Page 46 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

Thankfully, the conversation proves adequately distracting, especially when Damian reveals exactly how he got into Twilight .

We all listen with rapt attention as he spins a tale from his freshman year when he caught his not-friend Mason watching the second movie in the series alone one afternoon when he walked past his dorm room.

Though Mason had scrambled to shut it off, Damian had seen enough to know the truth.

But instead of judging Mason (who claimed he was only watching the films because he thought Kristen Stewart was hot), Damian sat down and watched the whole series with him to see what the fuss was about.

His explanation of these events confounds me, especially considering that, for someone who claims to not have any friends, the actions he took in his story sound very much like something a friend would do.

But then…he never said anything about not wanting friends, just that he doesn’t actually have them.

And even I can acknowledge there’s a difference.

As this notion settles in my brain, a sour feeling spreads through my gut at the memory of what I said earlier today about how, maybe, Damian is the problem.

That he is the common denominator as to why he doesn’t have any friends.

Now, I’m starting to wonder if I was wrong to judge him so quickly, and that there might actually be some merit to what he said about his family’s wealth.

After all, if it’s so easy for me to make assumptions based on how he spends his money, then I can imagine it’s just as easy for others to want to take advantage of him for it.

That thought lingers like an itch I can’t scratch, and I’m not sure what to do with it.

Mostly because it makes me think that, maybe, just maybe, he’s not quite as much of a shit as I’ve been telling myself he is since freshman year, when he ghosted me after the first time we had sex.

I don’t look at that particular line of thought too closely, though.

My body is already a traitor when it comes to my disdain for Damian; the last thing I need is my mind entertaining any ideas about potential positive feelings.

For the rest of the day, I distract myself with shallow conversation and by snacking on as many expensive canapés as I can physically fit in my stomach.

By the time the yacht makes anchor in the shipyard again, the sun is starting to set, and I feel roughly five hundred shrimps and a gallon of champagne heavier than when I first stepped on board.

We collect our things—I’m fairly certain I even see Ronnie shove some shrimp cocktails into her bag—and I walk with Damian as he sees us all off to the gangway, still playing the part of the dutiful host.

“Well,” Ronnie says with a demure sniff. “Today was…enlightening. Thank you for your hospitality, Damian. We must do this again.” Which, from Ronnie, is as much of a seal of approval as he’s ever going to get.

Lifting her chin, she trots down the ramp to the pier as Andie and Eli step forward to say their farewells.

“Thanks, man.” Eli nods as they pass, and Andie waves, chirping out a jovial, “Bye!”

I linger behind as they congregate with Ronnie, then wave for them to go on ahead as I turn to say my own goodbyes to Damian.

“Your friends are interesting,” he comments before I can spare a thought for what to say. “Do they know, by the way? About us?”

“Ronnie and Andie do, yeah. They keep trying to talk me out of it.” I ignore the question in Damian’s eyes.

No way am I expanding on the why of that.

What was discussed at Grape Expectations among the safety of friends will stay at Grape Expectations.

“Eli doesn’t, though. I think he’s just confused by the whole thing, honestly. ”

“I doubt he’s the only one,” Damian muses. “Oh, by the way, how are you feeling?” At my perplexed expression, he elaborates, “Earlier this week, you said new things can be tricky for you, but you seem like you managed okay?”

There’s a hopeful, questioning note to his tone that catches me off guard. There it is again—the thought that maybe he’s not so terrible after all.

I quickly shake it away.

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “You were right. Having Ronnie here helped. Plus, that whole conversation you guys had going about Twilight was a brilliant distraction. Especially the part when you said Mason initially tried to convince you he was watching furry porn and not a teen movie about glittery vampires.”

Damian chuckles. “Yeah, I’m not really sure why he thought his apparent furry kink was the less embarrassing option, but then, he is an idiot.”

He gestures to the gangway, and I match his smile as we walk down the ramp side by side.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you—” he starts to say, but he’s interrupted by Ronnie shouting my name as she runs down the pier toward us. Panic floods my chest at the stricken look on her face.

“What is it?” I ask, stepping forward to meet her. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “I was checking my phone since I didn’t have signal all day, and it finally came back just now, and…

” She trails off, as if she can’t bring herself to voice whatever it is that has her so rattled.

Her face is uncharacteristically pale, and when she holds up her phone to show me something on the screen, I notice her hand is shaking.

I glance down, and as my eyes trail across the top trending post on her X feed, my heart falls into the pit of my stomach.

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