Page 134 of Damián

All cozy, full of pictures, fantasy books, and that Damián feeling.

I follow the smell of butter, bacon, and maple syrup until I find Damián standing at the stove in the open kitchen, cooking what looks like an absolute mountain of carbs. How many people does he think he is feeding?

He hears my footsteps and turns around.

“Morning, nene.” He smiles, stepping over to press a kiss to my forehead. “How is your head?”

“It’s surviving.” I smile. “But what the hell is up with your bedroom having fifty windows?”

“Hahaha! That’s been my daily thought since I moved here. Here, have some juice.” He hands me a cold glass of orange juice. “The vitamin C and natural sugars are good for the serotonin dip after a Molly high. Food will be ready in no time.”

I take a sip of the orange juice, but thanks to the toothpaste I just licked, it tastes absolutely awful.

Ugghh… gross!

I steal a piece of bacon off a plate to kill the aftertaste and take a bite. It is crunchy, salty, and perfect. “Oh my god, this is so good.”

“Consider yourself lucky that I’m the one cooking,” Damián says, pointing at my stolen bacon. “My Ma would’ve snatched that right out of your hand and told you to sit down.”

“She hates people eating bacon?”

“She hates when people eat standing up. She says it steals away the flavor of the food.” He passes me a strawberry. “But I think it’s mostly because it leaves crumbs all over her floor.”

I take a bite of the strawberry, which is juicy and incredibly sweet.

“Come on, sit down. I’m almost done with this.”

I do as I’m told, pulling out a flat, minimalistic chair and sitting down… which I instantly regret.

“Dami… these chairs are extremely uncomfortable.”

“Yes, they are,” he laughs. “Blame your father and his tastes.”

“You decorated your apartment based on his tastes?”

“No, a designer decorated it so it would look like I am a successful art dealer.”

“Makes sense…”

I grab another strawberry from the bowl and take a bite, watching him cook. He’s flipping pancakes and talking about the morning, mentioning a workout and a nearby park if I want to walk, but I just nod along in silence because I am staring at the broad line of his back, completely incapable of processing a single word he’s saying. Even under the loose shirt, the shape of his muscles is visible.

My gaze trails down his arms…they’re beautiful, though one has a large scar. I can also see his tattoo on the back of his left hand. He always has it covered with makeup, so I am not used to seeing it on him, but it fits.

That beautiful infinity symbol with black and red fits him so well.

He is so handsome, so strong, and the way he moves enchants me.

I want him.

I want to feel his heavy weight over me. I want his body heat, his lips, his tongue.

God, I really want this man…

Yesterday was amazing, and not just because of how good his hands felt on me. It was because he respected me enough to draw a line, refusing to take things further until I was sober.

Well, today, I am very sober.

Come on, Ollie. You can do this.