Twenty-Four
Wes
“So, what are you getting Devon for Christmas?” Natasha asks, scooping the foam from the top of her hot chocolate and spooning it into her mouth with relish.
We’re supposed to be Christmas shopping today, but so far all we’ve managed is a scarf for Tash’s mum. It took so long for her to decide which one to buy, by the time we left the store I was in dire need of refreshment.
I shrug, tearing a chuck off my choc chip muffin. “I have no idea. What do you get the guy who has a thousand watches?”
Her brows shoot up. “Wow. Okay.”
I stare at her, my brows drawn together in confusion. “What?”
She sets her teaspoon down and leans forward, eyeing me intently.
“Well, I just figured you’d start sputtering that you guys are only shagging so why on earth would you even consider getting him a present.
I mean, would I get a present for any of the guys I hook up with?
No, of course not! So why am I even asking you? ”
I just stare at her, unimpressed. “Were you attempting to channel me with that tirade? I don’t think you got the inflection right.”
Tash just rolls her eyes.
“Look, I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m not sure if ‘just shagging’ is really the right description anymore.”
“Do go on.” She picks her spoon back up and resumes her devourment of the hot chocolate foam.
“Well, we’re basically shagging exclusively. And we’re sleeping at each other’s places. And spooning. And we had brunch with his sister. And we hang out and watch TV…”
“Okay, so you’re boyfriends.”
“Whoa!” I hold my hands up to ward of that crazy notion. “We are not boyfriends.”
“Are you going to tell Emma?” she asks curiously.
“Yeah, of course. She’s back next week for Christmas, we’ll tell her then.”
Tash shrugs. “Sounds like you’re boyfriends to me.”
“Clearly you have no idea what a boyfriend is if you think that’s what we are.” I tear off another chunk of muffin and stuff it into my mouth.
“So, do I get to sit behind you while you mould your clay?” I ask eagerly as Devon guides us into a quiet laneway where I can only presume his sister-in-law’s pottery studio is located.
Devon lets out a soft chuckle. “Um, no. I’m pretty sure we’ll have separate seats. And we can’t have sex while The Righteous Brothers play in the background, either. There’ll be other people there.”
I groan. “Then what’s the point of even coming here?”
Devon shrugs. “We’re doing a favour for Millie. She needs students. And we need Kira to keep her mouth shut about us for a little while,” he reminds me. “Besides, it’ll be fun. Don’t you want to make a mug?”
“Not really. I have mugs at home. They came ready-made.”
Devon just rolls his eyes. Grabbing my hand, he tugs me inside the studio. “I know it’ll be hard, but maybe you could try not being an arsehole for five minutes.”
I squeeze his hand and offer a teasing smile. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”
“Hey, Dev!” A stunning woman with a tall, curvy frame, flawless brown skin, and a mass of tight, springy dark curls falling all over her head rushes towards us, flashing a bright smile at Devon. She wraps him in a tight hug, prompting him to release my hand so he can hug her back.
“You must be Wes,” she says as she breaks the hug and turns to me.
My face splits into a broad grin. “You must be Millie.” I cast a sideways glance at Devon, offering an amused smirk. “Looks like both the Montgomery siblings are batting above their average.”
Devon gives a wry shake of his head. “Wow. A whole thirty seconds. I think that’s a new record.”
Millie, meanwhile, lets out a soft chuckle, her eyes alight with amusement. “I like this one.”
The air in here is stifling compared to the December chill outside, so I shrug out of my coat and wait for Devon to do the same before taking them both over to a coatrack propped in the corner.
Millie arches an eyebrow at the knitted jumper I’m wearing, perhaps recognising it as one of Devon’s, before offering a soft smile and guiding us to a pair of stools, each set in front of pottery wheels.
“Thanks so much for doing this. These classes are still a pretty new thing, and it just adds more legitimacy when I have more than one or two students.”
It turns out I’m not naturally gifted at every form of art. I’ve never tried pottery before, always preferring to lean into my strengths of painting and drawing, and now I can see that that was definitely a good call.
