Page 39 of Stick Handled

“Alright.” She nods with a chuckle. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where you going, baby?” the guy she’s been talking to shouts after us.

“Home,” Sarah deadpans and leaves him standing there. He mutters something under his breath and turns around.

I take my phone out to text Rowan, and he replies immediately.

“Rowan’s on his way,” I tell Sarah, who’s waving bye at the bouncers inside.

As we make our way through the club and out into the cool night air, I breathe a sigh of relief, glad to be away from the noise, the crowd, and Jake.

The house is quiet as Rowan retreats to his room after making me tell him about tonight during the car ride. We dropped Sarah home and spent the rest of the drive talking about how I felt. I could see the cautious excitement in Rowan’s gaze even though he tried to hide it.

Now, exhaustion settles over me as I make my way to my room.

Closing the door behind me, I toss my purse on the large armchair and let out a sigh, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Now that I’m alone in my room, I can finally feel the dizzying effect the alcohol still has on me. The jumpsuit still clings to me, though now it feels more like a costume than anything I’d normally wear. My fingers find the zipper, and I tug it down slowly, letting the fabric slip from my shoulders. The cool air kisses my skin as I shrug out of the outfit, kicking it aside and moving toward the closet to grab my towel.

I pad over to the ensuite, flick on the bathroom light, and let the shower wash away the night. The pulse of water is soothing, a reset that I desperately need. I step back into my room, ready to drop my towel, when a strange prickling sensation skitters down my spine.

I glance toward the French doors of my balcony and freeze.

Standing there, in the shadows of his own house, is Damien. My heart stops for a split second before it starts again, wild and erratic. He has a clear view of my room. When did he find that out? And more importantly, how have I never noticed?

It’s so dark I can barely see him. His eyes are locked onto me, intense and unblinking. I can barely make out his expression in the dim light, but his eyes are fixed, dark, and smoldering, watching me as if he’s been waiting there all night.

And I was just about to get naked for him.

My heart hammers so hard I’m sure he can see it in the way my chest rises and falls beneath the towel.

We’re separated by glass and a few feet of open air, but his stare makes the distance feel nonexistent. He doesn’t move or look away, and for a long, agonizing moment, neither do I.

My pulse is wild, but I can’t look away from him as if he’s holding me captive with nothing but that dark, hungry look. Every inch of my skin prickles with awareness under his gaze, and I feel suddenly exposed, like the towel I’m clutching is little more than a flimsy shield against whatever is simmering in his eyes.

He takes a step closer, bringing himself into clearer view. And he doesn’t look even a little bit apologetic about getting caught. Instead, he seems… thrilled. His mouth curves into the faintest hint of a smirk, one that sends a rush of heat straight to my core, leaving me breathless. There’s no mistaking the message in his gaze. It’s a challenge, a silent dare.

I swallow hard, every nerve ending buzzing as I tighten my grip on the towel. But something inside me, something reckless and unguarded, refuses to look away. Instead, I just stand there, my eyes locked on his, barely breathing.

Through the moonlight filtering through the glass, I can make out the lines of his jaw, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and that maddening smile that only deepens as he watches me. His hands slide into his pockets as if to emphasize how relaxed he is, how completely unashamed. And somehow, that makes my own embarrassment morph into something I don’t even want to name.

It’s a slow, simmering feeling that curls low in my stomach, one that makes my skin tingle and my breath catch. The towel suddenly feels hot and heavy, my grip on it tightening.

I can’t tell how long we stand there, caught in a silent, charged standoff. Every second seems to stretch, filling the space between us with unspoken tension. It’s as though he’s inviting me into his gaze, daring me to break the rules we both know we’re teetering on.

And just when I think the moment can’t get any more intense, he lifts a single finger to his lips and hushes, a devilish glint in his eyes.

My heart skips a beat, a flush spreading over my cheeks as I quickly turn away, my face buried in my hands. But even then, with my back turned, I can feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. When I turn around again, I’m met by the eerie darkness of the space he occupied just a moment ago.

Maybe it’s the alcohol that does it, but my grip on the towel loosens. The idea of him watching me makes me want to drop the towel and give him something to look at. But a second before the towel slips from my fingers, I clutch it again. I blink, shaking my head in disbelief over what I was just about to do.

I look up again, my eyes searching for him. I can’t see him,, but I can feel him. He’s still watching me—he’s always watching me.

Chapter fourteen

~DAMIEN~

I watch her from the kitchen, still standing by the window, caught like a deer in headlights, and something dark and primal tightens in my chest. She's right there, so close yet so far, her hesitation more delicious than any conquest.

I uncap the whiskey, my eyes locked on her. She’s standing there, backlit by her bedside lamp, and she hasn’t turned away. Hasn’t even thought to pull the blinds. And judging by the way her gaze is sweeping her window, I know she’s looking for me, waiting for me to come out again.

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