CHAPTER 9
DEVON
DECEMBER'S TREATING ME like it hates me and I. Don't. Like. It.
I have an exam tomorrow. Twentieth-century cultural theory. I should be studying. My textbook is open on my desk, mocking me with its dense paragraphs about postmodernism and whatever the fuck Baudrillard was on about. My notes are spread out like a paper graveyard of my academic ambitions.
But can I focus on any of that?
Nope.
Because all I can think about is Ace.
Specifically, Ace's lips. And his hand on the back of my neck. And that tiny sound he made when I slipped him my tongue.
I groan into my pillow, loud and pathetic.
"Just ask him out already," Philip says from his desk, not even looking up from his laptop.
I turn my head just enough to glare at him. "I can't just ask him out."
"Why not?" Now he's looking at me, eyebrow raised, judging me with his eyes like the terrible roommate he is. "What? Can't pull an athlete?" He's grinning now, the asshole.
I flip onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, I can pull an athlete, alright. I just can't pull a straight athlete."
Philip spins his chair around to face me fully. "Fine, then. Suffer. Stay all worked up until you combust and fail all your exams in the process."
"I'm not worked up."
"You've been lying on your bed groaning for twenty minutes."
"That's just my natural state of being."
Philip snorts. "You're so full of shit."
The problem is, Philip's right about the worked-up part. I don't do this. I don't obsess over guys. I hook up, I have fun, I move on. Clean. Simple.
But when I can't hook up? When I literally can't have fun?
Ugh.
Ace is ruining me.
It's not even just the kiss, though the kiss is definitely living rent-free in my brain like a terrible tenant who throws loud parties at 3 AM.
It's everything. The way he blushes when I say something he finds outrageous.
The way he gets all flustered and tries to hide it.
The way he genuinely cares about this charity thing, about the shelter, about doing the right thing.
And then, there's his body. Yup. That body definitely doesn't hurt.
The body you can't have, my brain reminds me.
I sit up abruptly, rubbing my face. This is getting out of hand. I'm losing my shit thinking about a straight guy who kissed me once because we were bullied into it by a bird.
A bird.
This is rock bottom. This is what hitting rock bottom looks like.
"I'm going out," I announce, grabbing my jacket.
Philip doesn't look up. "Running away from your feelings?"
"Running away from my textbook. Big difference."
"Sure."
I flip him off as I leave.
***
THE UBER DRIVER doesn't try to make small talk, bless him, which means I can spend the fifteen-minute ride spiraling in peace.
Maybe I should just... let it go. Move on. Find some other guy to hook up with and get this stupid horny frustration out of my system.
Except I don't want some other guy.
I want the six-foot-five hockey player with the dark hair and the blue eyes and the stupidly perfect face who is straight and therefore completely off-limits.
The universe is a bitch.
The shelter appears through the window, and I'm already feeling better. Animals don't give a shit about your personal problems. They just want treats and belly rubs.
I wish the driver a good day and head inside, the familiar smell of dogs and disinfectant hitting me immediately. It's weirdly comforting.
Mama Paws spots me from behind the front desk. "Devon, honey! Twice in one week? I'm starting to think you like us."
"What can I say? You're growing on me." I lean against the desk. "Is a certain lady named Candy available for a walk? I need some quality time with my favorite girl."
Mama Paws looks me up and down, as if assessing if I'm sufficiently responsible, before she nods. "She's all yours, honey." She stands, grabbing a leash from the hook on the wall. "Let me show you how to handle her."
We walk back to Candy's kennel, and my heart does that funny melting thing when I see her. She's curled up on her bed, but her tail starts wagging the second she hears us approaching.
"Hey, queen," I coo, and she perks up even more.
Mama Paws opens the kennel and Candy comes out slowly, carefully, her nose working overtime.
"Okay, so with Candy, you want to give her verbal cues constantly," Mama Paws explains, clipping the leash to Candy's collar. "Let her know where you are, where you're going. She's good about following sounds, but sudden movements can startle her."
"Talk her through everything. Got it."
"Exactly. And watch for obstacles—curbs, steps, anything she might trip on. She's pretty good at navigating, but she relies on you to be her eyes."
I take the leash, crouching down to let Candy sniff my hand even though she definitely already knows it's me. "Ready for a walk, m'lady?"
Her tail wags harder.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Mama Paws pats my shoulder. "You're good with her."
"She's easy to be good with."
We head toward the exit, Candy walking close to my left side, her steps confident despite not being able to see where she's going. She trusts me completely, and it makes something warm settle in my chest.
We're almost at the door when I notice a man standing outside, peering through the window.
Long coat. Old-fashioned hat.
I've seen him before.
"Lucky you," I mutter. "You get to avoid the athlete circus today."
I push the door open and the cold air slaps me in the face. The man startles slightly, then nods at me before walking away.
Candy and I start down the sidewalk, her nose twitching at every new smell. I keep up a running commentary like Mama Paws taught me.
"Okay, girl, we're turning left. Curb coming up—step up. Good job. You're killing it."
The snow starts almost immediately, tiny flakes drifting down from the sky. It's the kind of snow that's pretty instead of annoying, the kind that makes everything look like a movie.
Candy doesn't seem to mind. She lifts her face toward the sky like she’s enjoying snowflakes landing on her nose.
"You like that? Yeah, I thought you might."
We walk for a while, just the two of us and the quiet streets. The cold bites at my face, but I don't care. This is exactly what I needed.
No Ace. No textbooks. Just me and my favorite dog taking a walk in the snow.
"You're lucky, girl," I say to Candy. "You don't have to deal with hot straight guys who kiss like they're trying to ruin your life."
Candy's tail wags.
"Exactly. You get it."
We turn a corner and I spot a coffee shop, warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk. My fingers are going numb.
"What do you think? Hot chocolate break?"
Candy doesn't object, so I take that as permission.
The barista doesn't even blink when I walk in with a dog. "She's so sweet! What's her name?"
"Candy. She's from the shelter down the street."
"Oh, I've heard about that place. You guys are doing the charity hockey game, right?"
"Yep. December twenty-third. You should come."
"I definitely will." She hands me my hot chocolate. "On the house. For the shelter."
I try to argue but she's not having it, so I accept defeat and find a corner table where Candy can lie down.
I sip my hot chocolate, watching the snow fall outside, and try not to think about Ace.
I fail immediately.
I sigh.
Candy shifts, resting her head on my foot, and I reach down to scratch behind her ears.
"I'm a mess," I tell her.
Her tail thumps once against the floor.
"Thanks for the support."
My phone buzzes.
Philip: did the dog fix you
Me: no but she helped
Philip: you're still gonna ask him out right
Me: absolutely not
Philip: coward
He's right, but I'm not telling him that.