Twenty
Wes
“So…has Devon seen Emma yet?” Natasha asks, taking a sip of her beer. She’s aiming for a casual air, but I can tell she’s dying for gossip.
“Yes.”
“ And…?”
“And what?” I arch an eyebrow at her, knowing my play at obtuseness will drive her mad.
True to form, she lets out an aggravated huff, tossing her head back. “ And , the guy you’re shagging, who happens to be your sister’s ex, is currently in Paris with your sister. How is this not newsworthy? ITV could make a reality show about the three of you.”
I roll my eyes. “First of all—he’s not with Emma. They caught up briefly. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
I nod. “He had a pain au chocolat.”
“That cannot possibly be the most interesting thing to come out of that conversation,” Tash argues.
I shrug. “Well, he didn’t exactly give me a word for word re-enactment, but by the sounds of things it was all pretty low-key.”
“Huh. Well, that’s a bit of a let-down.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “Why? What were you expecting?”
She sighs, flicking her dark hair behind her shoulder. “I don’t know…maybe that he’d confess the two of you have been bonking and she’d fly into a jealous rage.”
I roll my eyes. “When have you ever seen Emma get into any kind of rage? Besides, she dumped him. She wouldn’t care if he was with someone else.”
“Even if that someone was her brother?” Tash asks, brows raised.
I shrug. “Well, we’re not going to tell her, so I guess we’ll never know.”
“Still?” she demands. “You’re still planning to keep this from her?”
“It’s just sex. It’s none of her business.”
“Yeah, that’s what you said a month ago,” Natasha drawls. “Back then I believed you. Now…not so sure.” She gives a little shrug and takes a long sip of her beer.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“No, what’s ridiculous is you checking your phone every two seconds just to see if he’s texted.” She casts a pointed look at the phone in my hand and I immediately slam it face-down against the table, a guilty flush hitting my cheeks. “Admit it. You miss him.”
I scoff. “Please, I do not miss Devon. I miss the regular orgasms.”
Natasha arches a challenging brow and lifts her hand to gesture at our surroundings. “Okay, then. If an orgasm’s all you want then take your pick. Plenty of cute guys to choose from.”
I slump back in my seat and lift my pint to my lips for a generous swig. “It won’t be the same.”
She offers a wicked grin. “Yeah, because you fancy Devon.”
I gape at her. “I do not fancy Devon! How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”
She shrugs. “Okay, fine. Let’s put it to the test, shall we? How about you give me your phone for the next two days. We’ll see how you go without being able to text lover boy for the rest of his trip.”
“I need this phone for business,” I argue, hugging it to my chest protectively.
She rolls her eyes. “You do not. The only business-related thing you do on that phone is like the Instagram posts Oona puts up on the shop’s profile.”
“Social proof is important,” I argue.
“I’ll cover your likes,” she says with an eye roll.
“Fine.” I slap my phone into her outstretched palm. “But you’re totally wrong about this. I can absolutely go two days without texting Devon.”
What the hell was I thinking? I can absolutely not go two days without texting Devon.
In the past two months I’ve barely gone two hours without texting him, and now I’m supposed to last two days?
It’s only been a few hours and already my skin feels like it’s crawling off my body without the soothing presence of my phone.
I toss around in bed, punching at my pillow and yanking up the blankets, but I can’t get comfortable. It’s this time of night that Devon and I usually sext and I’m just now realising exactly how addicted I’ve become to that routine.
Christ, I’m addicted to everything about him. But that doesn’t mean I fancy him. His arse, maybe. And his lips. And his tongue. But Devon as an actual person? Nope. No way.
I roll onto my back and let out a groan of frustration, a hand coming up to scrub at my hair. My body has clearly begun to equate this time of night with orgasms, because I’m hard as stone right now, but the idea of tossing off without being able to share it with Devon feels…wrong, somehow.
Jesus, what is wrong with me?
My mood worsens when it occurs to me that Devon has probably started texting a bunch of dirty shit to me, not realising I don’t have my phone. I take a moment to wonder what he might be sending me, my mind snagging on my request for a video of him fingering himself.
I bolt upright, my lust-haze suddenly replaced with panic.
No. Nope. No way. As unlikely as it is that Devon would actually send anything X-rated via text, I can’t afford to take any chances.
If something like that were to fall into Natasha’s hands Devon would have no qualms about murdering me, burying me where no one would find me, and then digging me up a year later just for the satisfaction of shooting me all over again.
Okay, maybe he wouldn’t go to those extreme lengths, but I’m guessing that at the very minimum it would be a long while before I could expect another blow job from him, and that would be almost as bad.
Deciding to take some pre-emptive action, I jump out of bed and go in search of my laptop, finding it on the kitchen table. Then I type out a quick email.