Just the one hunk you need

Irene’s POV

I massaged my temples as I got off the cab, walking up to the entrance of my apartment.

On days like this, I usually forget I had an apartment, but maybe it was because of the loneliness.

Neil used to be at every corner of my apartment.

Last night, I hadn’t been drunk enough to give the wrong address to the cab guy. But I did. And to my parents', of all places.

Not that I had many other options to crash at.

The moment I shut the door behind me, my breathing slowed down as I remembered how suffocating it was to be seated across from the stranger I almost slept with for an excruciating ten minutes.

Leaning my weight against the kitchen island, I felt for my panties, my eyes shut tightly, my lips biting down.

“Shit. I'm wet. Are you a pervert, Rene?” I asked myself.

It wasn't my fault.

I didn't expect that level of handsomeness and the way his eyes seemed to undress me with every glance.

Get him out of your head, I lectured myself as I sauntered towards my closet to get changed.

Almost immediately, my phone beeped from my bag.

Dipping my hand in it, I squeezed my fingers around the phone, knowing who it was, before placing it against my ears.

“Hi, Mom," I drawled.

“How was it? Do you like him?” She asked, excitement ringing in her tone.

Rolling my eyes, I kicked off my heels.

“Seriously? We just met like few minutes ago.”

“He said he likes you already. Can you believe that?!”

I frowned, struggling to reach for the zipper of my top.

“He said that?”

“Your dad and his dad had this business meeting, and he said Damian was looking forward to getting engaged to you.”

“Isn't that great?!” She added.

Even when I made it clear to him that he was an arrogant asshole who's the last man on earth I'd get married to.

Was he not really getting the message, or does he want something more?

I could pretend I didn't know the 'something.' Or that I couldn't give it.

But what's the fun in giving in so easily?

“There's nothing to celebrate about. I don't like him," I told her, point-blank.

She was silent for a while, and I thought she had hung up.

“Mom?”

"Yes, honey. Sorry. I got lost for a bit, thinking of me and your dad...."

Pulling my skirt down, my grip on the fabric grew tighter with every passing second as I asked.

“What about you guys?”

“We barely dated. But when he popped the question, I just knew I wanted to get married to him.” She chuckled weakly, and I could sense it.

Even if she'd failed to admit to her true feelings all these years, I knew them. Felt it.

“But you didn't know if you'd be happy. Has it changed?”

She let out a short laugh.

“Now, let's stop being so mushy. I want you home for dinner. I made bagels, your favorite.”

See. She'd never say it. But I knew Mom had never been happy with Dad. Men like him, rich men, never brought women like her that kind of happiness.

It's all just about business transactions. Deals and money.

They treated relationships like a closed-and-shut case. No efforts. Lack of communication, intention—

Well, whatever.

“I'm not sure I’d be coming. Had a long day," I said.

“Come on, sweetie. I had Tracey make those milky puddings you like.” My mom convinced me in her extra sweet voice, and I smiled a bit.

“I'm not a kid anymore. I don't eat those.”

“But you're my baby. At least you can act like it for a few hours. Pretty please.” She pressed on.

Smiling, my chest swelled with affection.

My mom was literally just a girl who had her whole life ahead of her.

Why she'd waste it for this kind of marriage was beyond me. A mistake I never want to repeat.

“Ok fine. Be there by six. Love you," I said.

“Hugs and kisses, my princess. See you.”

The line beeped from her end as she ended the call, and I sighed.

Minutes before six, I slide into my maxi dress, my hair packed up in a rough bun, dangling earrings, and some light makeup.

My dad was a master at preaching decency. Mom wouldn't give a shit, except for the fact that she'd like it more if I stopped by the salon three times in a week.

Since my breakup I've only gone once in two weeks.

Not like I was sulking or anything. I've just been spending most of my time in front of my laptop watching out for the first update of fashion school openings.

Second. I've been trying to ignore the itch to stick my fingers in between my thighs because of him.

I said I'd think about his offer, but he's not even reached out for hours, not even a text.

Were we over even before we started?

I let the question hang in my head as I left for my parent’s house.

The minute I stepped into the house, I’m met with a grinning Tracey.

“Oh my, you look so snatched. Who's the lucky guy? I'm sure you didn't get all dressed up for a little dinner with us.” Tracey teased, and I cocked my head, smiling.

“Nice to see you, too, Trace.” "I said, as she opened her arms and I fell into them.

“That law school took a toll on you. I can feel your bones on me, baby.” She said, and I chuckled before releasing her.

“Dad says no pain, no gain. The degree is all that matters.” I repeated his words, a nasty feeling settling at the back of my throat.

Leaning closer, she lowered her voice.

“I say, he'd better watch out. Before a hunk snatches you up and tells you it's okay to trash that degree.”

I was about to laugh along with her when she nudged me, her eyes resting on a figure at the dining table.

That didn't look like Dad. And I barely had cousins dropping by the house.

"Well, would you look at that? He might just be that one hunk you need.” Tracey said, laughing under her breath.

My brow arched as he turned, the side view of his profile giving that déjà vu feeling.

“Honey, come here, quickly. Look who decided to join us for dinner.” Mom waved me over; her expression brightened.

Walking up to them, my breath skipped with every step I took.

“I told you. I'll eat with you, and you’ll enjoy my company. Didn't I?” He asked, turning to me, and I froze.

Damian.