A Little Too Comfortable

By Friday morning, I had come to one important conclusion.

Pretending to be Damien Cole’s girlfriend was exhausting.

Not because of the hand-holding, the fake smiles, or the occasional public display of affection. Those were manageable.

The real problem was Damien himself.

He had apparently decided that being my fake boyfriend gave him unlimited permission to disturb my peace.

My phone buzzed while I was getting dressed.

Damien: Good morning, beautiful.

I stared at the message.

Me: Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?

Damien: Your best friend is busy being an excellent boyfriend.

Me: He's doing a terrible job.

Damien: That's hurtful. I haven't even brought you breakfast yet.

I was still typing a reply when another message appeared.

Damien: Check outside.

I frowned and walked to the window.

Sure enough, Damien's car was parked across the street. He leaned against the driver's door, holding two takeaway cups and a paper bag.

I shook my head.

Of course.

I grabbed my bag and hurried downstairs.

“You know,” I said as I approached him, “most people simply send a good morning text.”

“Most people aren't dating you.”

“Fake dating me.”

“Details.”

He handed me one of the cups.

“Coffee. Two sugars, a little milk.”

I accepted it, surprised he remembered.

“And what's in the bag?”

“Breakfast.”

I opened it and found a sandwich and a small container of fruit.

I looked up at him.

“Are you trying to make me gain weight so nobody else will want me?”

He laughed. “You're welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“That's better.”

I took a sip of my coffee.

It was exactly how I liked it.

Annoyingly thoughtful man.

“So, what's the plan today?” I asked.

“Dinner with some friends tonight. A couple of people I haven't seen in a while.”

“Are these friends aware that we're pretending to be in love?”

“They will be after tonight.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That sounds suspiciously like a trap.”

“It's dinner, Ava. Not an interrogation.”

“With you, I can never be sure.”

He opened the passenger door for me.

“Get in, sweetheart.”

I gave him a look.

“Don't start.”

He grinned. “You're the one who agreed to this.”

---

The restaurant was lively when we arrived that evening.

Damien had chosen a place with warm lighting, soft music, and enough people to make it feel like an ordinary Friday night. His friends were already seated at a table near the windows.

There were three of them.

Marcus, Daniel, and a woman named Claire, whom I had met briefly at Damien's birthday party the previous year.

“Finally!” Marcus exclaimed when we approached. “The lovebirds have arrived.”

I smiled politely.

“Blame him. He takes forever to get ready.”

Damien pulled out my chair.

“She's been complaining about me since we left her apartment.”

“Because you were driving like you had somewhere important to be.”

“I was driving normally.”

“Your definition of normal needs medical attention.”

The table erupted in laughter.

Daniel raised his glass.

“To Damien finally settling down.”

“Don't celebrate too early,” I said. “He's still under observation.”

Damien leaned closer to me.

“Keep talking, baby. You're making me look bad.”

I smiled sweetly.

“Good. It's one of my talents.”

Dinner began with harmless teasing and stories from Damien's university days. Marcus told an embarrassing story about Damien getting locked out of his apartment after a party.

Apparently, he had spent nearly an hour trying to convince the security guard that he lived there.

I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my drink.

“You're enjoying this too much,” Damien muttered.

“I'm learning new things about my boyfriend.”

“I'm going to regret introducing you to these people.”

“You should have thought about that before making me your girlfriend.”

Claire smiled at us.

“You two are actually adorable together.”

I nearly choked on my water.

Damien rubbed my back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Thank you. I've been trying to tell her that.”

“Don't encourage him,” I said.

Claire laughed. “How long have you been together?”

I glanced at Damien.

There was our question again.

“A few weeks,” he answered smoothly.

“And how did you finally get her to agree to date you?” Marcus asked.

Damien looked at me.

“Persistence.”

“Annoyance,” I corrected.

“Same thing.”

The conversation moved on, but I noticed Claire watching us with a thoughtful smile.

A few minutes later, she leaned toward me while Damien and Marcus argued about football.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends. Is it embarrassing?”

“Not too much.” She lowered her voice. “Were you and Damien always this close?”

I considered the question.

“Yes. We've known each other since we were kids.”

“That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“The way he looks at you.”

I blinked.

“What way?”

