CHAPTER 17
ACE
THESE EYES TELL a story, and I'm not sure I'll like the ending.
Devon’s stare is almost blank at first as he looks at me, unblinking, long lashes curling up slightly in the corners.
Have I ever noticed that before? It's such a minute detail, insignificant, but it's my life raft.
Because if it weren't for those lashes, I'd have no choice but to look at the rest of Devon's face and find out how he feels about me when he gets it.
It takes him approximately ninety seconds to get it. I can pinpoint the moment with surgical precision, the exact sliver of time when his pupils widen, just a fraction of a millimeter but enough for me to notice, and the longer lashes in the corner of his eyes move.
"You…" he starts, then pauses, sucking in his lower lip and scrunching his eyebrows like he's trying to solve a particularly complicated puzzle.
Meanwhile, I'm fighting hard to keep my mouth firmly closed, to stop myself from slipping into a tirade of excuses or apologies or a myriad of dumb shit that would inevitably come out if I let myself speak.
So I don't, giving him the freedom to form whatever opinion he's about to form before I dive into damage control.
"I'm sorry," he finally says, his expression frozen in concentration. "I'm not sure I follow."
I swallow around the pulsing lump in my throat. "I think you follow just fine."
Devon takes a few seconds to study my face, and I've never known time could move this damn slow. "Can you spell it out for me, just in case?"
I can't, actually. I can't, because my ears are ringing, and my brain fights to figure out why the bartender is shooting me weird looks and why I'm suddenly feeling every injury from the past five years flaring up in my body. Best I can do is, "Your roommate's mom really came through."
His eyes grow large now, larger than I've ever seen them, as the realization seems to fully settle in, and his next words are so quiet I barely catch them amidst the commotion of the bar around us. "Oh my God."
"Yeah."
"Oh my God."
"I know."
"I might pass out. I might die, actually. Tell Hendrix I loved him. You're the—" He stops. Swallows. Tries again. "The tailor guy."
"In my defense, I really did need a tailor."
Devon's mouth is hanging open. I didn't know people's mouths did that outside of cartoons.
"Santa hats," I add, like that helps. Like anything helps at this point. "For the charity game. They needed to fit over helmets and I couldn't find any that were big enough and I needed custom ones and—"
"You're rambling."
"I'm aware."
"You ramble when you're nervous." He says it like he's filing away information. Like he's taking notes. "That's interesting."
"Can we focus on the actual issue here?"
"Which is?"
"The fact that I've been—" I gesture vaguely between us, hoping the motion conveys everything I can't say out loud in a public establishment. "You know."
"Sexting me?"
I hastily glance around. "Jesus Christ, Devon."
"What? That's what it's called." He's staring at me with an expression I can't read. Not angry, not disgusted, just... processing. "How long have you known?"
"Just two days. I would have told you sooner if I knew.
I—" I cut myself off and run my hand through my hair.
Whatever was about to come out of my mouth next would technically be a lie.
That's not why I'm here. I'm here to be honest. "Actually, I wasn't sure whether to tell you or not.
Not until—" A still image of the video flashes through my mind.
I push it aside and shift in my seat. That might be a little too much honesty all at once. "So, yeah. Two days."
Devon's studying me now like I'm a specimen under a microscope and he's trying to figure out what species I am, and I'm doing my best to squash the need to fill the silence.
Finally, his head jerks back as if he's hit with a fresh revelation. "Hold on. Back up. The guy you told me about. From work. The one you couldn't stop thinking about. The one driving you crazy. That—" He pauses, and something shifts in his expression. "Was that me?"
The temperature suddenly rises by a million degrees. The bartender is hovering nearby, clearly eavesdropping. I shoot him a look and he retreats to the other end of the bar, suddenly very interested in polishing glasses.
Only then do I lean in, my face closer to Devon's, close enough that he can hear my whisper while still respecting his personal space. "Did you miss the part where I kissed you in front of fifty people?"
Devon's voice is anything but a whisper. "A bird made you do that."
I'm stuck somewhere between a chuckle that wants to break free and an impending heart attack as I lower my voice even more, my eyes darting left and right to make sure no one's within earshot. "A bird didn't make me get hard from it."
Devon inhales sharply. "You— what?"
"You heard me."
I'm not sure where all that bravado comes from, but I'm rolling with it.
Devon squints and says, "I'm not sure I believe you," and I swear there's a hint of a dare in his voice.
For some reason, I'm more than happy to take it. "Why do you think I stayed behind that bar for twenty minutes after?"
He shrugs and tries to pull an innocent face. He fails at it. "I thought you were being diligent. Committed to your bartending duties."
And now I'm on a roll. "I was committed to not showing the entire bar my erection."
