Damaged Read Online Free Page A

trying to have coffee with me?”
    I slap his shoulder and shake my head. The smile on my face hasn’t faded since we got in the car. I pull into a parking spot and we both get out. I follow him to the second floor because I can’t let him think that I don’t want his coffee, not after that whole Starbucks comment. We chat about nothing and he teases me more. I tease back. It feels natural. It’s not fake and I’m not scared. I’m so sick of being alone all the time. One event set my life on a different course. I want to change it back. I want to pull out of this nose-dive and get on with things. I’m damaged goods and I know it.
    Peter reaches into his pocket and fishes out his keys. I watch him as he does it. His shoulders are strong and muscular. They lead into a hard torso with a trim waist. I think about running my fingers over his stomach, and feeling my fingertips trace the taut muscles.
    Peter looks back at me as he opens the door. He smiles, like he knows what I was thinking about, and says, “After you.”
    I step inside his apartment and see boxes everywhere. Some are unpacked, but most have the tops torn open, as though he was looking for something before he ran out the door. “Welcome to my shabby abode.”
    “It’s not shabby. And it’s so much nicer than the dump. You just need to unpack.” I glance around. There’s a couch shoved against the wall. Peter walks into a little kitchen off the living area and starts the coffee.
    “Are you hungry?” he calls to me. “Did you get to eat anything? You looked pissed when you walked out. I’m guessing that you didn’t get a chance.” Peter’s standing in the doorway. I turn toward him. He noticed a lot more than I thought.
    “It’s okay. The coffee’s fine.”
    “Ah, coffee ,” he says, and winks at me.
    “Not like that! Oh my God, you’re so...” I laugh and navigate my way through the boxes to the couch.
    Sticking his head out of the kitchen, he holds onto the wall and says, “So what? So lovable? So manly? So sexy? So—”
    “So irritating!” Of course I don’t mean it. Every time I stop smiling, he lights me up again like a Christmas tree.
    “Ah. I was hoping you were going to say ‘so sexy—totally beddable.’ I could live with that.” He winks and disappears back into the kitchen. Before I can reply, he tells me, “Well, I have some cold cuts in here. I’ll bring you a sandwich. Just give me a second.” I hear him moving around and decide not to protest. I am hungry. I didn’t get to eat anything except that wine, and wine as dinner usually isn’t a good plan.
    I make myself comfortable on his couch, kick off my heels, pull my feet under me, and curl into the arm of the couch. It smells like him. I rest my face against the soft suede and breathe the scent in. It’s musky and masculine. God, he smells good. If couches were sexy, this one would be a cover model. Pressing my nose to the arm, I inhale deeply.
    Peter chooses that moment to reappear, plate in hand, and stops. He’s staring at me with an amusedly shocked expression on his face. “Are you sniffing my couch?”
    “No!” I sit up fast, too fast. I panic. He’s staring at me like I’m a freak. I probably am , I mean I was snorting the guy’s couch. I need a diversion. Anything. I reach into my brain and pull out the only thing that’s there.
    Using my best bedroom voice, I wink at him and ask “Can I distract you with some coffee?”
    Peter’s face glows when he laughs. He takes the few steps forward and hands me the plate. I gratefully take it. For a brief moment, I consider pulling the sandwich apart and hiding behind the bread. The way Peter is looking at me doesn’t help the rosy glow on my face. I got caught sniffing his couch. God, I can’t think of anything worse than that. He probably thinks I escaped from the asylum.
    We stay quiet too long, which makes me nervous. Between bites, I ask him the basics. “So, you don’t sound like a hick, but I