Page 203 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

SOPHIA

I have to cancel on Damien on Thursday. We have to make the formal offer for our building, and Patricia wants me to go with her.

“I’d like someone to double-check the paperwork,” she says.

Her lips twist into a wry smile. “Also, if I’m being honest, I’d like you there for moral support.

I didn’t think this day would ever come. ”

Me neither.

Damien is not as annoyed as I expect him to be. I stammer out my apologies, and he listens to me patiently. “Okay,” he says when I’m done. “When do you want to meet instead?”

He's been in town for a full week already, which means he only has three weeks left. I don’t have a plan yet. I have no idea what to teach him.

And you’re acting like this class is a real thing. Like Damien really wants you to teach him to be a better person. You’re acting like this is not some kind of weirdly twisted game that he's playing.

“How about this weekend? I have plans on Sunday, but I’m free on Saturday.”

“Hot date?” he asks. “I never did ask if you were seeing someone.”

It's none of his damn business if I’m dating someone or not. I should be irritated by his question. But I’m not.

“I have dinner with my family on Sundays.” My grip on my phone tightens. “What about you?”

I hold my breath as I wait for his answer, scolding myself at the same time. Why does it matter if Damien is seeing someone? Or worse, if he’s married? It shouldn't matter. He’s a part of my past, and that’s where he needs to remain.

“No, I'm not,” he replies. “Not married, not engaged, not seeing someone.”

I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Why not? I want to ask, but that would be incredibly nosy, and despite what I told Patricia, Damien is not my friend. “Okay, I'll see you Saturday. How about ten?”

“As long as you pour a couple cups of coffee into me when you get here, ten is fine.”

I leave work early on Friday to do the second part of my fertility test. This one is a specialized ultrasound.

A technician rolls a condom on a wand, smears it with lube, and pushes it into my vagina.

She then proceeds to poke and prod me for almost an hour.

It’s not painful, but it’s definitely not comfortable.

She hands me a box of wipes when the exam is complete. “When will I get the results?” I ask.

“Next week,” she replies. She gives me an encouraging smile. “I didn’t see anything concerning. You should be able to get started right away.”

Relief spreads through me. I’ve been more nervous about this examination than I was willing to admit.

The women in the support group shared so many horror stories about how difficult this process had been for them.

I’ve been trying hard not to think about what will happen if I can’t get pregnant.

Dr. Hernandez might talk about multiple rounds of treatments, but I can’t really afford years of trying and failing.

Maybe I won’t have to face that. “No cobwebs down there?” I quip, relief loosening my tongue.

The joke goes over her head. “What?”

I wince. She’s an older woman, and her expression right now reminds me faintly of Mrs. Caldwell. “Nothing,” I murmur. “Thank you.”

I promised myself that I'd spend Friday night coming up with a game plan for Damien, but once again, I get nowhere. I google ‘How to be a Better Person,’ and the first thing that comes up is a list of fifteen suggestions. Two of those catch my eye.

Let go of anger.

Practice forgiveness.

Ouch. Maybe I’m finding this so difficult because Damien is actually quite a good person.

He wrote the health center a check for a million dollars, didn’t he?

When I knew him, he always treated everyone around him with impeccable politeness.

He never did anything to make me think he wasn’t a decent person.

Maybe I wasn’t fair to him at the fundraiser. Maybe he's right, and he didn’t get me fired. Besides, I’m the one who avoided their phone calls. I’m the one who ignored their voicemails and deleted their texts.

Simon gets home unexpectedly early. I’m curled up on the couch in a pair of faded shorts and a T-shirt that has seen better days.

“It’s done,” he says, a wide smile on his face.

“99 Canter Lane is finally done. The homeowners did their final walk-through today. They love it, thank fuck. I will never have to see that damn house again.” He looks down at me. “Get changed, Soph. We’re celebrating.”

Introspection is uncomfortable, and Simon looks so happy I tell myself I can’t turn him down.

We go out to our local bar and end up running into some of his friends.

A new escape room has opened up in Gracemont, and they want to try it.

One drink becomes three. By the time we get back home, I’m fighting to keep my eyes open, and it’s far too late for lesson plans.

Shit.

Saturday, I'm supposed to meet Damien at ten in the morning. I call him at nine-thirty. “I don’t have anything,” I admit, my cheeks hot with shame. “I’m sorry. It's been a stressful week. I'm not blowing you off, I promise.”

I wait for him to make a joke about me blowing him off, but it doesn't happen. Good. I tell myself I’m glad.

“However,” I continue. “The community garden always needs volunteers. It's not the best idea I have, but?—”

“If you don't mind getting your hands dirty,” he interrupts. “I have a suggestion.”

“You do?”

“Julian is renovating his house, and he’s running a little behind. Helping a friend, that’s supposed to make me a better person, right? I thought I'd go over and pitch in. Want to join me?”

I try to picture the elegant, suave Damien Cardenas with a screwdriver in his hand. My imagination is not that good. “Have you ever done anything like this?” I ask him. “Do you know how to use a power tool?”

Okay, fine. I admit I’m deliberately baiting him. I want him to murmur something about how good he is with his hands. How he’s never had any complaints about his power tool, and since I appear to have forgotten, would I like a reminder?

Once again, he doesn’t react to the innuendo. Not at all. “Oh, no,” he admits cheerfully. “I’m completely clueless. Julian knows what he's doing, more or less, and I’m going to be manual labor. As long as I get back with my fingers and toes intact, I consider it a win.”

God, he can be so charming. The wry, self-deprecating note in his voice. The ready acknowledgment that he doesn't know what he's doing. It's so maddeningly attractive that I want to strangle him.

Admit it. You want to go over. You want to see them again. Both of them. You want to see Julian and Damien with their shirts off, dripping with sweat, reaching for you, closing the distance between our bodies. . .

I slam the door shut on that train of thought. “It’s a good thing I’m reasonably handy then,” I tease. “Someone has to keep you from getting into trouble.”

He laughs. “Yes, Julian mentioned that you renovated your house. Are you in, then?”

They discussed me? Pleasure fills me, followed rapidly by curiosity. Why were they talking about me? What did they discuss, and what does it mean?

“Yes. Yes, I’m in.”