Page 27 of Filthy and the Beast

Fuck. Fuck me. Guilt thuds against my chest, knocking the air out of my lungs.

“I’m sorry,” I grumble. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head quickly. “I was joking. I guess I should know not to.” He thinks a second, then sticks his hand on his hip. “You don’t get to be an ass, though. Grunt and curse all you want, but you ever yell at me like that again, I’m taking my cupcakes and leaving.”

I snap my mouth shut. This is the last fucking thing I need, Damian pissed at me on top of everything else.

So why am I not walking away? I should storm off to bed.

But I don’t.

I need to stay close to him.

Need his voice.

“Sorry,” I grumble and try again. “I met an old friend for a drink.” I nod toward the whiskey bottle behind him. “Now I’m going to have another.”

Damian hands me the bottle, not running away, either. “I guess I’ll join you. I couldn’t sleep, and now I’m rattled because a grumpy old jock roared at me.” He grabs two glasses from the high shelf and slides them across the counter.

The tension softening, I snort. “Thought you were used to the roars by now.” I pour us each a little whiskey. “Shot?”

He hands me a cupcake. “Chaser.”

I chuckle despite myself. With a clink, we each throw back our shots. Damian coughs and chokes, and I quickly shove the cupcake in my mouth, devouring the sugary goodness.

Chocolate.

Yeah. Helps a little.

“Sorry,” I mumble again, my angry voice still ringing in my ears.

“How’s your friend?” Maybe he accepts the apology.

“He’s a dickhead.”

“Cool.” He slowly peels his cupcake wrapper off. “Do you see him often?”

“Every ten years.”

“Appropriate amount of time to see a dickhead.”

He gets me.

Something he said earlier finally makes it through my thick skull. “You can’t sleep? Something wrong?”

“No. I mean, nothing new.” He adjusts his glasses. “I met with someone today at the university to find out more about careers in sex therapy. I told you about my career idea, remember?”

I grit my teeth. “Yes.”

Too many emotions at once. Fuck.

None of them appropriate.

He leans forward on the counter, smile maybe a little flirty—or maybe I just want it to be.

Hot. Distracting.

“Sex therapy requires a lot of school,” Damian continues. “I already knew it would, but understanding how much is daunting. It was one of the first things my moms mentioned, too.” He swallows. “Historically, I haven’t been the best at school. I got halfway through college without declaring a major, then cut my losses and left with an associate's degree in general studies. I like learning and taking classes, but full-time exams and homework is not my jam. I’m just not good at taking tests and stuff. And juggling too many tasks at once stresses me out.”

---