CHAPTER 22
DEVON
I CHECK MY phone for approximately the eighty-seventh time in the last hour.
Time has stopped. Time is dead. I've entered some kind of temporal hellscape where minutes last years.
"You good?" Kayla asks, wiping down the bar next to me.
"Perfect. Great. Living the dream."
She gives me a look. "You've checked your phone like forty times."
"I'm expecting an important call."
"From your dick appointment?"
I choke on air. "What—"
"You're not subtle." She's grinning. "Also, you keep adjusting yourself."
"I do not—" I stop, because I absolutely do. "Okay, fine. Yes. Dick appointment. Very important dick appointment."
"When?"
"Seven." I check my phone again. "Which is in—" Math is hard when you're horny. "—thirteen minutes."
Becker, who's on bar rotation with Petrov, appears, sliding empty glasses across the bar. "What are we talking about?"
"Nothing," I say quickly.
"Devon's dick appointment," Kayla says at the exact same time.
"KAYLA!"
Becker's face lights up like Christmas morning. "Oh? Do tell."
"There's nothing to tell. I have plans. Normal plans. Very normal, non-dick-related plans."
Becker grins. "So, dick plans."
"I hate you both."
Petrov joins us, because apparently this is now a group conversation. "What is dick plans?"
"Devon has a date," Becker explains.
Petrov nods.
I bury my face in my hands. "I'm surrounded by nosy assholes."
"You love us," Kayla says.
She's not wrong, but I'm not admitting it.
I check my phone again. 6:49 PM.
I'm not going to make it. I'm going to die of terminal horniness before I can leave this bar.
Movement catches my eye, and I look over to see Becker at the far end of the bar, crouched down, whispering conspiratorially to Hendrix.
Oh, absolutely fucking not.
Hendrix is perched on his favorite spot, head tilted, listening intently to whatever nonsense Becker's feeding him.
I gasp, pressing my hand to my chest in mock offense. "Hendrix! Get over here!"
Hendrix ignores me.
"Forget it, Devon," Becker calls out, not even looking up. "It's my turn. We're bonding."
"You can't bond with my bird!"
"He's not your bird. He's Mama Paws's bird."
"HENDRIX!" I call out louder.
This time, Hendrix's head swivels toward me. He considers for a long moment, looking between me and Becker like he's weighing his options.
Then he spreads his wings and flies directly to my shoulder, landing with a self-satisfied ruffle of feathers.
"Ha!" I point at Becker triumphantly. "He likes me better!"
Becker looks genuinely betrayed. "We were having a moment!"
"You were corrupting him with your terrible influence."
"My influence is excellent, thank you very much."
Hendrix nuzzles against my neck, and I scratch under his chin. "That's right. Tell him, Hendrix."
"Fuck off," Hendrix sings cheerfully.
Becker bursts out laughing. "See? Excellent influence."
I ignore him, focusing on my feathered friend. "Okay, buddy. New phrase. Ready?" I clear my throat, speaking slowly and clearly. "Tip your bartender."
Hendrix tilts his head.
"Tip your bartender," I repeat.
"Kiss kiss."
"No, not kiss kiss. We've moved past that. New material. Tip—"
"What the puuuuck?"
"Close enough." I try again. "Tip your bartender, or else."
"Or else!" Hendrix screeches.
"Perfect! You're a genius. Now the whole thing. Tip your—"
The door opens and Hunter walks in, which means his shift now starts, which means—
"You're here!" I practically throw Hendrix at Petrov, who catches him reflexively. "You babysit now. Gotta go. Emergency. Bye!"
I'm already untying my apron, throwing it somewhere in the general direction of behind the bar.
"Your shift isn't over for another five minutes!" Kayla calls after me.
"Life or death situation!"
"Your dick appointment is not life or death!"
"IT IS TO ME!"
I'm out the door before anyone can stop me, already pulling out my phone to summon an Uber.
Twenty minutes later, I'm knocking on Ace's door.
The moment it opens, I forget how to breathe.
Ace is standing there, shirtless, wearing nothing but jeans that hang low on his hips, and my brain just... stops. Completely flatlines. Blue screen of death.
Because look at him.
His chest is bare, all defined muscle and smooth skin, pecs that look carved from marble but I know are warm and solid under my palms. His abs form perfect ridges that lead down in a V that disappears into his waistband like an arrow pointing to paradise.
His arms, those massive, sculpted arms that could probably throw me across the room without breaking a sweat, are just there, on full display, and I'm pretty sure I'm drooling.
