“No laughing, Jocelyn.”
She did anyway.
Her giggles carried through the line and washed over Damian, easing the tension in his shoulders. Damn him, a grin lifted the corners of his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” She snorted. “I know it’s not funny.” Giggle, giggle, snort. Deep breath. “Do you wanna move in h—” Her question was cut off by another snort.
Damian shook his head and snorted right along with her, but not in amusement. “No.”
She cleared her throat and he imagined her pursing her lips to gain some composure. “Who knows; maybe nobody will care and you’ll be able to continue living your life without the nuisance of drooling women.”
Her words were meant as a comfort, but instead of calming him, they spiked a defensiveness that he didn’t understand—and was completely absurd.
“Come on, it’s not that far-fetched to think that I’m a great catch.”
Her laughter died a quick death. “Damian, you are a great catch!”
His chest puffed out a little and he was glad that she couldn’t see his peacock move.
“You’re every girl’s dream; handsome and sweet and funny and—” She trailed off.
“Yes?” A cheesy grin pulled back over his fangs.
Another snort; a scoff. “I’m your friend. Which means my job is to keep your feet firmly planted on the ground and your head small enough to fit through the door. You’re right; I’m sure it won’t be long before females are lined up around the block waiting to stroke your ego.”
“Not funny.”
She kept talking right over him. “If you ask, I’ll bet they’d stroke other things for you, too.”
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