Chapter 18
ENEMY IN THE MIRROR
Eight years ago, I kissed Devon Thatcher.
Before Devon, I’d never kissed anyone. I was petrified.
Even then, I expertly concealed my feelings, so he had no clue he was giving me my first real kiss.
My stupid teenage brain felt something like Drew Barrymore.
The way his lips teased mine, gentle and coaxing, sent a jolt of pure desire through me.
As he pressed his tongue into my mouth, dragging rough palms up my sides, I mapped out the next few months.
We’d work together, but at night he’d be mine.
I was fully prepared to lose my virginity in the back of that bus. Hell, I wanted it.
Any semblance of a romantic first time was tossed right out the window because it was him. Despite being a stranger, he made me feel so unbelievably safe, and I knew instinctively he wouldn’t hurt me.
But that was nearly a decade ago, and that same fear surges up my throat with a vengeance.
While I’m experienced enough, versed in how things play out, I can’t help but hope this kiss changes things. If it can push through the wrought iron gate separating us, maybe we’ll stop trying to hurt each other.
I hate how he’s treated me, but I still romanticize him—I still dream of an alternate reality where he didn’t care about our age gap and chose me.
He nudges my nose again, possibly considering taking the initiative and kissing me first. That’s how it played out before.
I was too nervous to make a move, worried I’d fuck it up.
In many ways, he’s still unreachable to me.
Like a poster on my bedroom wall, a splattering of ink and linework that’ll never be tangible.
If I do this, there’s no going back. Because Devon isn’t one of the men on Grindr. He isn’t one of those couples who only want a plaything to spice up their sex life. This is the man I’ve made my enemy, and I’ve spent eight long years wishing for a do-over with.
Swallowing the last of my resistance, I surge up and press my lips to his.
It’s tentative, the way our mouths start to move.
My palm brushes over the ladder of rings climbing up his right ear. His pierced tongue teases as his scent floods my nose. I’m dizzy, my stomach is firing off little bombs, and my heart keeps stuttering.
I deepen the kiss, sealing our fronts together. Devon bands one arm around my waist, securing me there, and continues to scratch at my scalp. Melting into him is way easier than it should be, considering all that’s happened.
Forgetting all that toxic history comes instinctively.
We were never meant to be at odds. It was always supposed to be like this.
I tug so we are even closer, all but climbing up his body.
As if he senses my need, he dips down and scoops up my legs.
I cling to him, both hands holding his face, and thrust my tongue into his mouth.
He tastes just like I remember. Like sleepless nights and daydreams. Every soft moan is swallowed by his lips. Static ricochets off every nerve.
“Fuck,” he breathes before kissing a fiery hot trail down my jaw to my throat. Pressing soft, wet kisses to the sensitive skin, he takes a few steps toward the bed and carefully lays me down. Once he’s on top of me, he finds my mouth again.
Heat rises in my core, and my cock strains against my pants. I dig my nails into his back, urging him to grind harder. “Please,” I breathe into his lips.
“Please what, princess?” His hips thrust, and my eyes roll. “Tell me.”
“Touch me.”
A gratified growl is my reply, but as he shoves up my shirt and dives for my nipple, a loud, abrupt knock rattles the hotel door. We both stop. “Shit,” he spits.
“Lex?” It’s Kelly. She sounds angry. “Come on! I know you’re in there!”
I forgot she hung around with everyone else. They’re all waiting to hear what Kingsport said. “Damn it.”
Devon rolls off me and adjusts himself. His mohawk is ruined, strands bent and limp. His busted lip is swollen, slick with my saliva, and his cheeks are bright red. I probably look just as bad. He glances at my crotch, arching an eyebrow at my obvious bulge.
“Look at that,” he muses, dragging his finger right over the head of my dick, and I bite my lip so I don’t whine.
“Stop it,” I say through my teeth and shove the heel of my palm over my pulsing erection. “Give me a moment!” I call to Kelly.
She knocks on the door louder.
Devon grins wickedly and leans over to peck my lips. “To be continued.”
“Yeah,” I agree, breathless and willing my body to calm down.
“Think of peaches,” he tells me, standing up and attempting to straighten out his hair.
I frown, wondering why he’d mention peaches. The cloying fruit makes my cock wilt. When I realize why, I huff a quiet laugh. Thirty more seconds of banging and I’m ready to face the band.
Everyone gathers in our hotel room, with the exception of Michael.
Devon has been trying to get a hold of him, but he’s not picking up.
We got a few side-eyes once I let them all in, but no one seemed to know what we were doing.
I’m grateful for that. As much as I want to explore whatever this is with Devon, I’m not ready for the band to be a part of that.
I’m their manager, after all. I shouldn’t be kissing one of their own.
At least…not that they’re aware of.
“So we’re not getting fired,” Jorge clarifies for the eightieth time.
“No, you are not fired, but we all did receive a warning. If anything like…that…happens again, then it could become more serious.”
Phoenix shoots a glare at Devon. “Hear that? No more assaulting the fucking manager.”
I want to say that we have it all figured out, but I keep quiet. If I stick up for him so blatantly, people will suspect.
“I already apologized to him, but thanks for the reminder,” Devon claps back.
“We need to find Michael,” I tell them, quickly changing the subject. And because it’s true, I add on, “I’m worried.”
“Same,” Kelly and Oli say in unison.
“Does he have a drinking problem?” Eli asks, guarded. I know he has his own issues, but if memory serves, it wasn’t with alcohol. Or maybe it was?
“He doesn’t,” Devon answers immediately. “Something is wrong, though. And not just because of today. It has been ever since we got back from Europe.”
“Now that you mention it,” Kelly says, “I have noticed him smelling like booze. At last practice, I thought I smelled vodka. But he was using hand sanitizer, so I figured it was that.”
Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I pull up Michael’s contact information. I’m only now realizing our text thread has nothing personal. It’d be weird to say I was worried. My thumbs hover, then I type out a text.
Me: We are having a meeting in our hotel room. Nils is giving us a warning, but otherwise everything is resolved.
I erase it.
Me: Where are you?
I delete that one, too.
Devon comes over and looks down at my screen. “Tell him that we’re getting fired.”
“W-what?” I sputter, my eyes enormous as I blink up at him.
“If you tell him that, he’ll show up.” Even as he says it, Devon looks stricken. Like lying to his best friend is the worst option. “Michael shuts down when he’s mad. Isolates ‘n stuff. You need to give him a reason to be here. Something that is worse than what he’s already feeling.”
“Not getting kicked from the label isn’t a good enough reason?”
“Nah, Devon’s right. Michael has always been like that. Extremely bad news, and he’s there. Good news when he’s pissed means fuck all,” Phoenix supplies.
“It’s kind of a toxic trait,” Jorge adds.
This seems extremely counter-intuitive, but I suppose…
Me: Kingsport is dropping Dreadful. Please come to the hotel room so we can make a plan of action.
The message sends, and we all hold our breath as we wait.