Page 75 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

Or maybe I’m just scared because we have this major thing in common connecting us, and I don’t want it to freak him out. For it to be too heavy for him after what happened to Jamie. If it is, he’ll leave. And I want so badly for him to stay.

I don’t want to be left behind again.

At this thought, I look at my mom, acutely aware of how weak she is despite today being a good day. She needs her rest, but if I make a big deal about it, Damian will realize what’s going on, won’t he?

Just play it cool, Lex, I tell myself. As if playing things cool is something I’m totally capable of.

“Mom, um…why don’t you sit down, and I’ll go make everyone something to drink?” I suggest.

Three coffees and an herbal tea (for Mom) later, we’re sitting in the living room in awkward silence with mugs in hand, my mom resting in the oversized blue armchair that seems to swallow her whole, and me, Damian, and Gina on the sofa with me sandwiched in the middle.

Damian’s body heat bleeds into mine, even though I make a conscious effort to keep some breathing room between us.

Despite my efforts, I can feel Mom’s gaze zeroing in on my movements, no matter how slight, every time I shift, as if she knows exactly what I’m doing.

Her eyes flick from the near non-existent space between our hips to Damian’s face. “So, Damian, I’m assuming you go to Conwick, too?”

He nods. “Yeah. But Lexi and I aren’t in the same year. I’m a senior.”

Beside me, Gina nudges my shoulder. “Older man. Nice. Get it, girl.”

My cheeks burst into flame as my eyes snap to my mom, who scrutinizes my face, staring me down like a hawk.

I expect her to say something, to call me out on…

what, I don’t really know, but on something .

Instead, her gaze settles back on Damian as she questions him about his major and then follows up that question with, “How did you and Lexi meet? It doesn’t sound like you share any classes. ”

“We actually met in the library,” Damian tells her, and I nearly spit out my coffee. “I had to take a few math lectures to complete the requirements for my major, and she tutored me a handful of times.”

Oh. Okay, that wasn’t so bad, I assure myself when it seems like he won’t add anything further to that explanation.

It’s not exactly a lie; that was how he first approached me, even if we spent that time flirting rather than studying, and the needing a tutor part turned out to be bullshit.

Regardless, I’m just glad he didn’t say?—

“I tell ya, though,” he continues, as if the asshole is actually reading my mind, a smug grin forming on his lips, “she really rode me hard with those math equations.”

Oh. My. God. If I could curl into a ball and die right now, I would.

There is no fucking way my mom and Gina missed that conveniently placed double entendre.

Gina’s raised brow and the smile she’s trying to fight are proof enough she heard it.

Fucking Damian. My cheeks burn so hot I’m certain they’d rival the surface of the sun.

My mom’s eyes swing between me and Damian like a pendulum, her lips slightly pursed, as if she’s coming to some internal decision about something. Eventually, she says, “So, I take it you two are?—”

I jump up from the couch. “You know what? It’s getting late. Why don’t I see you out?” I say, grabbing Damian’s arm and yanking him to his feet.

“What? But it’s not even four yet,” he protests.

I snort, tugging him harder. “Yeah, but it’s, like, ten in Sweden,” I counter, as if that’s in any way relevant to this conversation. When no one comments, and everyone stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, I add, “So…yeah. Anyway, I’ll walk you out.”

“All right, pushy,” Damian grumbles, breaking free of my hold to walk over to my mother, extending his hand again.

“Carol, it was really nice to meet you.” His head then snaps to the side and he looks at my aunt.

“Gina”—he holds out his hand for a fist bump, which, to my growing horror, my aunt eagerly reciprocates—“keep it real.”

“For a Team Jacob girlie, you’re all right,” my aunt says with an approving head nod. Then, with a flirty wave, she croons in a sugary lilt, “Bye Damian!”

Pure mortification rushes through me as I reach out and grab Damian by the wrist again, my fingers a vise grip on his forearm. He doesn’t struggle against me this time as I yank him toward the door.

“Oh, before you go,” my mom calls out when I’m just one step shy of the hallway and salvation from this conversation.

Plastering on a smile, I turn to face her, but the blood freezes in my veins at the calculating look on her face.

She might be sick, but this is a woman who mainlines true crime.

When she’s paying attention, nothing gets past her.

Except, she isn’t looking at me.

“I didn’t catch your last name, Damian.”

