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“Addiction is hard, Jessa. I don’t think it makes you a horrible person to say that. And I think you have your own reasons for saying it.”
Her throat bobbed again, and she nodded vehemently. “Oh, I do. Addiction is one thing. But she—” This time, she was the one to crack. The tears were back, and she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a finger.
I couldn’t even explain what was happening or how we’d arrived here. The only explanation was that we had to. Weneededto, for reasons beyond my own understanding.
“Damian, I’ve never told you this, but when I was a junior in high school, one of her boyfriends pushed himself on me,” she said in a low, trembling voice. She made sure to avoid my gaze. “He all but raped me. When I told my mom, she didn’t believe me. Told me I needed a boob job so that my huge tits didn’t distract him. And then she stayed with him for another year.”
My heart cracked. I gathered her into my arms, squeezing her as hard as I could. “That wasn’t your fault, Jessa.”
“Thank you.” She hugged me back just as hard, and when she lifted her head, that familiar determination shone in her eyes again. “I know that now. But I just can’t reconcile the betrayal. Tara knows what happened, but she doesn’t care. Jeremy is the only one who went to bat for me. As far as I’m concerned, the only people in my family are you and Jeremy and your brothers.”
“Hopefully you don’t see me quite like a brother…”
She dissolved into laughter, a much-needed break in the high-stakes conversation we trekked through. “No. Not a brother. But definitely part of my found family. The one I chose.”
“It’s an honor to be included,” I whispered, gathering her into my arms again. She clung to me, burying her face in my chest.
“I’d do anything for you, Damian,” she said. “It’s always been like that.”
I knew how true those words were for her. But an even bigger truth rose above it all. I didn’t deserve it.
Just like I didn’t deserve her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JESSA
I didn’t make it back to my apartment until seven a.m. Monday morning. Damian and I hadn’t been able to rip ourselves out of the hotel room until the last possible second, instead choosing to nest hardcore via endless movies, room service, and so much delicious, intense, meaningful sex.
We were wrapped up in each other from head to toe. Dreamy, floating, and oblivious to anything beyond our bubble. Leaving the SUV to return to my apartment that morning was actually hard—but I needed the day to myself. I’d requested a personal day to get caught up on schoolwork for that night’s class. And more than that, after our invigorating getaway to our hotel, I was freshly motivated to finish my roommate hunt.
Applications had been rolling in since I’d placed the ad, but with everything going on in Fairchild world, I hadn’t been able to pay much attention. Now that the Programmer’s Ball was behind me, I was ready to make my selection.
Even though I was closer than ever to Damian now, I needed to have a plan that didn’t rely on him. This whole boss/employee/lover thing could go wrong so quickly. I wanted to make my way in this city with my own two feet firmly on the ground. I didn’t think Damian would undermine that—but I sure could easily get swept away with him.
Besides, the truth bubbling inside was that while I loved working at Fairchild Enterprises, it wasn’t where I wanted tostay. My heart was calling me in a different direction. I didn’t know what the future looked like exactly, but I was slowly putting together the puzzle.
And this roommate was one of the key pieces.
I whiled away my morning with a pumpkin spice latte—one that Damian had delivered to my apartment—and schoolwork, interrupted only by sexy texts from Damian and back-and-forth emails with the final round of possible roomies.
I was treating this roommate hunt like something just shy of a speed dating round. I needed to quickly and effectively vet these people, and what better way than back-to-back meetings in a public place so they couldn’t serial kill me?
In the huge pool of applicants, only three seemed remotely compatible. Despite asking for women roommates only, I’d received a shocking number of male applicants, which just further proved my suspicion that nobody actually read anything they found on the internet.
By noon, I had a nearby coffee shop designated as the meet-up point and three back-to-back speed roommate meetings beginning at five p.m. My entire body tingled as I awaited the evening. It put an extra pep in my step as I did my homework and worked on new designs. One of the most important takeaways from the weekend was the fact that corsetsshould be avoided at all costsand that as a designer, I planned to never incorporate one into my pattern, no matter the amount of cleavage it provided.
Maybethiswas my fashion hill to die on. After almost dyingbecauseof the corset, I would gladly die on any adjacent hill that included condemning the corset to Hell.
Damian was on a roll Monday. Not only had he sent me a pumpkin spice latte, he also sent me lunch in the form of pho. The accompanying text read:
DAMIAN: I wish I could be there to watch you enjoy this. Hope it warms you up as much as the memories of our weekend together are warming me up right now.
I didn’t stop smiling for a full hour after that message.
Everything seemed to be going right for once. I was sitting in New York City, advancing my fashion career, making rent on time, all while having life-changing, breath-stealing, toe-curling sex. My high school fantasies weren’t just fulfilled, they’d been blown to smithereens. I hadn’t even known that men like Damian existed—where sex wasn’t just a pleasure-mission for the man, where my clitoris figured into 80% of the equation. I could barely think about it without getting hot and bothered again.
Focus on design. Focus on the roommate.
