Damian by Jessica Wood Read Free Book Online Page B

getting lost in them. They were now warm, forgiving, and soothing, and I realized how comfortable I was with him—comfortable enough to tell this stranger about my parents.
    “My dad’s from Iowa. He was on an annual company convention here in San Francisco, and for one of the company’s team development events, there was a wine and clay event at the pottery studio where my mom taught. My mom was one of the instructors that night, and according to my dad, it was love at first sight. My mom said that she only agreed to have dinner with my dad the next day because she took pity in him. Apparently, he was such a disaster on the wheel that he got more wet clay on his clothes and face than on his finished product.” I laughed at the story because my parents always laughed and teased each other when they told it. Tears began to well up in my eyes. “They were amazing together, and their love was infectious. Everyone who saw them together knew that they belonged together. And when I think back to all the distant memories I have of them, their love for one another was one of my most poignant of those memories.”
    “They sound like they were great parents,” he said softly.
    “They were the best,” I agreed. I quickly wiped my eyes and looked up at him. I felt a connection with him, so strong that I knew it was undeniable. A part of me wanted him to pull me into his arms and hold me. But if he did, I would never want him to let me go.
    Then I immediately shook the thought out of my head. Who was I kidding?
    “Anyway,” I said as my attention turned back to the photo in my hands, “this picture was taken when I was eight. It was the first time I was in front of a pottery wheel and my mom was teaching me how to center the clay onto the wheel. You know I always wondered what I was learning to make in that picture and whether it was one of the many pottery pieces I still have.”
    Damian moved closer toward me to look at the photo again from over my shoulder. “Center the clay?”
    “Yeah, that’s the first thing you have to learn to do on a pottery wheel. Making sure your clay is completely centered on the wheel while it’s spinning. It’s probably one of the most important things to master.” I looked at the photo and laughed as the memories of that day came back to me. “I was awful at it.”
    “I’m sure you were perfect,” Damian said encouraging.
    “I guess you of all people know what it’s like to be perfect,” I joked, trying to change the mood of the conversation.
    “Damn straight. Perfect is my middle name,” he said with a laugh. Then his face became more serious. “Hey,” he began, his voice surprisingly gentle.
    “Yes?” I asked hopefully. At that moment, our faces were only a few inches away from one another, and I wondered if he was about to kiss me.
    “Thanks for sharing that story with me,” he said almost in a whisper. “I don’t usually hang out with girls like this.”
    I smiled at him, unsure how to respond. I didn’t want to read too much into his words. I thought there was something special in this moment between us, but the mention of the other girls and my flashback to the gorgeous blonde he was with just the other night quickly brought me back to down reality. I wondered how many girls there were in this man’s life. I wondered if he was like this to all of them. He had warned me earlier that he wasn’t a sweet guy.
    Stop thinking too much , I told myself.
    “Yeah, well… So this is one of my favorite photos of me and my mom,” I said as I placed the photo back on the dresser.
    “Do you still do any pottery?”
    “Yeah, I do. Pottery reminds me of her.” I took one last look at the photo.
    “Do you have a studio?” He looked around my nearly empty apartment.
    “Yeah, I found a pottery studio close by that I can work out of. I actually get to teach every Saturday there, so it’ll be a nice change to a work week at a desk job.”
    “Nice. Maybe you can teach me a