The Bad Boy Beta Wants Me

Chapter 8

Hannah

Ten minutes into the party, I learned that arriving with Damien meant people looked.

Not discreetly.

A girl beside the kitchen doorway watched his hand leave my back, then looked at my face as though checking whether she’d recognized me correctly.

I wished I’d worn something else.

Then I wished I’d stop thinking that.

“Drink?” Damien asked.

“What is it?”

He looked at the unopened lemonade bottle in his hand.

“Difficult to say. Label’s very misleading.”

“Funny.”

“I’m building up to it.”

He handed me the bottle, then took a beer from the fridge.

I glanced at it.

“Planning to count?” he asked.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’ve got a loud face.”

Before I could answer, somebody called him from the sitting room. A girl leaned through the doorway, caught his wrist, and pulled.

“Come settle something.”

Damien looked back at me.

“One minute.”

Then he disappeared.

⸻

One minute became six.

I knew because I checked.

I stood beside the kitchen counter, drinking lemonade and wondering how long I could remain there before somebody asked me to help wash up.

Through the doorway, I could see Damien leaning against the mantelpiece while two girls argued over a song. He said something that made them both laugh.

Of course he did.

At school, I’d watched girls gather around him and wondered what they found so fascinating.

Now I was at a party because he’d asked, and apparently the answer was standing awkwardly in somebody else’s kitchen.

“First time here?”

A boy I recognized from history stopped beside me.

I nodded.

“Me too. Can’t find anything.”

“What are you looking for?”

“The bathroom. Been pretending I meant to visit every room.”

I laughed.

He smiled.

“I’m Aaron.”

“Hannah.”

“I know. You answer questions in class. Very useful. Makes the rest of us look thoughtful.”

We were still talking when Damien returned.

His gaze moved from Aaron to me.

“There you are.”

I looked at the counter beside me.

“Where you left me.”

Aaron suddenly found his missing bathroom.

Traitor.

⸻

Damien watched him go.

“New friend?”

“Someone to talk to.”

“I said a minute.”

“Yes. I noticed.”

He looked at me properly.

Then set his beer on the counter.

“Come on.”

“Are you leaving me in a different kitchen?”

His mouth twitched, but I wasn’t smiling.

The amusement faded.

“Outside,” he said. “Quieter.”

I hesitated.

Through the doorway, the girls were still looking toward him.

I hated that noticing them made my decision for me.

⸻

We went through the back garden, past a group sitting on the steps.

At the side gate, I stopped.

“Where?”

“Lookout.”

“The closed one?”

“Good memory.”

“No.”

He turned.

I folded my arms.

“I’m not climbing through a fence because you’ve run out of things to say.”

For a moment, he stared.

Then he laughed.

A proper laugh, head tipped back.

I almost laughed too.

Almost.

“Fine,” he said. “Garden bench. Wildly respectable.”

He walked back toward it, leaving me to follow.

That helped.

I sat at one end.

He sat much closer than the amount of available bench required.

⸻

“Better?” he asked.

“We’ll see.”

He leaned back.

Without the music filling every pause, I became conscious of my hands, my mouth, the small space between our knees.

Damien seemed entirely comfortable.

I resented him for that.

“So,” he said. “What made you come?”

“You invited me.”

“People invite you places.”

“Not usually because they want me there.”

His expression changed.

I immediately regretted saying it.

“That sounded worse than I meant.”

“How did you mean it?”

I looked toward the house.

“At work, I’m useful. At school, I’m useful. Sometimes it’s nice to be asked somewhere that doesn’t require bringing a clipboard.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he nodded toward my lap.

“You didn’t bring one?”

I shoved his shoulder.

He caught my hand before I pulled it back.

Not tightly.

Just enough.

I looked down.

He loosened his fingers, giving me room to leave them there.

I did.

⸻

“You’re different outside school,” I said.

“Less supervised.”

“That explains quite a lot.”

His thumb brushed mine.

My pulse became embarrassing.

“Do you always do that?” I asked.

“What?”

“Make everything sound like it means something else.”

He turned toward me.

“Does this need explaining?”

His gaze dropped to our hands.

Heat crept up my neck.

I should have said something clever.

Instead, I said, “I’ve never done this.”

“Held hands?”

“Come to a party because a boy asked me.”

He stopped moving his thumb.

Then his face softened in a way that made him harder to look at.

“Having a terrible time?”

“Undecided.”

“Fair.”

The garden door opened. Somebody shouted for him.

Damien glanced toward the house.

Then looked back at me.

“Busy.”

The door closed again.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

He saw.

Naturally.

⸻

My phone vibrated.

Dad.

Twenty minutes.

I showed Damien.

“Strict booking.”

“One hour.”

He looked toward the dark edge of the garden.

Then back at me.

“We’d better make a good impression.”

“You’re late starting.”

He grinned and leaned closer.

I could smell the beer faintly on his breath, beneath the clean scent of soap and leather.

His eyes searched mine.

I knew what he was asking without the words.

I also knew there was no recognition from Fern. No certainty. Nothing I could blame for wanting to close the remaining distance.

Just me.

“Damien!”

The garden door slammed open.

We both turned.

A boy stood on the step, breathing hard.

“Justin needs you. Front drive.”

Damien straightened.

“What happened?”

“Callan’s here.”

Whatever that meant, it wiped the amusement from his face.

He released my hand.

“Stay here.”

Then he was moving.

⸻

I lasted perhaps five seconds.

From the front of the house came a shout, followed by the scraping thud of something being knocked over.

I got up.

By the time I reached the driveway, Justin stood between Damien and a boy in a red jacket.

Damien’s beer bottle had shattered beside the flowerpot.

I couldn’t tell who’d dropped it.

“Get off me,” Damien said.

Justin kept a hand against his chest.

“Not here.”

The boy in red laughed.

“Listen to your keeper.”

Damien lunged.

Justin caught his jacket, but not before his fist connected.

The sound made me stop.

Everything happened quickly after that. People surged forward. Somebody pulled Callan back. Damien twisted free of Justin, his expression nothing like the one he’d worn beside me on the bench.

Then headlights swept across the driveway.

Dad’s car.

My stomach dropped.

Damien saw it too.

He looked at me, standing beside the broken glass.

For the first time all evening, neither of us had anything to say.