As Damien and I walked to the library, with myself walking a couple steps ahead of him, we made small talk. It was a short walk, 3-4 minutes, if you took the campus grounds, which we did.
We walked into the library building, and instead of heading to the top floor, where the 'quiet sector' was, we remained downstairs. I spotted a group of people walking away from two couches, and quickly made my way over to it. Damien followed steadily behind me.
I plopped down on the couch, taking off my bag and placing it on the table between the two couches. Damien sat down too, parallel to me.
As he started pulling out his laptop from his bag, I took time to analyze his face. I could place him in my memory, just not an exact event.
Having noticed my stare he questioned, "What?"
Releasing an exasperated sigh I complained, "I swear I've seen you before, I just can't place where, and its weird bec—"
He laughed, "You still haven't recognized me? Oh man."
I stared at him, dumbfounded and confused.
He grinned crookedly, "Does 'The Striker' ring a bell? BC championships?"
I had a bucket of water dumped on my head moment.
"Oh my god. Seriously? You too?" I laughed nervously. I remember clearly wiping him out, having won the match within minutes of start time.
He noticed the wince on my face, "Hey, I think its sick that a chick like you is so strong. Its rare seeing females in this competitive field. You're pretty fucking deadly—and well, pretty."
I blushed, "Oh awh I... usually my male competitors who have lost badly—hell lost at all—are pretty pissed that a girl beat them."
He chuckled. "Nah, I have a sister, so the fact that theres strong women like you, thats great you know? Its reassuring when I think of her and her safety—and then the lack of role models for her—you're great, trust me."
I warmed some more, smiling, "I would love to meet your sister, how old is she?"
He paused, "Actually she's not in Ontario, she lives with my dad in Saskatchewan, but she's... uh 17." He paused, laughing, "I can't ever recall her age, she thinks I don't care about her—but truth is, I don't like acknowledging that she's growing up."
I cooed in my head—not out loud though, that would've been embarrassing— he was a softie. I was relieved that he wasn't angry over my win. There's very few guys like that.
Bane was an exception because we tied, he wouldn't have felt the same humiliation that other guys felt, being beaten at the hands of a girl.
"Oh wow, she's just on that cusp of maturity then— I sympathize though, I lived with my dad through my teen years, and it was not pleasant. Hopefully she'll have more luck than I did." I replied, laughing.
He nodded, slightly smiling, before changing the topic to work.
—
It was two and a half hours later that we finally decided on a case that appealed to both of us.
It was a criminal case of a female stalker and a male victim. I was interested immediately, the thought of going inside a female stalkers mind sounded interesting.
Damien was on board too, wanting to take a try at playing victim, he'd said. As we wrapped things up, I glanced at my phone.
3:02pm.
Shit, Professor Curmudgeon's class was in 30 minutes. I noticed several message notifications and swiped to unlock my phone.
There were a series of aggravated and interrogating texts from Adonis and Bane, and a single text from Grey. I clicked on Grey's text.
Cum-dungeons class is cancelled, the old douche had some knee problem.
I chuckled slightly, reading the nickname Grey had given our Professor. I swiped my finger to check the other text.
The old fart left us eleven readings and four assignments, all due in two weeks time.
I sighed. Professor Curmudgeon was a dick— to put it nicely. He swore like a sailor throughout class, gave us a shit ton of reading, and had no sympathies for his students. We'd had two classes with him and already we were aware that he was a point blank asshole.
A clearing throat lifted my attention from my phone, my head turning to the origin of the sound.
Damien gave me a smirk, noting my startled form, "So you have that other class to get to, no?"
We had discussed our schedules through our small talk.
I shook my head, "Actually no, Grey texted me that Curmudgeon isn't going to be here for the next few lectures— two weeks— some knee thing, so I'm free."
He grinned, "So that means you can maybe possibly go out to grab a bite with me?"
I smiled, "Of course, who am I to turn down food."
He scoffed, "You mean, who are you to turn down me." Following with a dramatic hair flip.
I burst out laughing, "Please don't ever do that again."
I grabbed my bag, "Lets go to the Murphy's around the corner, I want ice cream."
He nodded, "I'm down, you know the way, right? Of course you do, weird memory freak." He commented playfully.
I rolled my eyes, a grin playing on my lips, "Yeah yeah, follow me."
The walk to Murphy's was short, the two of us comparing music tastes on the way there.
As we walked inside, Damien suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders.
"Alura, before this relationship progresses forward, I have to ask you— what is your favourite ice cream flavour."
The nearby worker, having overheard him, started laughing, shaking her head.
I grinned at her, before focussing my attention on Damien. Placing my hands on his face, I stated with the most neutral face I could create, "I— I like... Cotton Candy."
His face broke into a wide smile, "Oh heavens what a relief. I can now marry you."
I laughed, "You're a clown. Come on, the kind lady is waiting for us to order."
I grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him towards the counter. The ice cream parlour was quite big— as we walked made our way to the counter, Damien tugged his wrist out of my hand, connecting our hands instead.
As we came to a stop in-front of the ice cream display, I looked back at him, tilting my head up to glance at his face. He was focused intently on the display, not paying attention to the fact that he had my hand wrapped in his.
Okay. I guess we were going to play it cool.
I gave my order to the same lady who'd laughed as we first entered the store, and Damien gave his following mine.
As I reached to grab my wallet, Damien gave me a gentle shove backwards, tucking me behind his frame with a stable arm. He quickly handed over his card for payment, smiling in triumph when it went through.
Smirking at my unamused expression, he gestured to the cones, "You want? Or you going to continue sulking?"
I gave up the act— my conscience going stupid anyway, simply at his insistence to pay for both of us— and took the ice cream.
Damien had refused to let go of my hand, holding his cone with his left as I held mine with my right.
—