His to Love (His #3)

Chapter 8

Although I really meant that I don't want any business with Damien and I'm only striking to be friends, I still take time and dress up nicely. Because I am a woman after all and I love spending time on myself. Maybe not as much as Victoria, but still. 

I love the feeling of being 'pretty' and looking the best I can. Not for someone else and not to please someone else, but to please myself only. I even feel more confident, and confidence is what I need around Damien. 

I'm not pretending I'm something that I'm not around him even. If he can't take it, we can't be friends. It can't get any more simple. 

So, I straighten my short blue dress that's got white polkas on it and a ribbon under my breasts and look down at my white heels. I leave my hair down, not doing anything with it and apply some mascara on my lashes and add a touch of a nude lipstick. Because I rarely ever leave my flat without a makeup on.

It's a habit that stayed with me since high school days. 

I already told the girls about the dinner. There are not many things that we don't tell each other. Cory also told me she met a guy today in Starbucks. He spilt his coffee on her new dress but he was apparently so hot that she had to forgive him. 

They talked and he asked her out, so he can apologise to her. And who was she to say no? 

I blow myself one last kiss in the mirror and turn around, grabbing the bottle of white wine I picked up today on my way home from work. I lock the door when I step out of my flat. My heels are clicking as I'm walking up the granite stairs to Damien's flat. 

This flat complex is not really that big, but it's high and there's only one flat on each floor. Still no elevator, though. But thank God Damien lives just above me so I don't have to walk all these damn stairs up. 

I knock on his door and Damien appears seconds later with his charming smile and crinkling, sparkling eyes. The instant he opens the door, the delicious smell of food hits my nostrils. 

''Oh, yum,'' I say, pushing the bottle of wine in Damien's chest and go past him into the flat. 

''Uh, sure, come on in. Make yourself at home,'' Damien says behind me, his tone amused. 

I brush him off with my hand. ''I'm working on it, buddy.'' 

''Buddy?'' I hear him mutter under his breath but I don't comment on it. 

''Did you actually made lasagna? By yourself? Don't tell me you're actually a great cook.'' I narrow my eyes on him.

Damien chuckles, still holding that bottle of wine, his expression bemused. ''I think I'll let you be the judge of it. Thank you for the wine.'' He lifts the bottle. 

''A man who cooks,'' I say, whistling. 

Damien cocks his head to the side while taking the glasses out of his cabinets. His shirt lifts up a bit when he reaches up, showing off that golden skin under and those hard, hard muscles. They're covered way too soon. ''If you're going to tell me you're a terrible cook, I'm going to lose it.'' 

I scrunch my nose up. ''I can't cook for shit actually.''

Damien starts laughing. ''No way!'' he says. 

I playfully scowl at him. ''Well, no, it's not that bad,'' I laugh. ''I can cook a few things, usually I'm just too lazy to do so.'' I shrug. 

Damien fills both of our glasses with the white wine I brought. He offers me a glass then, his eyes sparkling. He holds his own glass up. ''To us, Brooke. To this evening and the great friendship I have a feeling we'll have.'' His words hold a secretive meaning, something I can't figure out.