“You’re not moving fast enough,” Devon says. “It’s all in the hands.”
“You’ve never complained about the speed of my movements before,” I tease. “Or how I use my hands.”
I grin as Devon’s face burns furiously red. “Wes, people can hear you,” he whispers.
“Oh.” I glance up at our surroundings, as though I’m surprised to find other people there.
Millie has ducked out for a moment, but there are two other people in the class—a couple I’m assuming—and they’re definitely sneaking covert looks at Devon and me as they attempt to mould their clay.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so cryptic.
I was making a veiled reference to our sex life.
Which is pretty epic if I do say so myself. ”
“I am going to murder you,” Devon growls.
I smirk at him. “That threat might actually have some merit if I thought you could last a day without having my cock in your arse.”
The next thing I know, there’s a glob of clay flying at me, hitting me square in the face.
I stare at Devon, who doesn’t seem to be able to hide an incredibly self-satisfied grin.
“Well, that was mature,” I deadpan, rubbing the back of my forearm over my face to clean off some of the clay, getting gunk all over my borrowed jumper.
“Hey, that’s my jumper!” Devon cries, clearly aghast.
I offer a savage grin. “Maybe you should have thought of that.”
He narrows his eyes at me, and this time I see it coming. I manage to swerve out of the way, just missing another clump of clay that goes sailing past my shoulder.
Okay, this means war. I delve my hands into the wet clay in front of me, getting them all good and messy, and then I shift to the side and dive on Devon, shoving my hands in his hair. “Oh, no!” I cry in a teasing voice. “Not the hair! Not that gorgeous hair!”
Devon struggles underneath me for a moment, before finally managing to dislodge my weight, rolling us over so he’s straddling me, my arms pinned above my head.
“Oh my god!” Millie cries, suddenly reappearing in the studio. “What the hell is going on in here?”
“He started it,” I say, with a nod at Devon.
“Tattletale,” he grumps, clambering to his feet and allowing me to stand.
“I don’t even want to know,” Millie says, looking exasperated.
She turns to me, pointing at the stool I’d been sitting in.
“You—sit down and behave for the rest of the class.” Then she rounds on Devon.
“And you—you can sit way over here.” She grabs the edge of Devon’s pottery wheel and drags it over to the other side of the room, next to where the other couple are sitting.
They’re no longer being discrete about looking at us; they’re now positively gaping.
“I cannot believe I have to separate two grown men like I’m a fucking kindergarten teacher,” Millie mutters.
Reluctantly, Devon and I move to our assigned stools while Millie resumes her instruction of the class. I find it hard to concentrate, however, my eyes constantly roaming to where Devon is sitting, far away from me.
Finally, I crack and grab my phone from my pocket to send a text, not caring that I’m getting the screen or my jeans all dirty.
Me: This sucks. I can’t believe you got us in trouble with the teacher
Devon Montgomery: You’re the one who tackled me!
Me: I don’t like this. You’re too far away
Devon Montgomery: I’m literally in the same room as you
Me: I don’t like when we’re in the same room and I can’t touch you ??
Devon glances up from his phone and catches my eye; the smile he offers is so sweet, I know he feels the exact same way about the situation as I do.
He casts his eyes about the room, obviously noting that Millie is currently occupied with helping one of the two other students with her piece, and then stands from his stool, making a quick break across the room to sit next to me.
He pulls his old stool up to my wheel and starts helping me to mould my clay.
“Rebel,” I murmur wryly. “You really are bad to the bone these days, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes.
I shake my head. “What’s happened to you, Devon Montgomery? Sneaking around behind the teacher’s back? Instigating clay fights? Stealing t-shirts? Where is this wild behaviour coming from?”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “It must be certain n’er do wells I’ve been consorting with lately. Clearly, they’re a bad influence. ”
“They sound like fun,” I tease, tapping his knee with my own.
“Sometimes,” he allows, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Most of the time they’re a fucking nightmare.”
“Oh, god. Seriously?” Millie groans. She’s obviously finally clocked that Devon has relocated from his time-out.
