What Leads to Bad Decisions
695 Words
The bathroom door clicked shut behind me.
I stayed there a moment, staring at my reflection while my pulse slowly settled.
Punished.
The word refused to leave my head.
I pressed cold water against my wrists, inhaled once, then opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
For a second, disappointment hit before I could stop it.
Then I saw him near the front entrance.
Waiting.
One hand in his pocket. The other holding his keys loosely at his side.
His gaze lifted the second he heard me.
Straight to me.
And stayed there.
Neither of us spoke as we walked outside.
The cool air should’ve helped.
It didn’t.
Isla was already sprawled across the backseat when we reached the car, heels kicked off, head tipped against the window.
“You guys took forever,” she mumbled sleepily.
Damon opened the back door wider for her without looking away from me.
“No, we didn’t.”
Something about the answer made heat crawl into my face.
I slid into the passenger seat quietly.
The door shut.
And suddenly the space felt too small.
The engine started.
Music from the party faded behind us as the car pulled away from the curb, leaving only silence inside.
Not empty silence.
Heavy silence.
The kind that made you aware of everything.
The sound of his watch against the steering wheel.
The low hum of the engine beneath us.
The faint scent of whiskey and cologne lingering in the air.
I kept my eyes on the window.
Mostly because looking at him felt dangerous now.
Streetlights slid across his hands as he drove.
Large hands. Veins visible beneath rolled sleeves. One finger tapping once against the wheel before stilling again.
My stomach tightened.
I shifted slightly in my seat.
Bad decision.
The hem of my dress pulled higher against my thigh, and I felt his eyes flick downward for half a second.
Then back to the road.
That somehow felt worse.
Behind us, Isla was fully asleep now.
Which meant the silence belonged entirely to us.
“You stopped listening to me the second you left the house tonight.”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
I swallowed. “You never told me not to go.”
A pause.
Then the corner of his mouth moved slightly.
Not quite a smile.
“That’s your argument?”
I hated how warm that look made me feel.
Outside, city lights blurred past in streaks of gold and white.
Inside the car, the tension kept building quietly.
Like something tightening inch by inch.
“You enjoy attention?” he asked after a while.
“No.”
“Interesting.”
I looked over finally. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His gaze stayed ahead.
“You wore a dress that made every man in that house stare at you.”
Heat climbed my throat instantly.
“That’s not why I wore it.”
“No?”
The single word settled heavily between us.
I crossed my legs slowly beneath the dashboard, trying to ignore the way his attention flicked downward again.
This time he didn’t look away as quickly.
The air shifted.
I felt it immediately.
So did he.
One hand loosened slightly on the wheel.
His jaw tightened once before relaxing again.
Controlled.
Always controlled.
But not unaffected.
That realization hit me harder than the alcohol had.
I looked away first.
The estate gates came into view ahead of us.
Relief should’ve come with them.
Instead, disappointment curled low in my stomach.
The car slowed.
Then stopped briefly at the gate entrance.
Damon keyed in the code with one hand.
The screen glowed softly across his face for a second before darkness settled back over him.
And then—
His hand landed suddenly against my bare knee.
Firm.
Still.
Not accidental this time.
My breath caught instantly.
He looked at me fully for the first time since we left the party.
Not rushed.
Not hesitant.
Just direct.
My pulse went uneven beneath his hand.
“Do you enjoy making bad decisions?” he asked quietly.
I couldn’t answer.
Because his thumb moved once.
Slowly.
And the gates behind him began to close
- Writer