“Navarro,” has barely left his lips before I’m tugging him toward the door, lest anyone else feels the undying need to play fifty questions with my fake boyfriend.

I don’t release my hold on his arm until we’re safely outside and the front door is firmly closed behind us.

“Damn, Dornan,” Damian grunts, rubbing his wrist. “You ashamed of me or something?”

“What?” I whip my head to look at him, but my brain fails to communicate this movement to my feet, which continue their forward march and nearly send me plummeting to my death down the porch steps. Damian catches my hand at the last second before I can fall.

Pulse throbbing under my skin, I draw in a steadying breath to calm myself down, and it’s only once my heart rate has returned to normal that I realize my hand is still clenched in his. My eyes dart to the living room window, but although the curtains are drawn, I yank my hand away.

“No,” I answer, and it sounds completely unconvincing, even though it’s true. “I just… I wasn’t really ready for… that .”

Damian’s gaze follows mine back to the house, and when I glance at him again, I wince at the look of dejection that crosses his face.

I know what he’s thinking. By that , he thinks I wasn’t ready for my mom to meet him when, in reality, it’s the opposite.

What I wasn’t ready for was for him to meet my mom .

For him to see the truth I’ve been hiding—the last lie I’ve kept between us because I’m scared of what it will mean if I do fully tear down that wall.

And of what it’ll do to me if what I’m feeling is one-sided.

“Got it,” he murmurs. And then he’s quiet for a moment as we walk down the steps. “I’m sorry if I overstepped by coming here,” he says once we’re halfway to the sidewalk. “I tried texting, but you weren’t answering, so I just wanted to check that you were okay.”

A foreign tightness squeezes my chest. I didn’t see his messages because my phone has been off all day while I’ve been at the hospital with Mom, and I obviously haven’t had a chance to turn it on since I got home.

But seeing as I can’t exactly tell him that, I latch onto the last part of his statement instead.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, feigning confusion.

He stares at the side of my face as if he’s trying to read my expression. Or see past it. I don’t meet his gaze, and if he does sense the false note to my voice, the obvious evasion, he doesn’t call me out on it.

“You got me. I just wanted to see you in one of your cute nerdy T-shirts again.”

He stops walking then, right beside the silver Audi parked outside my house. Fishing the keys from his pocket, he hits the unlock button, and it’s only when the vehicle audibly boop-boops that I finally comprehend what I’m seeing.

“Wait…” I glance from the Audi to Damian then back to the Audi again. “This isn’t your car.”

“Sure, it is,” he says, reaching out and affectionately patting the roof with his palm. “You just haven’t met the Renesmobile yet.”

The…what?

“Renesmobile?” I parrot in lieu of an actual intelligent question.

Damian’s responding grin is borderline maniacal. “Yup. And before you ask, it’s exactly what you’re thinking.” He holds out one hand. “Renesmee.” Then he extends the other. “Mobile. Put them together”—he claps—“and you have…” He makes a theatrical gesture toward the car. “The Renesmobile!”

“Oh, my god. Did you seriously name a car after the Twilight baby?”

Damian chuckles. “What can I say? My obsession knows no bounds. And as a Team Jacob fanboy, it was only fitting.”

My nose wrinkles. “I can’t believe I have consensual sex with you.”

He laughs again, but doesn’t offer any explanation for the real question hanging unanswered between us.

I sigh. “Fine, I’ll bite. What happened to the douchemobile?”

Damian’s whole demeanor changes, the humor and light in his eyes extinguished as suddenly as a flame doused with water. When he next speaks, his voice is so soft I barely hear it. “I gave it back.”

I blink at him, not entirely convinced I heard him correctly. “You gave it…back,” I repeat, trying to make sense of this admission. “Like…to Mason?”

The tempered smile Damian offers me is strained. “Correct. And the Renesmobile got pulled out of retirement.” He pats the roof of the car again. “I was growing tired of the Maserati, and Nessie here is far too good for my parents’ garage anyway, so it’s all for the best, really.”

I hold up a hand. “Wait, I’m confused. Why?”

“Why is she too good for my parents’ garage?” Damian asks, his brows knitting together until they’re hooding his eyes, darkening his gaze in a way that does something strange to my insides.

I clear my throat, trying to stay on track. “ No . Why did you give it back?”

He knows what I was asking—I can see it in the way his pupils contract, just as I can see the tremor of unease twitching along his lips when he answers.