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What was it? A gun. A beautiful gun whose metal was ivory-colored, not the usual black. The grip of the gun had flowers etched into it, and on the side of the barrel, my name was engraved in a pretty cursive font.
Beautiful but deadly. Just like me.
Damian didn’t walk by a gun shop and see this. No, a gun like this had to be specifically made. And, okay, going by the far-fetched possibility that he’d seen this gun, he’d still gotten it engraved with my name, and that showed he’d put a hell of a lot more thought into it than any normal present.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “Thank you.” I didn’t want to set the gun down. Holding onto it was easy, and my finger curled around the trigger. The weight was even, and it wasn’t exactly a tiny gun. A well-placed bullet from this could easily shatter bones and splatter brains.
“You’re welcome,” he said, rubbing his hands together now that he wasn’t holding onto anything.
As much as I didn’t want to put it down, I did. I carefully set the lid back onto the box, placing it on the table beside my drink. I didn’t know what else to say to him. It was… a thoughtful gift, and I really did love it.
What surprised me the most was that it was coming from him. Never in a million years did I expect something like this from him, and maybe that was why I was so tongue-tied.
Damian’s voice cut through my thoughts: “It ain’t my place, but if you don’t want to marry that kid, you shouldn’t have to.”
I took a small sip from my drink, if only to give myself more time to think of a reply. “I know.” Okay, well, didn’t say I was going to think up an amazing reply. I was still caught up in that gun and the engraving of my name. He stared at me, as if waiting for me to say more, and I asked, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Was the sun feeling extra hot on my skin right now, or was it just me?
“I still don’t know what to make of you,” he muttered. “You’re…” Damian shook his head. “I just don’t know, Giselle.”
What the hell was he going on about? I didn’t get it. I also didn’t understand why he continued to stare at me like I held the key to the universe. “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t really know what to make of you, either. My first impression of you wasn’t exactly the best—and the second and third impressions after that—”
“Harsh crowd,” he said, grinning.
“But you’re not as bad as I thought you were,” I finished, trying not to match his smile. I wouldn’t go so far as to say his grin was infectious, but it damn well nearly was. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I can’t promise that.” His gaze fell to, unless I was mistaken, my lips. “I should probably go. Don’t wanna overstay my welcome.” He got up, and I watched him all the while, wondering if I was reading too much into this.
“Who said you were welcome here in the first place?” I questioned, cocking my head. My reply made him laugh, but it didn’t stop him from winking at me and walking away. I didn’t get up; he knew the way to the door, and if he wanted to snoop, I’d let him. At this point, I didn’t fucking care.
I heard the door close, and I was alone once more. My eyes fell to the box on the glass table near me, and I couldn’t stop wondering what this was all about. A gift like that… it had to mean more. It couldn’t just be an engagement present.
But, again, maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe I’d let myself start to feel too much, too soon, and now I couldn’t stop the strange, fuzzy feelings that grew in me when I was around certain guys, Damian being one of them.
Fuck.
The French doors opened once again, and I whipped my head around, thinking it was Damian coming back, but it wasn’t Damian; Zander stood there, his brows furrowed, his lips drawn into a deep frown. He must’ve just showered before coming over here, for his brown hair was slicked back, damp.
“What the fuck was Damian doing here?” he asked, grumpy. He walked over to me, sitting in the chair Damian had just vacated, spotting the gift immediately. “And what the fuck is that?” He went for it to see for himself, the nosey little shit.
I watched him lift the gun from the box. The ivory metal didn’t look half as good in his grip as it did in mine. I said nothing; Zander would draw his own conclusion regardless of what I said.
He spotted my name on the barrel. “Holy fuck.” Those green eyes darted to me. “Seriously, what the fuck? Don’t tell me he has a thing for you, too. I can only take so much—” His ridiculous jealousy made me laugh.
“I honestly don’t know, but I like the gun, Zander.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s nice, but why would he get you a gun? Get your name engraved on it… I mean, I didn’t think Damian was the type to—” Zander paused, probably trying to think of the right word to use.
“Be so thoughtful?”
“More like desperate.” When I shot him a look, he added: “Don’t be stupid. He’s doing all this to try to get between your legs.”
I wanted to smack him upside the head. I hardly held myself back from doing just that, instead hissing out his name with a frown, “Zander.” Talking crass like that might be sexy in the moment, but here and now? Totally uncalled for.
He shrugged, clearly not sorry for what he’d said. “What? It’s true. It’s the only reason I can think of. I mean, why else would he go through all this trouble?” He rubbed his jaw, which was freshly shaven and smooth. Under his breath, he muttered, “Can’t exactly blame the guy, but come on. Can’t he see he’s not your type?”
That didn’t sit right with me. “And what is my type?”
