Chapter 2 #2
“I heard you don’t want your tequila, Charlotte,” says the visitor. Daisy tries not to show that she’s noticed our mystery guest is talking to someone other than her, a girl no less, but her side eye indicates differently.
I half chuckle, half choke on whatever spit is caught in the back of my throat.
I pray the Irish fiddle music playing over the speakers camouflages the sound.
“Yeah,” I rasp. Rob moves forward to talk to folks across the table, so I sway my body to look at the stranger over Rob's back and finish my answer. “I’d rather not.”
The undeniably handsome visitor juts his head back towards the table. “Grab me the salt.” He smiles. “If you don’t mind?”
“No, no!” I feel flustered and my palms are starting to get clammy. I grab the salt and look for lime wedges, but Alex seems to have taken the one meant for me as a second chaser.
I hand the visitor the saltshaker and he eyes me patiently.
God, he’s beautiful. His jaw is chiseled, and his stubble can be seen in the light occasionally shining in from the street.
He has a sharp nose and full lips. I’m staring at them when he clears his throat for the second time that night, “Ehem, your drink, milady?”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “Oh, are we in medieval times then, milord?” I say as I hand over my shot glass, again behind Rob’s back.
“We can be wherever, and whenever you want to be, Miss Faure,” he says with a roguish expression.
My heart starts beating quickly again. He’d addressed me as Miss Faure in almost all our letters.
This is the person I was writing to. This is Devo?
I can’t comprehend that he could be both the artist that makes such provocative and addictive artwork, and the handsome, cheerful young man in front of me.
“May I take your hand, my dear?” he asks.
Confused, but in the trance of his multi-colored gaze, I do as he asks.
He grips my slightly clammy palm without a flinch.
He sets down the shot glass and picks up the saltshaker, then looks pointedly at the soft flesh between my pointer finger and thumb.
He catches my gaze and holds the question in his eye.
I nod, thinking I know what he’s asking, but still in shock.
He moves his head down towards the back of my hand, extended behind Rob, and my eyes widen.
Our guest looks up at me with his tongue at the corner of his lips.
I push myself to nod again and he slowly licks the area above the base of my thumb.
The warm wetness and his intentional eye contact have me squirming in my seat.
It only lasts for a few seconds but I’m taking a deep breath to still myself as he pours salt on the dampened area.
I look over at him as heat floods my cheeks and I realize he has to collect the salt in the same fashion.
Since our table’s post-shot chatty high is dying down, Devo efficiently licks the salt off my hand with a hard, flattened tongue and then throws his head back just enough to take the second shot.
His eyes never leave mine. Rob jostles and goes to lean back, so before he can cut our connection, Devo gives my hand a quick squeeze before dropping it with a wink.
I clamp my thighs tight, and stare at the other side of the booth, eyes wide and unfocused. What on God’s green earth had I gotten myself into?
The rest of the next hour saw multiple rounds of $5 beers (there’s a reason this is Copper Works’ go-to Happy Hour spot) as well as many shouted conversations from the group.
It also contained a good number of side-long glances from me toward the popular artist I’d been, let’s face it, obsessing over for months.
I cannot believe Devo is here. Am I sure it’s him?
Was the mystery artist of all those paintings, depicting women in ecstasy, the same person as the grinning man with the ruffled brown hair, sitting just two feet from me?
He can’t be much older than me either. I try to act normal and speak with the people in my earshot, but I’d be lying if I said I’m fully engaged.
Every time Daisy puts her hand on Devo’s arm and laughs, I notice.
Every time his head turns in my direction, I notice.
Every time anyone at the table addresses him, I tune in to the best of my abilities.
What had I missed before the trip to McArthur’s?
Had he introduced himself to everyone back at Copper Works? What had he said?
Out of the blue, someone snaps their fingers in my face and breaks my long contemplative stare-off with the center of the table. I release my bottom lip from between my teeth and look up at Miles, who’s reaching over Minnie to get my attention.
“Hey there girlie!” he yells over the music.
“You’re in your own little world again! We’re here to be social!
” He mock-shimmies his shoulders. The girl he’d left the booth for is nowhere to be found.
Apparently, he’d struck out his first go at bat.
Lucky for him, there’s a benchwarmer ready for her chance on the field: plied with a few shots, Minnie is looking up at Miles as if she’d like to run her hands up his shirt.
Miles finally sees what I see and engages with the shy young beauty before him.
He sweeps into a partial bow and holds out a hand to her.
“May I have this dance, Minnie Mouse?” She swats his chest and giggles in the manner of a girl with a crush.
He sweeps her away into the crowd of bar patrons beginning to break it down to the late 2000s hit, “Drop it Like it’s Hot. ”
“Hey, can I scoot out?” Rob yells into my ear from behind me.
“I’ve gotta use the little boys’ room.” I nod my head in response and begin to move out of the booth without turning around.
My hypervigilance on Devo’s position makes it so that my entire body stiffens at the realization that we’re about to have no one between us.
If it weren’t for the few rounds of drinks I’d consumed already, I might have joined Miles and Minnie in the dancing area to avoid Devo.
But I’m feeling just a little bit brave and so I slide back into the booth.
Once I’m settled in the middle of the faux leather seat, I sweep my eyes up to the left and almost immediately meet Devo’s gaze.
God, his multicolored eyes are... bewitching.
Not a word I use to describe most men. I hold his stare for long enough to mean something, but not long enough to really figure out what it is.
I stare down at my lap and take a deep breath—drawing focus by drumming my fingers on the waxy wooden edge of the table.
To my nerves’ dismay, I notice that the rest of our party is also choosing this time to transition onto the dance floor.
The other side of the booth is ejecting person by person, as if from a pez dispenser.
I look up to assess the exodus and see that Daisy is looking between the last few people scooting out of the booth and Devo’s face. He’s only looking at me. I have a feeling Daisy’s not going to feel great about me after tonight’s events.
Finally concluding that Devo’s attention is lost to her, Daisy also scoots her way out the other side of the booth.
And… we’re alone. In the corner of a dark bar.
While a distracted crowd dances between the tables and chairs in front of us.
Car headlights occasionally flash through the windows, highlighting the sharp planes of Devo’s face as he assesses me, leaning back with his arms behind his head.
The few times Devo the artist had been pictured next to a Muse Painting, his face had always been partially obscured.
At the start of his fame, he’d always been turned away from the camera, or was pictured pulling the brim of a baseball hat down low over his face.
In the last few reveals, he’d stood beside his painting, wide stance, arms crossed, head down, with a jagged black mask covering the lower half of his face.
I’d never been able to find a picture of him looking up, and believe me, I’d tried.
Devo had always remained unidentifiable.
Now, as I look up at him, I think what a shame it is that a man with such magnetic features feels the need to cover his face. I clear my throat.
“So, um, hi.” I awkwardly extend my hand, the very one he’d had his mouth to earlier this evening. “I’m Charlotte.” He takes my hand in his warm, rough grip and gives me a genuine grin.
“Hi, I’m Devlin,” he projects in a deep voice, making sure I can hear him above the cacophony of noises around us.
He leans in closer, still gripping my hand.
“And I think it’s a little late for a handshake, no?
” I can feel the heat creeping up in my cheeks again and hope he can’t see it in the dark room as he pulls away and drops my hand.
“You’ve already introduced yourself!” he almost has to yell back.
Devlin leans back and crosses his arms, taking in the full view of my profile.
His eyes run up from my breasts, the side of my neck and then drink in my full face.
It feels like he’s memorizing me. I feel exposed.