Western Waves (Compass 3)

“A little bit.”

“Proud of you, Stella.”

I pretend curtsied from the couch.

He looked down at the glass in his hand and then toward the kitchen. Yet, instead of walking away, he cleared his throat. “I don’t do documentaries.”

“Oh?”

“They are often based on sad situations, and I don’t like watching sad situations. I’ve lived enough of them on my own. I don’t like adding extra sadness to my mind.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d hate to accidentally manifest more sadness into my life.”

I smiled, and I gestured toward the emptied side of the couch. “Which is why you should watch this romantic comedy with me. I’m all about feel-good things.”

“They are so cookie-cutter,” he grumbled.

“I know. That’s why I love them. Because, no matter what, no matter the struggles, you are guaranteed a happily ever after. I think the world could use a few more happily ever afters. So, again…” I gestured toward the emptied couch cushion.

He huffed. It wasn’t his annoyed huff, though. Over the past few weeks, I’d been able to learn the difference in the type of huffs, grumbles, and grimaces Damian shared. Some were for when he was mad. Others when overwhelmed. Even a few for when he felt discomfort.

This one was the latter, I believed.

I’d hoped.

“I have work to finish,” he said, rejecting my offer.

“Oh. Right, of course. Well, have a good night. I’ll be here if you change your mind.”

He nodded once before walking off to the kitchen. I went back to my blanket, snacks, and ridiculously corny movie, without much thought about it. When Damian came back through the hallway leading to the kitchen with a full glass, he didn’t look my way, but I glanced toward him. Then back to the television my stare went.

I hadn’t even noticed that Damian paused his steps until he cleared his throat, bringing my attention back toward him.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I, um, I should be done with work within thirty to forty-five minutes. You know. If you start another cheesy movie.”

I smiled big. Was he asking to be invited to join me for the next film?

“Of course. This one only has like fifteen minutes left, but I’ll wait for you to join.”

He frowned. “No. It’s fine. You go on. It’s not a problem.”

He started walking away, and I called out, “Damian.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll wait for you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he parted his lips as if he were going to deny my suggestion of waiting, but I cut him off.

“I’ll even make you some popcorn.”

His brows knitted, and it surprised me how attractive his frown lines were. I didn’t know a frown could look so effortlessly good.

“With butter?” he asked.

“And salt,” I replied.

He grumbled a bit. This grumble seemed to be from his nerves. Was he nervous?

Before I could question it, he nodded and flicked his thumb against his nose. “I’ll check in once I finish.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be here. Stuffing my face. Text me a bit before you’re done so I can have your popcorn waiting.”

He almost smiled at me before he left. At least that’s what my mind wanted to believe.

When twenty minutes passed, Damian shot me a popcorn text message. Eight minutes later, he reappeared. This time, he wasn’t wearing his stuffy suit that looked uncomfortable. Yet, he was dressed in a plain white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. Somehow that made him appear more human than the robot he seemed to be on the regular.

Somehow those sweatpants also made my stomach fill with butterflies due to the very clear and present thick imprint in his crotch area. It was clear as day that Damian wasn’t lacking much down below.

I smiled ear to ear and clapped my hands together, trying to shake off the inappropriate thoughts shooting through my mind. “Perfect timing. The Proposal is up next.”

“Let me guess, some kind of fake marriage situation.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen it?”

He blinked at me a few times before taking his seat and his bowl of popcorn. “Kind of living it.”

Touché.

“Listen, if you have a secret romantic comedy kink you’re hiding from me, don’t. We don’t kink shame here. To some women, that would be a huge turn-on.” I paused. “I mean, if you’re into dating. I mean, it’s fine if you’re not. But, well, are you in a relationship? We haven’t really spoken about that, and—”

“Stella.”

“Yes?”

“Are we going to play twenty questions or are you going to start the movie?”

I sat up straighter, hopeful.

He underestimated how much I would’ve enjoyed a game of twenty questions.

“No, Cinderstella,” he muttered.

“But, Beast—”

“Hit play.”

I pouted but did as he said. We began watching the movie, and every now and again, Damian would give his bitter commentary, which I’d combat with my witty humor, and he’d almost smile, and I’d almost like it, round and round like a hamster wheel.