He hiccupped.
Damien didn't waste time. He grabbed Jake's arm firmly. "Come on, buddy."
"I'm celebrating!" Jake protested, but Damien's grip didn't loosen. He yanked him up without a word, and even the teammates didn't argue.
I followed, a small smile tugging at my lips. In the parking lot, I chuckled softly. "Having each other's backs, huh?"
Damien scoffed but didn't answer. He unlocked the car and gently pushed Jake into the back seat.
"Don't leave a sick man alone," Jake slurred, grabbing my arm.
"You're not sick—you're drunk," I hissed, sliding in beside him.
"Same thing," he mumbled, resting his head on my shoulder.
Damien started the engine, quiet and watchful, while I wondered what had driven Jake to drink.
---
Back at home, damien carried Jake to his room, dropping him unceremoniously on the bed. I sat at the edge, stifling a laugh as Jake sniffed the mattress like a child.
"Finally… my bed. Heaven," he muttered, grinning foolishly.
Damien shook his head, silent, unbothered by the effort it took to drag him from the car.
"Stop staring, you two," Jake murmured. "Alright, kiddo. I'm leaving."
damien just nodded and headed toward the door.
"Thanks, Damien," I said softly, and he only offered a slight nod in return.
Then Jake, still half in his drunken world, called out: "Damien—don't worry, I know I won't have to leave Amelia to you."
I froze, staring at him. Damien's eyes met mine for
a brief, intense second before I looked away, my heart racing.
Screw you, Jake.
---
💖✨ TBC