Page 69 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

“For four years, all that part of me has wanted is for my brother to be alive again. But now… For so long, I’ve been torn up inside, and hell-bent on trying to punish my parents for what happened to Jamie, that I didn’t see how you and so many others were getting caught in the crossfire.

It was fucked up—I can see that now. And I—” His slow exhalation is shaky.

“More than anything, that part of me only wants to take back all the pain and humiliation I caused you…even if it means I never would’ve gotten to know you at all. ”

Those words hang heavy in the air between us, choking all the oxygen out of my lungs until I’m on the verge of gasping for breath.

Damian, mistaking the look on my face, quickly says, “I’m not asking for your forgiveness because I know what I did doesn’t deserve it.

But I hope you at least believe me when I tell you I’m sorry. ”

He stares at me with imploring eyes, and despite calling us enemies, despite insisting with every bone in my body that I hate him…in this moment, I find it’s all too easy to say, “I do.”

Neither of us says anything else apart from a brief goodbye after that. Damian doesn’t seem like he has it in him for more, like the weekend has fully wiped him clean of words and he just used up the few he had left.

As for me, I’m teeming with them, the letters spelling out the names of all the conflicted feelings rushing through me pushing at my inner walls until I feel like I might explode.

I burst through the front door, managing a quick hello and goodnight to my mom and Gina, who watch me in quiet bemusement as I move through the house like a human tornado.

Once in my room, I don’t even bother to change before grabbing my phone from my desk and flopping stomach-first onto my bed.

The battery in the device is low, so I plug it in before it can die, then quickly thumb open iMessage.

My fingers are trembling by the time I text my group chat with Ronnie and Andie.

I tell them everything that happened this weekend. About Damian’s parents. About his brother. About his confession just now in the car. And then I tell them about the sex.

Thankfully, they both wait to comment until I’m done purging.

Ronnie

Called it. Pay up bitch

Andie’s response follows a few seconds later.

Andie

I scowl at the phone.

Me

Did you two seriously bet on my weekend? Shameful behavior given my history with bets

Ronnie

Only that you would end up fucking Navarro

Andie

In my defense you threw such a bitch fit about this the last time we brought it up that I thought you’d have more restraint

I let out a scandalized gasp.

Me

Hey! I do have restraint. And in your defense??? How is any of what you just said any better?

Andie

Ronnie

Hate to break it to you bae but around Navarro you have the restraint of a snapped rubber band

My skin grows hot as I furiously hunt for a GIF of Mr. Darcy from the 2005 film adaptation of Pride I only wish I knew the cause of it.

Neither one of us has brought up what he said to me that day in the car—or those two words I said back—and I can’t decide if that’s for the best, or if it’s simply leaving this, whatever this is between us now, unresolved.

Our relationship as it stands is like an ellipsis at the end of a sentence, the thought of it incomplete.

In some ways, it’s like we’re stuck in a bubble in time.

Frozen. Never moving forward or back. I’m grateful for the latter; I don’t want to go back to what we were before—to being enemies, if you could call us that.

But as nice as it is, I don’t want to stay like this either, in this weird space between the truth and a lie.

This is my fault. I asked for this. I pushed to be more than enemies, business associates, friends, whatever we are. And now, I’m left drowning in the uncertainty of the unknown.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have suggested we put sex on the table. It’s complicated everything when so much was already on the line, and I’m no longer convinced we can make it to his graduation deadline without this arrangement blowing up in our faces.

Or at least, blowing up in mine.

Maybe Damian would’ve been better off making this agreement with someone he didn’t have such a murky past with—or a past at all.

Someone who is immune to his charms, the way I try so hard to be.

Then I could go back to hating him instead of being trapped in this weird limbo where I want to forgive him, I want to move on, but the lingering hurt in my heart is holding me back.

A festering wound that’s taking too long to heal.

With a frustrated groan, I lean forward until my forehead is pressed against my open textbook.

It’s Wednesday, which means it’s work study night at the library, but my mind is too preoccupied with thoughts of Damian to be of much use to anyone.

A junior statistics major I’ve been tutoring since last winter asks me if I’m okay, and I make up some lame excuse about having a cold to get her off my back.

Thankfully, she’s my final tutee of the night, so I don’t have to keep up the act for long.

Once she’s gone, I pull my phone free from my pocket and stare at Damian’s number in my contacts, turning over an idea that’s been taking root in me these last two weeks.

It’s risky—Damian might think I’m insane or find the very suggestion offensive—but I can’t think of any other way to finally close that wound and slam the door shut on our past for good.

He needs this as much as you do, I tell myself, and that thought is all the encouragement I need to tap open our chat.

Me

Can you meet me in the library? I want to test a theory

Fuckboy

Color me intrigued I’ll be there in 10

As promised, Damian walks through the door ten minutes later.

Since the library is closing in half an hour, most of the students have already left (of the small percentage of Conwick undergraduates who actually utilize the facility), and the librarian is occupied at her desk, so we should be fine as long as we’re quick.

Jumping up from my chair, I cross the atrium floor in a direct beeline for him.

“Hey,” he says as soon as I’m within earshot. “Are you okay? I?—”

“Come with me.” With a hurried glance around the almost empty library, I subtly grab his hand and then yank him behind me toward the stacks.

Damian lets me lead him through the path of bookcases without complaint, only breaking the silence once he finally registers where we’re going. Although I can’t see his face, I can hear the confusion in his voice as he asks, “Why are we?—”

But I don’t let him finish. The moment we step foot in the mathematics section, I whirl on him, rising onto my toes to kiss him.

I swallow his grunt of surprise as I push his back against the nearest shelving unit, sweeping my tongue inside his mouth with a lack of control—a desperate need—that’s entirely foreign to me.

Damian kisses me back at first, one hand on my waist, the other creeping up my shirt toward my breasts, but almost as soon as we start, he pulls back.