Chapter 9
The bar is getting louder, more crowded. Someone orders another round of drinks, and the table erupts in cheers.
“That goal in the second period was insane,” Marcus says, gesturing wildly with his beer. “I mean, you completely destroyed their defense, Dev.”
Devlin shrugs. “Team effort.”
“Don’t be modest,” another player—Jake, I think—laughs. “You skated circles around them.”
Lizzy leans into Marcus, her face flushed and happy. “Are you guys nervous about the game next week? I heard the other team is really good.”
“We’re better,” Jake says confidently.
The conversation flows around me. I don’t participate, just smile when appropriate and take small sips of my drink. Across from me, Devlin speaks only twice—brief, clipped responses when someone addresses him directly.
But he never stops staring at me.
“Did you guys hear about another biker incident?” one of the girls asks—Sarah. “That makes two in the last ten days.”
“Yeah, campus security sent out another alert,” Liz says, her expression sobering. “They’re saying groups of three or four guys on motorcycles, harassing students near the east side apartments.”
“That’s where Val’s building is,” Marcus points out, and suddenly everyone’s looking at me.
“I’m careful,” I say automatically. “I don’t walk alone at night.”
Devlin’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
The conversation shifts to other topics—midterms, spring break plans, someone’s upcoming birthday party. But I can barely focus.
The tension radiating from Devlin is suffocating, making it hard to breathe. And I’m dealing with my own inner conflict, this constant war between wanting him and hating myself for wanting him.
I also realize he’s angry with me, though I don’t understand why. Because I left the game early? Because I’m here now, surrounded by his teammates?
I can’t take it anymore.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, standing up. “Bathroom.”
Nobody really notices except Lizzy, who gives me a concerned look. And Devlin, whose eyes track my movement across the bar.
The bathroom is a blessed relief— empty, a moment to breathe. I lean against the sink and stare at my reflection. My face is flushed, my eyes too bright. I look like someone on the edge of falling apart.
I can’t go back out there. I can’t sit across from Devlin for another hour, feeling his eyes on me, drowning in confusion and want and anger.
I pull out my phone and text Liz: Not feeling well. Heading home. Sorry. Have fun! x
Then I slip out of the bathroom, keeping my head down as I navigate through the crowd toward the exit. I don’t look back at our table.
The night air hits me like a slap. I start walking, my hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets.
After a few minutes, that familiar feeling creeps up my spine. Someone’s following me.
I tell myself I’m being paranoid. That the biker incidents have me on edge. That I’m imagining things.
But part of me—a pathetic, desperate part—hopes it’s Devlin. That he followed me again, like he did a few nights ago.
I hate myself for hoping that. Why would I expect someone like Devlin Bower to always be running after me like a puppy? It’s ridiculous. Pathetic.
I pick up my pace anyway.
By the time I reach my building, I’m almost jogging. I fumble with my keys, get inside, lock the door behind me.
Safe.
And alone.
I’m disappointed that Devlin never showed up, which makes me feel even more pathetic. But at least I made it home without any trouble.
I need a shower. Need to wash away this entire awful evening, this constant tension and wanting.
The hot water feels incredible against my skin. I stand under the spray, letting it pound against my shoulders, my back, washing away the stress.
My hand drifts down almost of its own accord.
I touch myself slowly, carefully. I forbid myself from thinking about Devlin—about his hands and his mouth, the sounds he made.
But I can’t help it. The memories flood in anyway. His breath against my neck. The weight of him in my palm. The way he came apart so quickly, so desperately.
My other hand reaches back, fingers pressing, stretching. I’ve been doing this more often lately. I’ve even thought about buying a toy, something to make it easier, better.
But now… after what happened with Devlin… the thought feels shameful somehow. Too explicit. Too real.
I don’t understand why it feels that way. But it does.
I finish quickly, my breath coming in short gasps, Devlin’s name on my lips even though I hate myself for it.
After, I stand under the water for a few more minutes, letting it wash away the the shame, the confusion.
When I finally step out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel, I feel marginally better. Calmer, at least.
I shake my head to get water out of my ear, then shake my wet hair more vigorously.
The ends tickle my face and I giggle a little at the sensation, feeling almost normal for the first time all evening.
Then someone switches on the lamp on my desk.
A huge figure is sitting in my chair.
I scream.
“I see you’ve been having a marvelous time,” Devlin says irritably, “managing to escape from me twice and leaving me among those idiots at the bar.”
“I nearly had a heart attack just now!” My hand is pressed against my chest, my heart hammering wildly.
“Me too.” His voice sounds calm, but there’s something dark and desperate underneath.
His eyes drag slowly down my body, taking in the towel, the water still dripping from my hair onto my bare shoulders.
Oh… my. I’m half-naked.
Nervousness floods through me, and as always when I’m nervous, I start fidgeting with my fingers and talking too much.
“What are you doing here?” I go on the offensive to hide my embarrassment. “That lock is top-of-the-line! Sasha installed it himself just for me!”
“You won’t believe who recommended this locking system to him.”
Devlin stands up, and because of the shadows, his silhouette looks gigantic. I suddenly feel like I need to back away.
And for some reason, that gives me the most wonderful thrill—like warm needles running across my skin, creating pleasant waves of sensation.
He takes a step toward me.
I take a step back.
His eyes never leave mine.