Vivienne
I know I'm being a menace.
But what's new?
"Hi," I whisper, slipping into the empty seat next to Damien mid-lecture, iced latte in one hand, my sparkly notebook in the other. "Miss me?"
He doesn't look at me.
He doesn't have to. That little twitch in his jaw says enough.
"Vivienne," he mutters under his breath, eyes still on the board, "this is a med lecture."
"Mm-hm." I sip my drink and scoot closer until our arms are pressed together. "You're welcome."
"I didn't ask you to be here."
"And yet, here I am." I flash him a smile. "Like fate. Or glitter."
Damien groans quietly but doesn't move away.
He never does.
Around us, the lecture hall hums with the low buzz of gossip and whispered theories. I can feel the stares.
They're all wondering the same thing:
Are we dating?
No. Not officially.
Not technically.
But my lip gloss is on his water bottle, so do with that what you will.
A girl behind us whispers something. I catch the words "they're always together" and "god, they're hot."
I lean in dramatically. "People think we're dating."
He sighs. "People are idiots."
I giggle, resting my chin on his shoulder. "But I do look good next to you."
He finally glances at me—just for a second. But it's enough.
That tiny, reluctant twitch of a smile?
Yeah. That's my Roman Empire.
"Viv," he warns quietly, nodding toward the professor.
I sit up just a little straighter. But my hand still rests on his thigh under the desk. Comfortably. Like it belongs there.
He doesn't move it.
Twenty minutes into class, I'm doodling hearts with a stethoscope when Damien mutters, "Don't you have anything better to do?"
"Nope." I pop the 'p'. "My calendar said: ruin Damien's life, love him platonically, repeat."
He doesn't respond.
But I swear to God his ears go a little pink.
I lean in again. "Don't worry. I'll sit quietly."
He gives me a sideways glance. "You've said that before."
"Yeah, but this time I mean it."
I last six minutes.
Because some girl two rows down keeps giggling every time Damien answers a question.
And I don't like it.
So I grab his arm and rest my head against his shoulder—dramatically, for good measure.
He stiffens for half a second.
Then relaxes.
And leans the tiniest bit closer.
We sit like that for the rest of the lecture.
And if anyone's still wondering whether we're dating?
Let them.
Because I'm not in love with Damien Ashford.
Nope.
Not even a little.
…Okay maybe a lot.
But he doesn't need to know that yet.