Chapter 3. The Game He Plays

The soft hum of the engine filled the silence between us as Damien maneuvered the sleek black car through the winding streets of Manhattan. I kept my gaze fixed on the skyline, watching as the glittering lights of the city blurred into streaks of gold and silver against the night sky.

I told myself I wasn’t nervous.

I lied.

The faint scent of leather and cedar filled the space around me, curling through my senses in a way that made it impossible to forget who was sitting beside me. Damien Blackwell didn’t just command attention – he devoured it, pulling everyone in his orbit whether they wanted to be there or not.

And I was no exception.

“Where to?” Damien’s voice broke through the silence, low and smooth like the whiskey he favored.

I hesitated, realizing I hadn’t told him my address. “You don’t have to drive me home. The subway was fine.”

“You think I’d let you take the subway this late?” He shot me a sidelong glance, one brow arched in subtle amusement. “Besides, you never gave me your number.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “I didn’t think you’d need it.”

“Maybe I do.”

I pressed my lips together, unsure how to respond to that.

“I could drive in circles all night,” Damien added, his hand casually resting on the steering wheel as if he had all the time in the world. “But eventually, you’ll have to tell me where you live.”

I sighed. “Harlem. 145th Street.”

Damien’s lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing as he adjusted course.

The streets thinned out as we left the heart of the city behind, the flashing billboards and high-rises giving way to quieter neighborhoods.

“Long day?” Damien asked, his voice breaking the stillness again.

I exhaled softly, sinking into the seat. “You could say that. Finals are coming up.”

“Law school isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“No, it isn’t.”

A beat of silence passed.

“You don’t seem like the type to play it safe, though,” Damien said, his gaze flicking briefly toward me.

I frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“You left with me last night.”

My cheeks burned, and I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “That was different.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

His smirk deepened, but he didn’t press further.

I turned to the window, letting the lights blur by in silence. I should’ve left it at that – let the conversation die and focused on getting home. But something about the way he sat there, so calm and sure of himself, irritated me.

“You seem to think you know me,” I said, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice. “But you don’t.”

“I know enough.”

“And what exactly do you think you know?”

Damien slowed the car slightly, his gaze lingering on me a little too long for comfort.

“I know you crave things you pretend you don’t,” he said softly, each word deliberate. “I know that you’re drawn to danger – even if you won’t admit it.”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“You don’t know anything about me,” I shot back, but even I could hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

Damien leaned closer, his breath warm against the side of my neck.

“Don’t I?”

I turned toward him, but the words caught in my throat when I realized just how close he was – his eyes dark, intense, and entirely too focused on me.

A shiver raced down my spine, and for a split second, I wondered if he could hear the way my pulse betrayed me.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I whispered, barely trusting my voice.

“I like dangerous games.”

I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve told him to stop.

But I didn’t.

His hand brushed against my thigh, light and teasing, and I felt every nerve in my body come alive beneath his touch.

I hated the way he made me feel – vulnerable, exposed, and yet entirely desperate for more.

By the time we reached my apartment, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to leave or follow me inside.

Damien pulled up to the curb, his hand lingering on the gear shift.

I hesitated, gripping the door handle tightly.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, keeping my tone as even as possible.

Damien’s gaze stayed locked on mine, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was reading something I couldn’t say out loud.

“Goodnight, Ava.”

I slipped out of the car, the cold air hitting me like a slap to the face.

I didn’t look back as I climbed the steps to my apartment.

But even as I shut the door behind me, I could still feel Damien’s gaze burning through the night.

---

The following day, I couldn’t focus.

My lectures blurred together, and I barely retained a single word Professor Carter said. Every time I closed my eyes, Damien’s voice echoed in my head, and the memory of his touch lingered far too long.

By the time I met Lila for lunch, I was ready to collapse.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she said, stirring her iced coffee lazily.

I sighed, dropping into the seat across from her. “I didn’t.”

Her brows shot up. “Oh?”

“Not like that,” I added quickly, but she didn’t look convinced.

“I swear, Ava. You need to stop pretending this isn’t a thing.”

“It’s not a thing.”

“You spent the night with Damien Blackwell.”

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “It was one night.”

Lila leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “And yet, here you are, unable to stop thinking about him.”

I didn’t deny it.

Lila grinned triumphantly. “Exactly.”

Before I could argue, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, my heart skipping a beat when I saw the name.

Damien Blackwell

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Lila’s eyes widened. “Is that him?”

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

“Answer it!”

I swallowed hard and pressed accept, bringing the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Ava.” Damien’s voice was just as smooth as I remembered.

My stomach twisted. “How did you get my number?”

“I have my ways.”

I exhaled slowly. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because I want to see you again.”

My breath caught. I could feel Lila’s eyes practically burning holes through me, waiting for my response.

“I’m busy,” I said, trying to sound indifferent.

Damien chuckled softly. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Before I could protest, the line went dead.

Lila grinned like she’d won the lottery. “You are so screwed.”

I wasn’t sure if she was right.

But as I sat there, gripping my phone tighter than necessary, I knew one thing for certain – Damien Blackwell wasn’t done with me.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted him to be.