Two Coffees and a Bad IdeaAnastasia
977 Words
Chapter
I lasted exactly three hours before regretting every life choice that led to me living next door to Damon Santiago.
It started when I decided to do laundry and realized I didn’t have laundry detergent.
It escalated when I tried to order some and realized I hadn’t updated my address on the app.
And it peaked when, standing there in shorts and a crop top, holding an empty bottle of Tide like it had betrayed me, I had the actual audacity to knock on Damon’s door.
I told myself I was just going to ask. No weird tension. No lingering looks. No accidental shirtless moments.
Wrong.
He opened the door shirtless.
Not even “just stepped out of the shower” shirtless. No. Workout shirtless. Abs glistening. Hair damp. Breath slightly heavy like he’d just done a hundred pushups for fun.
He blinked once at me. “Lost, Beverly?”
I blinked right back. “No. I live next door. Remember?”
His eyes dropped nope, glanced to what I was wearing. I saw it. My skin prickled like it was trying to grow a second robe out of sheer embarrassment.
“I need detergent,” I said quickly, holding up the bottle like a peace offering.
He leaned against the doorframe. “Is this your way of trying to see me shirtless?”
I stared at him.
He stared back.
"Okay first of all, no. Second of all, gross. And third of all, do you want to give me detergent or should I go knock on someone else's door and explain why I look like a desperate ex-girlfriend?"
That did it. His mouth twitched. Just slightly. The Damon version of a laugh.
“Hold on,” he said, disappearing into his apartment.
The door stayed wide open behind him, and I stupidly peeked inside.
Of course it was clean. Like, surgically clean. And organized. There was a whole shelf dedicated to books, two mugs that looked expensive, and a record player. Who the hell even owned a record player anymore?
Damon came back and tossed a small bottle of detergent in my direction. I barely caught it.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, already turning away.
“Wait.”
I turned slowly. “What now?”
He leaned against the frame again, arms crossed bare chest still out, of course. “You owe me.”
“Oh please,” I said. “What, you want laundry in return?”
“No,” he said casually. “Dinner.”
I blinked. “Dinner?”
“Tonight. Seven. Your place. I’ll bring the food.”
My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “Is this… a date?”
He tilted his head slightly, dark blue eyes glinting. “No. This is me collecting what I’m owed. You want it to be a date?”
“No!” I said way too quickly. “God, no. Definitely not a date.”
“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “Then don’t dress cute.”
I hated that my stomach flipped. I hated it even more that I didn’t know how to answer that.
So I turned and walked away, throwing over my shoulder, “You better bring dessert.”
“Already got it covered,” he called after me, that smirk in his voice.
---
7:01PM
I opened the door in my I-don’t-care-at-all-but-actually-care-a-lot outfit sweatpants, tank top, messy bun.
Damon stood there, wearing a dark henley shirt, sleeves pushed up, and holding two paper bags that smelled like heaven.
“I see you took my advice,” he said, eyeing my outfit.
I scoffed. “You’re lucky I didn’t answer the door in a trash bag.”
He walked in like he owned the place (again), dropped the bags on my counter, and started pulling out food containers.
“You cook?” I asked, eyebrow raised.
“Nope. But I know people.”
Of course he did.
Ten minutes later, we were sitting on my floor, eating Thai food with plastic forks and drinking wine out of mismatched mugs because I hadn’t unpacked properly yet.
It was weirdly... nice.
Until he spoke.
“So what happened to the guy?”
I blinked. “What guy?”
“The one before you moved in here. The ex. There’s always an ex.”
I stared at him. “Bold of you to assume I had one.”
“You did.”
I sighed, stabbing my noodles. “Fine. His name was Micah. He cheated. He sucked. End of story.”
Damon said nothing. Just nodded and kept eating. Like he already hated Micah on principle.
After a few more bites, I asked, “What about you?”
“No ex. Just mistakes.”
I raised a brow. “Sounds dramatic.”
He smirked. “You’d know.”
Touché.
The silence came again but this time, it felt different. Not tense. Not awkward. Just... quiet. Comfortable.
Until he leaned back on his palms and said, “You should wear your hair down more.”
I stared at him.
“I what?”
He shrugged. “Looks good messy.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re saying I look good messy?”
“Yeah,” he said, completely unfazed. “But I’m sure you look good all cleaned up too.”
My jaw may have actually unhinged.
He stood up and stretched, like he hadn’t just short-circuited my brain.
“Thanks for dinner,” I managed, not even sure which one of us technically hosted.
“Thanks for the detergent,” he said with a wink. “See you tomorrow, neighbor.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Again.
And I was left standing there, wondering how the hell I was supposed to survive living next door to Damon Santiago with my heart still intact.
Spoiler alert: I probably wouldn’t.
- Writer
