Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
I knew he had to be just as hungover as I was, but he looked good, awake and clearheaded. The pants he wore were loose denim, faded. He wore dark boots and a plain white T-shirt. His muscles stood out in stark clarity, all that golden flesh looking even more tan against the crisp white of his shirt.
I ran my hands up and down my thighs, the keys digging into my skin. “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning that in more ways than one.
His brows were pulled down as if he was confused by my statement. “What are you sorry for?” His question was genuine, not like he was calling me out and wanting me to say what needed to be said.
I cleared my throat and looked down at the ground, kicking the gravel around with my foot. “I’m sorry I was going to leave without saying goodbye.” I looked up at him then, keeping the rest to myself. “I just feel like shit and want to get home, take a shower, and wash the booze off.” I grimaced, because that statement made me think of last night, how maybe he’d think I was talking about washing off him, his scent, the stickiness I felt between my thighs. And that was another hard reminder that we hadn’t used protection.
He was silent for a moment, his expression stoic as he stared right in my eyes.
I knew I probably looked uncomfortable. I felt nervous as hell, shifting on my feet, the gravel under my shoes moving around and seeming obscenely loud. I also kept fidgeting with the keys, the clank of the metal an annoyance I couldn’t stop. And I knew Devon took all that in by the way he glanced at my hand then down to my feet before lifting his eyes back to my face.
“Okay,” he said softly, but his voice was still husky, still hard and deep with whatever he felt. “I’ll talk to you later then.” He didn’t phrase it like a question. There was no mistaking that he would be talking to me later; that’s why he said it the way he had.
I licked my lips and nodded, but right now, I wanted to avoid Devon. I wanted to just bury my head under the covers and process it all.
I just wanted to get the hell out of here.
* * *
Devon
I watched as Leila left the parking lot, driving to her house. Things were fucked up between us. I felt it, like this other body between us, blocking me from getting to her.
I ran a hand over the back of my neck and exhaled roughly. I didn’t know how to handle this, how to make it better. I didn’t know what steps to take to try to rectify the situation. She needed time; I knew that. But the part of me that was in love with her didn’t want to give her that time. I wanted to show her what we’d done was right, that she was mine, that I wouldn’t let her go.
Yeah, things were tense and weird between us this morning, but surely she felt what I had, how good it had been between us, how right we were together?
I guessed I just had to show her, prove to her that we were made for each other. Although I could say the worst that could happen was she didn’t want me like that, that it had all been about the alcohol. But I’d look her right in the eyes and tell her that was a fucking lie. I felt her touch, saw the way she stared at me. It hadn’t been the booze talking. That had been her emotions speaking to me directly.
She could try to deny it, she could run, and she could hide. But I’d show her, prove to her that there was something more between us than just friendship.
And I wouldn’t stop trying until she fully understood that.
10
Devon
This was the third time I tried to call Leila after dropping her off at the bar to get her car. She acted weird around me, so fucking uncomfortable it made me twitchy.
I could relate.
What we’d done last night certainly changed things, but not for the worst like she no doubt thought. I felt closer to her now more than ever, sharing a part of myself with her I wanted to share for so damn long.
But her reaction the next morning made me feel like it was all one-sided. Surely that wasn’t the case? The way she’d given herself to me, the things she told me, all led me to believe that my feelings this whole time hadn’t been just me. But shit, maybe I was wrong.
I disconnected the call and unceremoniously tossed the cell on the table.
“Fuck,” I growled and ran a hand over the back of my head. I was frustrated—not with Leila, but with myself. I should’ve talked to her fully before we left, but she’d been in such a hurry to leave, the awkwardness coming from her so tangible I hadn’t wanted to make things worse.