“What?” I ask with a shrug. “You told me to behave. I’m behaving. He’s the one who couldn’t stay away.”
Devon narrows his eyes at me. “You’re such a snitch,” he hisses.
Millie just shakes her head in utter bewilderment. “God, you two are…I don’t even know.” She finishes with a loud huff, as though the mere thought of trying to work us out is exhausting.
“You don’t happen to have “Unchained Melody” on a playlist somewhere, do you?” I ask.
Millie rolls her eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”
When the class ends, it seems as though the other couple can’t get out of there fast enough. Devon and I, meanwhile, stay back so we can clean ourselves up a little in the studio’s bathroom.
“Uh…what are you doing?” I ask as Devon starts taking off his jumper. “Not that I’m complaining, but I’m pretty sure your sister-in-law would have a heart attack.”
Devon lets out a soft chuckle. “Believe it or not, I’m not propositioning you right now.”
I offer a wry smirk. “Well, that’d be a first.”
“I need to get some of this shit out of my hair,” he explains, nodding to the basin in front of us.
“What, you don’t like the new look?” I tease. “It’s very Terracotta Army chic.”
He rolls his eyes. “Just help me get this out.”
I sigh. “Fine. But you should know I had much better plans for this clean up. Plans that involved hot water and your naked body all covered in suds and a blow job…”
“Who was giving who the blow job?” he asks, clearly curious.
“I guess we’ll never know now, will we?” I taunt before guiding his head down to run the cold water from the basin over his clay-matted hair.
“You’re such a bastard,” he grumbles.
“Please tell me you guys didn’t have sex in my bathroom,” Millie groans when I finally emerge from rinsing as much of the clay from Devon’s hair as I could manage.
You’d think he’d be grateful after that, but no, all he did was glare at me and tell me to get out while he tried to dry it under the hand-dryer.
I let out a soft chuckle. “The idea definitely crossed my mind, but no—we were getting some of the clay out of Devon’s hair.”
She looses a breath of laughter, shaking her head. “Seriously, the two of you…I didn’t really understand it when Kira tried to explain it to me, but I get it now.”
My forehead creases in confusion. “You get what?”
She offers a soft smile. “How perfect you guys are for each other.”
My brows shoot up to my hairline. “Um…I think the word you’re looking for is ‘dysfunctional’.”
Millie just shakes her head. “Nope. Don’t get me wrong, you guys definitely have a very… unique way of expressing your affection for each other, but it’s obvious you have a pretty strong connection. And it’s obvious that you make Devon happy. Happier than I’ve seen him with anyone else.”
“He calls me a prick every opportunity he gets,” I point out sceptically.
“Well, you are a prick, Wes,” Millie says matter-of-factly, as though she’s known me for far longer than a couple of hours. “But trust me on this. I’ve known Dev a long time and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
I have no idea what to say to this. She seems to be implying that there’s much more to this relationship and to Devon’s feelings for me than just sex.
But that isn’t really possible; he’s already told me that he’s heteroromantic, so as much as he might love being with me physically, I know I can’t expect anything more than that, even if I am starting to want it.
My conversation with Natasha from earlier today comes rushing back into my brain but I shake it loose. We’re not boyfriends. We can’t be.
“So, thank you,” Millie says with a soft smile and a part of my shoulder, snapping me out of my reverie.
“For what?”
“For making Devon happy. After everything he’s done for us that’s all I really want for him.”
“Everything he’s done?”
“With helping us to get pregnant,” Millie explains. My jaw must practically hit the floor because Millie rushes to clarify, “Eww, no, not like that. He’s helping us financially. There’s no way we’d be able to do this without him.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that,” I muse.
“Didn’t know what?” Devon asks as he emerges from the bathroom, his hair now dry and styled as neatly as he could manage in the circumstances.
“That there was a difference between glossy and matte glazes,” I say, not entirely sure why I’m holding back.
Devon’s brows draw together in puzzlement. “You have a Visual Arts degree and you didn’t know there’s a difference between glossy and matte glazes?”
I shrug. “Guess I was sick that day.”