A roll that apparently proves a bit too much even for Devon. "Holy shit," he says, our faces still only inches apart.
"Yeah."
"Holy shit."
"You said that already."
"It bears repeating. You— okay. Okay. Let me just— I need a second.
" Devon scrunches his forehead and I suck in my lips to stop myself from talking, determined to give him all the seconds he needs.
And he needs approximately three of them before his eyebrows shoot up and his eyes meet mine again.
"That picture I sent you. You…" He trails off, eyes dropping to my stomach like he's imagining what's underneath my clothes.
"You jerked off to a picture I sent you? Of my body?"
The wave of heat that rolls through me is hard to ignore, but I do my best. "Technically, I jerked off while imagining your face on that body I didn't know was yours. But yes."
"Oh my God."
"You keep saying that."
"Because my brain is broken! You broke my brain! I've been pining over you like an idiot, convinced nothing could ever happen given that, oh, I don't know, you're straight."
The last word sounds like an accusation, and I can't help but chuckle. "I never said I was straight."
"You literally said 'I'm straight' multiple times."
"Clearly I was working through some stuff."
Devon laughs. "You're unreal, you know that?"
"Is that good or bad?"
"I haven't decided yet." He picks up his whiskey, takes a long sip, and sets it back down. His hand is steady. Mine wouldn't be. "You could've just not told me. You could've kept your secret."
"I thought about it."
"Why didn't you?"
A slew of answers floods my brain all at once, all true.
Because it felt wrong. Because you deserve better. Because now I want you, and it's confusing, and I have no fucking idea what to do about it.
"You sent me a video," I say instead.
Devon goes momentarily still, like he's just learning that detail instead of remembering.
I continue. "And I started to watch it." My mouth is suddenly dry, like I've just swallowed a handful of sand with no chaser.
"I saw the beginning. Saw you—" I stop, because I can still see it.
That frozen frame. His hand on his cock.
The bead of precum at the tip. Jesus, I can't be thinking of that in public.
"But then I stopped, because you didn't know it was me you were sending it to.
And that felt..." I search for the right word. "Wrong."
Devon's quiet for a long moment, long enough that I start to panic. Still, I'm committed to giving him the space he needs and not straight up shouting, 'Just say something'.
Finally, he says, "You didn't watch it." Not a question.
I shake my head. "I deleted it."
And then, all that tension bursts like a flimsy soap bubble as Devon pulls a face and jerks his head back. "Umm, hello? My ego?"
I snort out another chuckle and run my fingers through my hair, some of the tension in my shoulders finally subsiding. "For what it's worth, it was hard," I say, then quickly add, "deleting it," as a devious smirk already forms on his face.
"Did you want to watch it?"
His eyes are locked on mine, intensity back.
"Yes," I admit. "I wanted to."
"That's probably the most decent thing anyone's ever done for me. Which says a lot about my dating history, but still."
"I'm not trying to be decent. I'm trying to be honest."
He stares into my eyes, his gaze swirling, intent, like he's reading me chapter by chapter, taking his time, giving me the longest silence yet.
And just as I think the conversation is over, that he didn't like what he found on the pages of my mind he somehow gained access to, he leans in, his face the closest it's been to mine since the kiss, and asks, "Would you like to see it in person?
" His voice is so low and deep it sounds like it's coming from someone else.
My heart does a thing. You know, the thing a heart does when it stops working, because I'm pretty sure that's exactly what's happening to me right now.
And now it's my turn to stay perfectly still, perfectly silent, and if it weren't for the music, the whole bar could hear the slush of my bloodflow.
This is it. One silly question, worded in an unserious way, the Devon way, hanging in the small pocket of air between us, demanding an answer that has the potential to change my entire life.
The word refuses to come out, so I nod. And nod again. Only then does my throat finally unclench enough for me to produce a, "Yes," even though it barely sounds like a word at all. "I think I'd like that."
The bar noise fades to static. There's nothing but Devon's face, and his eyes, and his mouth that's slowly settling into a smile, the kind of smile that promises things I'm not sure I'm prepared for but desperately want anyway.
"I have a roommate," he says, and my brain malfunctions.
Because why does that matter now? Why is he changing the subject? Why—
It takes me so long to realize what lies behind those words, it’s embarrassing. When I finally do, the world around me ceases to exist. "I don't," I finally say, my voice all rasp.
Things happen quickly then. Devon picks up his drink and finishes it in one go, then slides off his barstool and shrugs on his coat. Somehow I'm standing too, although I don't remember getting up. And I continue standing, unmoving, as Devon takes the first few steps toward the door.
He then looks over his shoulder and asks, "You coming?"
I let out a shaky exhale and follow him into the cold.