I checked my phone. 07:45. She still hadn't come.
Damn. I'd been weirdly excited all morning—like a kid waiting to open the toy his mom bought, but had to wait until they got home. Every time the bell above the store door jingled, my heart jumped a little. But… nothing. No Marine. No message.
Maybe I came on too strong with that finance talk. Maybe that turned her off. Shit. I just didn't want to pretend I was someone I wasn't. If I was gonna disappoint her, better it be now than later.
I was adjusting the CD shelf—alphabetizing the indie rock section like a zombie—when Aroon walked up beside me. My boss. White beard down to his chest, slicked-back silver hair, eyes sharp behind those thin reading glasses. Guy looked like a retired Norse god who decided to run a music shop. Walking DILF, honestly.
"You can go, Damien," he said, giving me a nod.
"Thanks, man," I replied, standing up straighter. "How's your wife?"
"Good, good," he said, his voice gentle. "We're still taking things slow after the accident. But she started walking again a few days ago."
"That's great to hear," I said, pulling my phone from my back pocket again. No notifications.
The bell above the door rang, and my head snapped toward it—reflex—but it wasn't her.
Instead, it was Jay.
Alone.
She shouldn't be walking around by herself like that. She was pregnant, for fuck's sake. Her deadbeat boyfriend should be the one carrying her bag and making sure she didn't slip on the sidewalk. But no—he was probably off being a piece of shit somewhere. And me? Standing here thinking about it like some weird "nice guy" off Reddit. 'Your boyfriend doesn't treat you right, but I will. Hug me, baby!' Fucking gross.
I really needed to mind my own business.
Jay waved as she walked over. I swallowed my awkward thoughts and smiled as she approached.
"Damien," she said with that soft, familiar smile. "Hey."
"Hey," I replied. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Yeah, just thought I'd stop by. Say hi. I'm meeting some friends nearby."
"Oh, cool," I said, nodding. "How are you?"
"Good. I mean… been better," she said, her hand resting gently over her stomach. "Thanks to you, though."
"Don't mention it," I said, exhaling. I rubbed the back of my neck. "Your… boyfriend?"
She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Oblivious as ever. Ugh."
I hesitated, then leaned on the shelves a little. "You really should call your family or something. Stay with them for a while. Not with that guy."
"They're dead," she said, almost casually, with the faintest of smiles. "So… yeah."
I froze. "Shit. I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"It's fine," she said, voice calm. "Happened years ago. I've made my peace with it."
Before I could say anything else, her phone started buzzing. She glanced at the screen and tilted it toward me.
"Friend's calling," she said.
"Sure," I replied, stepping back a little. "See you around?"
"Yeah. Bye, Damien."
"Bye."
She turned and left, and the door closed behind her with a soft chime.
I stood there, watching the glass door for a moment, hoping maybe the next time it opened, it would be Marine. But it didn't. And somehow, that stung more than I thought it would.
"I'm an idiot…"
Shoulders slumped, I walked behind the counter, grabbed my coat, and stepped outside. Rain pattered down from a dull grey sky, the sun completely swallowed by thick clouds. I pulled my coat tighter around me as I headed toward the lamp post where my bike was locked. My fingers fumbled coldly with the chain before I finally snapped it loose.
Hopping on, I began pedaling through the sleepy part of town. No cars were allowed here—just narrow streets, wet cobblestones, and little storefronts glowing with warm yellow light. Kids usually played out here, laughing and kicking balls around, but today it was quiet—rain keeping them inside.
I passed the small library with its fogged-up windows, a family restaurant with steaming glass, and Mr. Elm's butcher shop. The basketball court just ahead was empty for once, the nets dripping rainwater.
"Hey, Damien!" Mr. Menn called out from under his awning, waving with a cigarette between his fingers. "Shitty weather, ain't it?"
"Shittiest," I said, waving back as I rolled by, water spraying from my back tire.
Eventually, the cozy scenery gave way to taller trees and sparser homes. The suburbs bled into quiet asphalt and occasional traffic, the rain making everything feel soft and far away. I liked it—liked getting lost in the rhythm of the road, in the quiet hum of my thoughts.
I reached the motel and parked my bike under the office awning, locking it again. Then I trudged upstairs, fished my keys out of my damp pocket, and slipped into my room.
Instant regret.
"Fucking hell," I muttered under my breath.
Jay was at it again. From the room next door—loud, fast, raw. Skin on skin. Moans muffled by the paper-thin walls. Slapping, groaning—Jesus. It was worse than usual.
And after the accidental blue balls I gave myself earlier, my body was aching for any excuse. The tension was already unbearable, and this? This was torture. Every sound triggered a pulse deep in my gut. It would've taken barely anything—barely a stroke—and I'd blow like a high school virgin.
But… knowing why she was doing it? That it wasn't passion, but pain? I couldn't. I just couldn't. It made me feel… gross.
"This time… no blue balls," I muttered, grabbing my headphones.
I threw on a playlist—some moody rock—and let it muffle the noises. I scrolled through my phone, watched dumb videos, tried not to think about the ache between my legs.
Then… a knock. I blinked. Checked the time. Weird. I pulled my headphones off, got up, and opened the door—and froze.
It was Jay.
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. But the noises were still going—rhythmic, intense. What the hell?
She walked in without a word. I shut the door behind her slowly, my pulse rising.
She looked… off. Not angry, not exactly. More like disappointed. Hollow. Her eyes were dark, her cheeks pale, mouth drawn in that tight, bitter line people wear when they're trying really hard not to cry.
"Now he's cheating on me in our place," she said, her voice small, breaking around the edges. "God."
"Oh…" I said softly. "So… it was your boyfriend, huh?"
"Didn't know the walls were this thin," she muttered, eyes drifting around my room, landing on the corner where I left a guitar leaning against the wall. "You hear everything."
"Usually got my headphones on," I replied. I hesitated. "Weren't you supposed to be with your friends?"
"Yeah," she said, shaking her head. A wet strand of hair stuck to her cheek. "But I forgot my card at home… had to come back."
She sat down slowly on the couch, letting out a long breath. I hovered for a second, unsure, then lowered myself beside her, not too close. Just… enough.
"Want some tea? Coffee?" I offered, voice low, careful.
"No, thanks."
She was wearing these tiny, pale shorts. Bare skin, smooth and soft, glistening slightly from the rain. Her thighs parted just a little where she sat, careless, unguarded. Her tank top clung to her damp body, showing the gentle rise of her chest as she breathed out a tired sigh. Her hair was messy, wet at the ends, sticking to her neck.
God, she looked gorgeous—even like this. No, especially like this. Vulnerable. Real.
And there I was, hard as hell and ashamed for it.
I crossed my legs fast, praying she didn't notice the way I adjusted myself. I stared at the kettle like it had answers. Not now, Damien. Not like this.
But my body didn't care about timing. It wanted her. Wanted to hold her. Wanted to be the one she came to for comfort—not just to vent, but to melt into.
Her posture shifted, more open now. She didn't seem embarrassed. If anything, it was like she was letting me see her fully—for once. Her breathing slowed. Her chest rose and fell. I couldn't tear my eyes away.
"I can see you're hard, by the way," she said casually, exhaling like she was commenting on the weather. "Don't even try to hide it."
"I—uh…" My voice cracked. "It just… happens sometimes, you know?"
She stood up and walked over to the TV, tracing a finger along the hairline cracks in the screen. Then she turned toward me, her expression unreadable, like something was bubbling beneath the surface.
"I've been having sex with people I didn't even like lately," she said, voice low.
I blinked. "That's… really personal."
She met my eyes. "I think I want this."