Claire shrugged, smiling.

“Like you're the only person at the table.”

I glanced toward Damien.

He was laughing at something Marcus had said, completely unaware of our conversation.

I looked back at Claire.

“That's probably because he knows I'll embarrass him if he ignores me.”

She laughed.

“Maybe.”

I dismissed the comment almost immediately.

Damien had always paid attention to me. That was what best friends did. There was nothing unusual about it.

At least, that's what I told myself.

---

After dinner, everyone stepped outside.

Marcus and Daniel were discussing another gathering, while Claire checked her phone.

Damien slipped his hand into mine.

I looked down at our joined hands, then at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Then why are you holding my hand?”

“Because you're my girlfriend.”

“Your fake girlfriend.”

He leaned closer.

“Do you want me to announce that to everyone?”

I tightened my grip on his hand.

“Don't you dare.”

He laughed.

Before I could respond, I noticed someone standing near the restaurant entrance.

A woman in a dark coat.

She wasn't looking at me.

Her attention was fixed on Damien.

For a brief moment, something changed in his expression. His smile faded, and his shoulders stiffened.

“Damien?” I whispered.

He turned toward me.

“What?”

“Do you know her?”

He glanced in the direction I had been looking.

The woman was already walking away.

“I don't know,” he said.

But his answer came a little too quickly.

I studied his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Probably someone I used to know.”

“That's reassuring.”

He squeezed my hand.

“Come on. I'll take you home.”

I looked back once more, but the woman had disappeared into the crowd.

I didn't ask another question.

Not because I wasn't curious.

Because I was beginning to understand that Damien had a talent for keeping certain things to himself.

---

He drove me home in comfortable silence.

When we reached my apartment, I unbuckled my seat belt.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You're welcome.”

“And for breakfast.”

“Anytime.”

I opened the door, but his voice stopped me.

“Ava.”

I turned.

“Yeah?”

“Did you have fun tonight?”

I smiled.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Good.”

There was something almost hesitant about the way he said it.

I tilted my head.

“What's with the serious face?”

“Nothing. Just making sure you're okay.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I'm fine, Damien. You don't have to keep checking on me every five minutes.”

“I know.”

“Goodnight, boyfriend.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

I shut the door before he could see me smile.

Inside my apartment, I dropped my bag on the couch and kicked off my shoes.

My phone buzzed.

For one hopeful second, I thought it was a message from Ethan.

It wasn't.

The notification came from an unknown number.

Unknown: You looked comfortable tonight.

I frowned.

Another message arrived.

Unknown: Damien has always been good at making people feel safe.

My stomach tightened.

I typed a reply, then deleted it.

A third message appeared.

Unknown: Just remember, Ava. You don't know everything about the people closest to you.

I stared at the screen.

The woman outside the restaurant came back to mind.

Then Claire's comment.

The way he looks at you.

I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away.

This was getting ridiculous.

I had agreed to pretend to be Damien's girlfriend, not become part of some mysterious game involving anonymous messages and people from his past.

I saved the screenshots and placed my phone on the coffee table.

A moment later, it rang.

Damien.

I answered.

“Are you psychic? I was just thinking about you.”

“That's a dangerous habit,” he replied.

I smiled faintly.

“What's up?”

“Did you get inside safely?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Very funny.”

“I'm alive, Damien. You can relax.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he asked, “Did something happen after I left?”

I glanced at my phone.

“Actually, someone just sent me another message.”

His voice changed immediately.

“What did it say?”

I read the messages aloud.

Silence followed.

“Send me the screenshots,” he said.

“Damien, who is doing this?”

“I don't know yet.”

“Do you think it's connected to Natalie?”

Another pause.

“Possibly.”

I rubbed my forehead.

“I'm beginning to think your past needs its own security team.”

Despite everything, he chuckled.

“I'm working on it.”

“Please do. I'm starting to miss the days when my biggest problem was your terrible driving.”

“I'll try to be less terrible.”

“Impossible.”

We exchanged goodnights, and I ended the call.

For several minutes, I sat staring at the messages.

I had no idea who was watching us or why they were so interested in our relationship.

But one thing was becoming clear.

Whatever Damien had left behind in his past, it wasn't finished with him.

And somehow, I was being pulled into it.