Page 62 of Pretty When He Bleeds

But not yet. Not now.

By the time we’re showered, dressed, and heading out the door, Damon looks like a completely different person than he did last night. The shadows that had clung to him are gone, replaced by something lighter. He’s not exactly grinning, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at his lips, and his green eyes are brighter than I’ve seen them in a long time.

It’s hard not to stare at him as we walk out to his bike. He’s got that effortless confidence about him today, the kind that makes it impossible to look away. His dark curls are still a mess from this morning, and he’s wearing a black band tee under the leather jacket that stretches across his chest in a way that makes me want to drag him back inside.

And then there’s the way he keeps glancing at me.

“Something on your mind, Ward?” I ask, tugging at the hem of the hoodie I’m wearing—his hoodie.

Damon’s smirk grows into a full-blown grin. “Yeah. You in my hoodie. Looks good on you, Hotshot.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the heat crawling up my neck. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I’m already used to it,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he throws a leg over his bike. “Might even make it permanent.”

“Dream on,” I mutter, as I climb onto the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist as he starts it up.

The ride to campus is quick, the wind biting against my open visor but doing nothing to cool the heat in my chest. I can’t shake the image of Damon’s grin, the way he looked at me when I pulled his hoodie over my head, like I’d done something monumental without even realizing it.

When we pull up outside the student parking lot, I hop off the bike and pull the helmet off, ruffling my hair. Damon does the same, resting his helmet on the handlebar before turning to me.

“See you later?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding.

He leans in, his hand curling around the back of my neck as he presses a quick, heated kiss to my lips. I hear someone whistle nearby, and when I pull back, Damon’s grinning like he doesn’t give a single fuck.

“Later, baby,” he says, giving my ass a quick smack before walking off toward the art building.

I stand there for a second, shaking my head as I watch him go. His shoulders are relaxed, his stride easy, like he owns the world and knows it. It’s good to see him like this—calm, confident—but it also makes me think about last night.

The way he looked when I showed up. The way he wouldn’t let go of me.

I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more going on with him, something he’s not saying. And if I’m going to be with him, if this thing between us is going to work, I need to figure out what it is.

Which is why I’m heading straight to Killian.

I find him in the dining hall, sitting at one of the back tables with his laptop open and a protein shake in hand. He glances up when I approach, his blue eyes narrowing as he takes me in.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And… is that Damon’s hoodie?”

I sigh, sitting down across from him. “Don’t start.”

Killian smirks, but he doesn’t push it. “Fine, I won’t. What’s going on?”

I stare at the table for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I need your advice.”

“About Damon?”

“Yeah.”

He sets his laptop aside, giving me his full attention. “Alright, talk to Daddy. What’s the issue?”

I take a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. “Last night… he wasn’t okay. Like, at all. He looked wrecked when I showed up, and he wouldn’t let me go. I didn’t push him about it, but… I don’t know, Kill. I feel like there’s more going on with him than he’s letting on.”

Killian frowns, his expression serious now. “Did he say anything?”

I shake my head. “Not really. He just held on to me like he was afraid I’d disappear. And then this morning, he was fine. Like nothing happened.”

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