Page 49 of Eternal

“Goodbye Kat,” I deadpan, hanging up before she can get another word in.

Damir watches me, amused, pretty and cold eyes sparkling way too happily under the streetlights.

His sleeves are pushed up, tattoos covering the veins of his forearms, art and symbols in black ink, faded scars cutting through some of them.

My gaze lingers, maybe too long, because his lips quirk like he knows exactly what I’m looking at.

“Checking me out again, partner?”

“You’re practically begging for it,” I shove my phone into my hoodie pocket, “Stop being naked around me.”

He smirks, but lets it go. “I’ll try.”

“You know,” I say, stretching my arms above my head, “The more you buy me food, the more I'll tolerate you. I might even teach you something with your bike.”

Damir turns his head toward me, unimpressed. “You think I need lessons?”

“I think you could be better.”

He exhales a laugh, low and rough. “Oh, yeah?” He shifts, angling his body slightly toward mine. “And what exactly are you gonna teach me?”

I lean in, catching the flicker of intrigue in his gaze. “How to really handle a bike freely .”

His smirk deepens, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I drive just fine. You said it yourself.”

I know he does, but I also know it’s more calculated, stiff, as if he’s constantly aware of every little movement I make on the bike.

“Yes. But you drive like you’re calculating everything when I’m on board.

” I glance at his hands, the sharp lines of muscle beneath his skin, and tattoos I want to see and touch. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He chuckles low. “Spot on, when you’re behind I’m careful…

” His fingers flex slightly as if the memory of my grip on him lingers in his mind, his tendons shifting beneath the skin.

“Didn’t seem like you had a problem with it when you were holding onto me so tight your nails might’ve scratched my skin. ”

I scoff, forcing my gaze away, but I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, creeping into my face.

Did I really leave marks on him?

Why do I like the idea?

“I had to. For safety reasons.”

His grin widens, like he’s enjoying every second of this. He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping into something more irritating. “Right. For safety .” His gaze flicks to where my hands had been wrapped around him. “Wasn’t just the bike, was it?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Your abs aren’t comfortable enough for me to hold on to.”

“ Mm .” He leans in, voice dropping lower. “How unfortunate. Cause I could almost imagine you were enjoying yourself back there.”

I swallow, forcing my expression to stay calm. “Maybe I was only picturing how much better it’d feel if I were the one driving.”

His gaze darkens slightly, his smirk turning like a complete amused smile imagining me in front of him. “You think you can handle me on a bike?”

I smile right back. “I'd throw you off it at full speed.”

“Oh, I know you would.” His jaw ticks, and for a second, I swear he stops breathing. His gaze drops to my hands, calloused, scarred, like his. His voice is quieter when he says, “Your tattoos are pretty.”

I hesitate, rolling my wrist slightly, the fabric shifting enough for a scar covered with an iris to peek through. “They’re okay,” I say lightly, but the words taste bitter. “I know how ugly scars look on me. So, I cover them up.”

His brows draw together. “ You and ugly don’t belong in the same sentence,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “Don’t say that ever again.”

Something in my chest tightens. It’s weird, his words, they felt reassuring, unfamiliar. I shrug, forcing a smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

My body’s never been beautiful, not like my mother’s. She was the kind of beauty that was soft, radiant, effortless. People couldn’t help but admire her, she moved with grace, untouched by anything. I wasn’t like that. I had edges, too many scars, too many lines that didn’t belong on anyone’s body.

When I was high, drunk... I hated looking at myself.

The marks, the skin stretched tight over bones, the emptiness.

I looked dead. I hated not being able to eat enough, no matter how much my body demanded it.

Hated how my cheeks were hollow, how the muscles I’d built in boxing weren’t even showing.

Everything I hated was right there, staring back at me, especially the scar on my jaw, and the ones between my thighs.

The tattoos, the scars… They're mine . But still, I wonder. What would it feel like to be seen as something other than a weapon? Something soft, something wanted for no reason other than existing? With heart eyes, like I’m delicate. Like I’m a flower.

