Page 2 of Stick Handled

“Go for it,” I mumble, though I know she’s kidding—kind of. My feet stay rooted to the spot as Damien strides over, and I brace myself.

Damien’s smirk is already in place by the time he stops in front of us.

“Red,” he says, using the nickname he made for me years ago. “It’s been a while.”

I force myself to meet his gaze, but it feels like a slow-motion car crash. “Yeah,” I manage, feeling my pulse speed up in all the wrong ways. “It has.”

He glances at Sarah, his expression barely shifting. “Sup,” he tosses her way.

Sarah, of course, is completely unfazed. She gives him a slow, deliberate smile. “Thanks for coming to pick us up.”

Damien doesn’t linger on her long, though. His attention snaps back to me like he’s got better things to deal with. “No need to thank me. Rowan’s tied up, so I’m your ride,” he says, tossing his keys from one hand to the other, casual as ever.

“Right,” I mutter, gripping the handle of my suitcase like it might bolt if I let go. My palms have started to sweat, and I use the opportunity to wipe them on the handle as we make our way to Damien’s car.

Sarah’s grinning as if she’s enjoying this too much. “Well, this should be fun,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “Ready for the reunion tour?”

I shoot her a look, hoping it conveys hownot readyI feel. But Sarah just shrugs. “Guess I’ll be riding with you two,” she adds as Damien hauls her suitcase in the trunk.

The car ride starts off quiet, apart from the music coming through the speakers. Sarah, being Sarah, fills the silence soon enough, launching into a story about someone from our old high school getting engaged. I nod along, but the entire time, I’m hyper-aware of Damien sitting next to me, one arm lazily slung over the steering wheel, the other resting on the console between us.

His presence fills the space, and every time he shifts or glances my way, I can feel my nerves coil tighter.

“Looks like everyone’s settling down these days,” Sarah says, glancing back at me. “Except you, Avery. Still single and loving it, right?”

Oh my god, shut up!

I choke on air. “Uh… yeah, something like that.”

Damien’s eyes flick to me, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “No boyfriends back in college?”

The casualness of his tone grates at me. It’s like he knows the answer but just wants to watch me squirm. “No,” I say too quickly. “Not really my thing.”

Sarah snickers but thankfully doesn’t add anything. I can feel Damien’s gaze linger for a second longer before he shifts back to the road, that knowing smile tugging at his mouth again.

By the time we pull up in front of Sarah’s house, I’m ready to jump out of the car just to escape the tension sitting heavy in the air. Damien gets out to help Sarah with her bags, and I follow, grateful for the brief break.

“Well, this was fun,” Sarah says with a wink as she hugs me goodbye. “I’ll call you later, yeah? And don’t forget to take my advice.”

“I’ll call you,” I say and groan internally. She’s not going to let it go.

Damien brings Sarah’s suitcase to her porch with an effortless lift, turning back to the car without so much as a glance behind him. I give Sarah a quick wave and slip back into the passenger seat, my heart thudding harder now that it’s just the two of us.

The drive back to Rowan’s place feels longer now that it’s just Damien and me. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the music. I’m trying not to think about Sarah’s ridiculous flirting advice, but it’s like a little voice in the back of my mind won’t shut up.

What’s the worst thing that can happen?

“I bet Rowan’s been looking forward to having you back,” Damien says, breaking the quiet. His voice is casual, and his posture is relaxed.

“Yeah,” I say, gripping the seatbelt a little tighter. “It’s been a while.”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “And you’ve been avoiding us?”

“What?” I twist my neck to look at him, startled by the question. “No, I haven’t.”

“You’ve been gone for two years. I figured maybe you didn’t want to see the old crew anymore,” Damien adds. Two years. He’s kept track of how long I’ve been gone.

“I wasn’t avoiding anyone,” I mutter, though I’m not sure I believe it myself.

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