The Bad Boy Beta Wants Me

Chapter 16

Damien

Hannah kissed me in front of my father.

That wasn’t the part I noticed first.

First, there was her hand gripping my jacket. Her mouth, warm and slightly uncertain against mine. The fact that she’d done it before I’d worked out how to ask without giving her six reasons to change her mind.

Then someone whistled.

Hannah stepped back.

Over her shoulder, Justin stood beside the equipment shed with a stack of training pads in his arms.

“Sorry,” he called. “Slipped.”

“Drop something heavier on yourself,” I told him.

He grinned.

Hannah’s cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t hurry away. She looked up at me with an expression I wanted to spend far too long examining.

“Helmet?” she asked.

I looked at the one in my hand.

“Right.”

Apparently, I’d lost the ability to manage objects.

⸻

I took her straight home.

An impressive achievement, considering every quiet turning looked like an opportunity.

Outside her gate, she got off carefully and handed me the helmet. I stayed seated because getting closer seemed likely to interfere with her mother’s instruction about dinner.

“So,” I said.

“So.”

She was smiling.

I liked knowing why.

“Was that to annoy Kara?”

Her smile disappeared.

I regretted it before she answered.

“No.”

“Just checking.”

“Why?”

I turned the helmet between my hands.

Because liking it that much was making me stupid. Because she’d looked at another boy at the festival hoping he might be hers, and I couldn’t stop remembering it.

Instead, I said, “You looked irritated with her.”

“I was. Then I spoke to you.”

“Very mature. Unusual company for me.”

She didn’t laugh.

“Don’t make it something ugly because somebody else was there.”

I looked up.

“I kissed you because I wanted to.”

There it was again. Plain enough that I couldn’t turn it into anything else without deliberately ruining it.

“All right,” I said.

She waited.

I reached out and caught her fingers.

“For the record, excellent decision.”

Her laugh came reluctantly.

“Terrible man.”

“Developing reputation.”

She squeezed my hand before letting go.

Then she went inside, and I sat outside her house until the engine’s heat became uncomfortable against my leg.

⸻

Dad was waiting when I returned.

I parked beside the garage and reached for my cigarettes.

He looked at the packet.

I put it back.

Mostly because I wanted him to notice the effort.

“Hannah got home?”

“Yes.”

“She seems like a sensible girl.”

“Try not to sound disappointed.”

He folded his arms.

I knew the lecture before it arrived. Her family. Her future. My ability to embarrass everybody within walking distance.

Instead, he said, “Don’t start something you intend to walk away from.”

I took off my jacket.

“Would you prefer I submitted a plan?”

“Damien.”

“What? You want dates? Proposed emotional development?”

“I want you to think beyond what feels good this afternoon.”

That landed close enough to make me angry.

“You watched ten minutes of training and a kiss. You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Then tell me.”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing useful came out.

Dad’s expression softened, which was somehow worse.

“She’ll have a mate,” he said.

“So will I. Apparently. Everybody’s very enthusiastic about these people who haven’t arrived.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“No. It’s something you keep using to end conversations.”

I walked past him before he could answer.

Behind me, he said my name.

I kept going.

⸻

At ten thirty, I was still awake.

My jacket hung from the chair. The sleeve had a pale mark where Hannah’s fingers had caught the dust from the training field.

I stared at it.

Then picked up my phone.

Justin answered on the fourth ring.

“If you’re calling to describe the kiss, I’m hanging up.”

“Your father still awake?”

A pause.

“Why?”

“Need the old training cabin key.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Excellent leadership. No questions required.”

“What are you planning?”

“Thought I’d invite the entire school. Burn it down. Start a new pack.”

“Damien.”

“Just need somewhere quiet.”

“You have a bedroom.”

“With my father permanently installed outside it.”

Justin sighed.

Then he said, “No.”

I sat up.

“Since when?”

“Since the patrol captain found broken bottles up there last month and Dad put the cabin off limits.”

“That wasn’t us.”

“I know. Still locked.”

“Then lend me the key.”

“No. You’re not making me explain why you borrowed an emergency shelter for a date.”

I looked toward my window.

“Fine.”

“That sounded suspicious.”

“Work on trusting people.”

“You first.”

I ended the call.

⸻

Five minutes later, I climbed out of my window.

Not because I couldn’t use the door.

Because passing Dad’s study would mean another conversation, and I’d already contributed enough to family communication.

The drainpipe rattled beneath my boot.

I froze.

A light came on downstairs.

“Damien.”

I looked down.

Dad stood in the open back doorway, wearing slippers and an expression I’d known since childhood.

We regarded each other.

“Evening,” I said.

“Use the stairs.”

“Bit committed now.”

He stepped aside.

I dropped the remaining distance onto the grass.

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk.”

“Where?”

I glanced toward the road.

Dad followed my gaze.

“No.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re not going to wake that girl because you’ve decided you want company.”

“She can say no herself.”

“Yes. And you can ask at a reasonable hour.”

I looked up at my open window.

Then at the phone in my hand.

For once, there was an alternative that didn’t involve doing exactly the opposite of what he wanted.

I hated how obvious it was.

⸻

Upstairs, I sent Hannah a message.

Still awake?

Her answer came before I’d reached the bed.

Trying to finish history. Some of us attended the lesson.

I smiled.

Want company tomorrow? After your shift. We stay out until you need to be home.

Three dots appeared.

Stopped.

Then:

Is this a date?

I stared at the question.

I could almost hear Dad downstairs, certain he’d prevented a mistake.

Maybe he had.

Just not the one he thought.

Yes, I typed.

Then, before I could hide behind another joke:

I want another one. Tomorrow, and after that.

Her reply took long enough for me to stand up.

Then sit again.

Good. I was starting to think I’d have to kiss you every time I wanted an answer.

I looked toward the chair.

At the mark on my jacket.

Then typed:

You can still try.