For a second, I catch myself wishing I could be the kind of woman people look at and see beauty, without all the blood, the fight, the scars. To be seen the way my mother was by Alexei.

I shake it off, but the thought lingers.

Damir’s eyes flicker to my face for a moment, like he’s studying me. And then he says, “You know you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Scars and all. Don’t overthink.”

Oh .

He’s being… Genuine . And I can’t help but smile. Really smile. Not to reassure people, not to reassure myself. A smile bloomed because it felt like it.

Then, his lips quirk into that amused smirk. “It’s scary. Your dimples make you look adorable.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Scary?”

He chuckles softly, low. “Yeah.”

“Why would it be scary?”

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping a bit. “Because you don’t smile enough. I need to change that.”

I tilt my head, keeping my expression cool. “Why would you bother?”

His gaze softens. “Because I like it. Your smile. Makes me wanna smile, too.”

Before I can respond, his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, pulling it slightly upward. I freeze, caught off guard.

But something in me gives way, and the smile comes naturally this time, his words sinking in more than I want to admit.

He smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “There you go.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re really not gonna stop, are you?”

He shrugs, his smile wicked. “Nah. Too fun watching you squirm.”

We sit there, awkwardly comfortable, smiling like we’re in on some private joke no one else gets. It's nice. Too nice. I don't even check the corners for danger.

I’m relaxed. Relaxed.

Me, Azra. Relaxed.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Maybe it’s the ice cream from last time, or maybe it’s because he’s always got an eye on everything around us, making the paranoia back off a little, or maybe it’s because it's been so long since I let a guy get close enough to almost care.

I roll my eyes, like I’m not feeling this stupid warmth creeping up my neck.

“ God, I’m a mess ,” I mutter under my breath.

Then I catch myself. Wait, what did I just say?

Damir is still watching me like I’m the most interesting thing in the world.

I try not to let my smile slip, but it does. Damn it.

“What?”

He grins. “Nothing.”

Right. Nothing. Shit. Maybe this isn’t a terrible thing.

Who am I kidding? It’s a disaster in the making.

But hell, if it's a disaster, at least it’s fun.

His gaze shifts, lower this time, lingering from my eyes to my lips.

“Do you always look at me like that?”

“What do you mean, like what?”

He leans a little closer, the space between us shrinking. “You know how pretty your eyes are, right?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I would never use them to flirt with you.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Really? So, what are you doing right now, poisoning me with them?”

I shrug, playing innocent. “I’m staring. Not my fault you’re weak against a pair of eyes.”

“Not a random pair of eyes. Yours.” He leans in, voice dropping to a low whisper, still smiling. “If I stop flirting with you tonight, promise you’re gonna grab onto me again, yeah? Like earlier, hands all tight around my waist, nails digging in like you’re trying to leave a mark?”

My heart stutters for a moment, “Sorry, you discovered a kink of mine. Scratching has always been... fun. ”

Damir chuckles darkly, his eyes narrowing with amusement. “How fun... it’s also one of mine.”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound soft but sharp. “Not surprised.”

Okay, well.

We’re flirting. Definitely flirting.

This isn't a team-bonding conversation. But it's been so long since I flirted with anyone.

It feels... nice.

Fun.

Light.

No tension from the world outside this moment.

Sure, it’s kind of messing with my head…

yeah, I’m stressed. But it’s not the usual kind of stress.

It’s... different. Because he’s not a normal partner.

He’s... something else. My boundaries are clear.

No more than missions. So why do I feel like we’re watching each other too closely?

I keep my eyes locked on his, daring him to say something else, waiting for the next stupid flirty comment.

A wicked smile tugs at his lips as he says, “Can’t wait to discover what my depraved partner has on her kink list.”

I laugh, and wink at him. “You’ll never discover, but nice try.” I stand putting my hands in his hoodie’s pockets. “Now, are you taking me home, or do I have to steal your bike and do it myself?”

Damir stands, rolling his shoulders like he's preparing for something. “Not a chance.”