"I... I don’t think I can accept this."
His face fell a little. "Why not? Don’t you like it?"
I stared at the doll again. It really was cute. It did look a bit like me.
I hesitated. "I do... but..."
He took a step closer to me, still holding the doll. "Then take it. It’s a gift. No strings attached."
I backed away a little, unsure. "I don’t want to owe you anything."
He raised an eyebrow, and before I could step away, he leaned in closer, invading my space like he always did, without warning.
I didn’t even think. Reflex took over. My leg shot up and my foot connected hard with his shin.
He stumbled back, let out a loud yelp, and grabbed his leg like I’d just stabbed him.
"OW! Damn it, Lisa! What the hell?!" he shouted.
I blinked. "Sorry! You moved too close!"
He dropped onto the edge of my bed dramatically, still holding onto his shin like he was in serious pain. "It hurts! What did you do to me?"
I crossed my arms, not buying it one bit. "Oh please. You’re a freaking alpha. That didn’t hurt."
He turned to me with the most exaggerated expression I’d ever seen, his eyes wide and glassy, lips trembling like a lost puppy. "It hurts so bad, I think my leg’s broken."
I scoffed. "You’re ridiculous."
But still... I hesitated. I knew he was being dramatic. I knew it. But the way he was holding his leg, the way he was grimacing in fake pain, it still tugged at something in me. What if I really had hurt him? Even a little? I didn’t want to care, but apparently, my body didn’t get that message.
"Fine," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Let me look at it."
He didn’t say anything, but I saw the little smirk he tried to hide as I turned away. I walked over to the corner of my room and bent down to open the cabinet. My fingers brushed against the white plastic box, and I pulled it out, the first aid kit I’d barely ever used.
I brought it over to where he sat and knelt down in front of him. The bed creaked a little under his weight as he leaned back, watching me with those amused eyes. I avoided his gaze.
"Lift your leg," I said flatly.
He did, grinning to himself like a five-year-old who just got away with something sneaky.
I gently lifted the hem of his jeans, brushing my fingers against his skin. My heart gave a stupid little jolt, and I mentally cursed myself for noticing how warm he was. His leg was smooth, strong... and definitely not injured. Not a bruise. Not a mark. Nothing.
"There’s not even a bruise," I said, squinting at his leg.
"There is!" Damon insisted, pointing dramatically at the same spot. "You just can’t see it yet. It’s internal."
I narrowed my eyes at him, unimpressed. "Shut up."
He gasped, clutching his chest like I had just stabbed him. "So heartless."
Rolling my eyes, I dipped a cotton swab into some antiseptic, even though there was literally nothing there, and dabbed it over his shin just to shut him up. "There. Happy?"
He didn’t even flinch. He just... stared at me. Quietly. Intently. Like I was some kind of puzzle he couldn’t figure out.
"You’re really gentle," he murmured, his voice lower now, softer.
I kept my eyes on his leg. "I’m trying not to break your ’internally bruised’ bone any further," I replied dryly.
"You care about me," he said, his voice suddenly playful again. "Admit it."
I froze. My fingers paused on the tube of ointment I was holding. Slowly, I looked up and met his eyes.
"No. I don’t," I said, trying to keep my voice firm.
But he just smirked, like he could see right through me. "Yes, you do," he said confidently. "You’re practically babying me right now."
I stood up so fast the first aid box nearly tipped over. "Get off my bed, Damon."
He leaned back on his elbows, making himself way too comfortable. "Why are you blushing then?"
"I’m not," I snapped, already feeling the heat crawl up my neck.
"Yes, you are," he chuckled, pointing shamelessly at my cheeks. "Look at you. All red and flustered."
"Because you’re annoying!" I shouted, flustered and angry and... ugh... embarrassed.
Damon laughed again, that deep, careless kind of laugh that always got under my skin. "You’re cute when you’re mad."
"I’m not," I snapped quickly, crossing my arms to hide how flustered I felt.
Damon didn’t even try to hide his smug grin. "You are. Your ears are red."
I groaned. Of course he’d notice. That stupid sharp alpha sense of his.
Without thinking twice, I grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it at him. He caught it mid-air with ease, like he was waiting for it. Still smiling. Still infuriating.
"Grumps is going to love it here," he teased, his voice full of warmth and playfulness.
I narrowed my eyes. "Get out, Damon. And take your doll with you."
But instead of walking out immediately, he moved slowly, almost deliberately. I watched as he turned to my bed, carefully placed the doll on my pillow, like it was precious, like it belonged there, and then turned to me.
"She belongs here now," he said quietly. "Just like you belong here."
That... was not funny. Not playful. That was something else entirely.
Before I could say anything, before I could even figure out what to say, he winked. Just a soft, confident little wink. Then he walked out, leaving behind a trail of calm and chaos all at once.
I stood frozen for a while. Just breathing. Just staring at the door he had walked out of.
Then, slowly, my gaze drifted to the doll on my pillow. The tiny thing with the fluffy brown hair, those curious eyes, the cheeky smile stitched on its face.
I stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. My fingers moved hesitantly, brushing the soft fabric of the doll’s dress. It felt warm from his hands. I picked it up gently and held it in both hands.
"Grumps," I whispered the name he’d given it.