Kill Switch (Devil's Night 3)

“You look like all the frat boys I’ll warn my daughters about when they go to college,” she griped.

Misha snorted, and Will laughed.

“You guys dating?” Misha asked, and I guessed he was talking to Will and me.

“No, man. She’s Damon’s.”

“Damon Torrance’s?” Misha said it like he was spitting out food.

Will tightened his hold. “I know, right?”

“I’m not Damon’s.” I shook my head.

“Yeah, she is,” Will shot back.

I didn’t want to be talked about like I was property. That kind of conversation was fine in private, but Misha’s tone definitely relayed that he had an opinion about Damon. And not a positive one. He didn’t know me. I didn’t want him drawing conclusions.

“Who’s Damon?” Ryen asked. “Have I met him?”

“God, no,” Misha blurted out. “Let’s get some beers before he shows up. Later, man.”

“Bye,” Will called out as they left.

I let out a sigh, reminded that a lot more people than just me had a past or perception of Damon. He had his work cut out for him if he wanted a future in this town. That was, if he cared about what anyone thought, anyway.

“To be fair,” Will said, setting his chin on my shoulder. “Misha hates everyone.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” I said. “If anyone knows what I’m getting myself into, it’s me.”

He breathed out a laugh.

And then he stood up straight, still holding me tight. “Having Damon around was the only time I ever felt solid in my life,” he told me. “He’s powerful. But painful.”

The corner of my mouth turned up in a small smile, knowing exactly what he was talking about. The highs with Damon reached the sun.

But our kind of fun had a price.

He pulled away from me, leaving my back, and I stood there as everyone danced around me, wondering where he just went. I moved my hands around my sides to feel for him. Did he leave?

“Alex,” I called.

Where did they go?

And then someone was at my back, the height and broad shoulders covering every inch of me, the cloves drifted on the air, and I knew it was him.

His hand reached around my neck, cupping my face and turning my head, as I closed my eyes and felt him come down, pressing his forehead to mine.

Damon.

His other hand came around my stomach, touching me and pressing me into his body, his chest rising and falling behind me. He felt like five years ago. Like seven years ago.

And I wanted it.

“You’re supposed to be wearing your uniform,” I whispered, feeling the jeans and brushing the hoodie with my hand as I reached up to touch his face.

“This is how you knew me then.”

I appreciated he wanted to be who I fell for in high school.