Actually drooling. Like a cartoon character seeing a giant steak.
"Devon?" He sounds surprised, blinking at me like he's not sure I'm real. "I thought you were working until close."
I'm trying to remember how words work. How does language happen again? Mouth, tongue, vocal cords—right. "Switched with Hunter."
"Oh." He's smiling now, soft and warm, and it does funny things to my chest. "That's—"
"But hey, if you're busy—" I take a step back, making a show of it. "—I can come back another time. No big—"
His hand shoots out faster than I can track, wrapping around my wrist like I knew it would, and he yanks me inside with enough force that I stumble over the threshold and crash into his very bare, very solid chest.
The door's barely closed when I'm on him.
I don't plan it. Don't think about it. One second I'm standing there, and the next my mouth is on his and my hands are sliding over his bare chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.
He makes this surprised sound against my lips but recovers quickly, his arms coming around me, pulling me closer as he kisses me back with equal desperation.
We stumble across the living room, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches. My fingers trace the ridges of his abs, counting each one like I'm taking inventory. His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt tomorrow, and the thought makes me dizzy with want.
My hand knocks something off the coffee table. It hits the floor with a clatter that's way too loud in the quiet apartment.
"Shit, sorry," I mumble against his mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to glance down and make sure I haven't destroyed anything expensive.
It's just his keys, lying innocently on the hardwood. No damage. Crisis averted. But as I'm looking down, my eyes land on the couch where there's a torn cardboard envelope, the kind things get shipped in, and next to it, like evidence at a crime scene, like a confession written in cotton blend—
Sweatpants. Grey.
Brand new, tags still attached, grey sweatpants are lying on his couch, and my brain does about seventeen calculations in half a second, all of them leading to the same glorious conclusion.
For me.
I'm about to say something perfectly designed to make him blush, when Ace's palm clamps over my mouth, warm and slightly calloused.
"Don't you dare," he says, and with his free hand he snatches the sweatpants, holding them behind his back like if I can't see them they don't exist.
I'm laughing against his palm, the sound muffled, my shoulders shaking, and I raise both hands in mock surrender, trying to look innocent.
He slowly removes his hand from my mouth, watching me warily like I'm a bomb that might detonate.
"Fine," I say, trying and failing to keep a straight face. "I will not comment on how you specifically bought those to—"
"Devon."
The warning in his voice only makes me grin harder. God, he's so easy to rile up. So fun to tease. "Okay, okay." I pause, letting the silence stretch just long enough for him to think he's safe. "One question, though."
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not trusting me. Smart man.
"Why the hell aren't you wearing them?"
His face goes pink, that beautiful, telltale flush that starts at his neck and creeps up. "I didn't know you were coming."
I step closer, entering his space. "Oh, I'm coming."
And with that, I'm on him again, hands in his hair, mouth on his, and we're stumbling toward the bedroom like if we stop touching for even a second the world might end.
We crash through the doorway, bouncing off the frame, and suddenly we're both grabbing at clothes with frantic energy.
Pulling, tugging, desperate to get them off.
Ace is participating this time, as he all but tears my shirt over my head while I'm shoving his jeans down his thighs, my knuckles scraping against his hipbones.
My pants go next, Ace's hands surprisingly coordinated despite the urgency, and then we're both naked, pressed together, and fuck, the feeling of his skin against mine, no barriers, nothing between us, just heat and want and—
I expect him to hesitate. To second-guess. To need a pep talk.
Instead, Ace grabs my shoulders and throws me onto the bed.
I land with a bounce, the mattress dipping under my weight, and before my brain can catch up to the fact that he just manhandled me like I weigh nothing, he's crawling over me, eyes dark, and ohh.
Oh, I like this.
Ace when he's shy and uncertain? Cute as fuck. Endearing.
But Ace when he's confident? When he knows what he wants and takes it?
That just makes me fucking feral.
He leans down and kisses me once, hard and claiming, his teeth catching my bottom lip, and then his mouth is moving lower.
Down my jaw, my neck, my chest. He pauses to suck a mark into my collarbone, right where everyone will see it, and I gasp, my hips jerking up, seeking friction that isn't there.
His mouth keeps traveling south. Over my ribs, my stomach, my lower abs. He's taking his time, licking and kissing and tasting every inch of skin like he's mapping me out for future reference.
I’m already so hard it's almost painful, leaking against my stomach, and he's right there, his mouth inches away from my cock. But he's ignoring it completely, kissing my hipbones instead, then moving to my inner thighs.
The tease. The absolute tease.