Chapter 22
LUST FOR LIES
I’m not sure how long I let Devon hold me, but eventually, I have to get up to pee.
I tap his chest and wait for him to notice.
When his hazel eyes drop to mine, embarrassment flares in my chest. I’ve never cuddled like this before.
What’s expected? Do I just get up or ask?
The latter frustrates me as I spiral with questions.
He waits patiently, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
Finally, he puts us both out of our misery.
“What do you need?”
It’s a simple question. There’s no shitty undertone or insinuation I need to peer between words for a deeper meaning.
I don’t know how to handle Devon being…nice.
Bringing me to orgasm is one thing. Cuddling me. Talking to me. Not pushing for more. Asking what I need is so far from normal for us that I’m glitching. I can’t form words or blink. Fear swirls in my gut, warning that this is fake. Devon isn’t nice—not after what I did.
Again, he waits. And he waits some more.
When I squirm helplessly, my bladder on the verge of combustion, he swipes the back of his knuckles over my cheek. “Go ahead,” he whispers and uncurls his arms.
I bolt out of the bed, dragging the duvet with me, and hide in the bathroom.
After the longest piss of my life, a thorough scrub of my teeth and face, I wrap the blanket around me and poke my head through the door.
Devon is scratching his jaw and staring intently at his phone.
It’s probably safe to dash over to my suitcase and grab some clothes.
I silently slip out of the bathroom, trying to blend in with the walls, when I hear his low chuckle.
He’s still shirtless.
“What are you doing?” he asks, amused.
I straighten, tip my chin up, and say, “Nothing.”
“You’re creeping around like I can’t see the giant mass of white moving in my peripheral.” That smirk on his face is as annoying as it is hot. I hate it. I love it.
My confidence is low. I squirm, overstimulated and emotional. My instinct is to get angry. My brain screams to make excuses and rile him up so I feel normal, not like he just sucked me off and cradled me.
Instead of saying something logical—refined and fit for someone in my position—I do the opposite.
My head drops, my shoulders hunch up, and I swallow past a wave of nausea. “I don’t know what this is,” I admit. “What are we doing, Devon?” I glance at him, and his face softens.
Rising from the bed, he crosses the space in a few long strides and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he says against the top of my head. “I’m sorry for everything.”
“E-everything?” I confirm, too afraid to see his expression.
Those arms squeeze me tighter, a grounding presence to let me know this is real and I’m not imagining it.
“I’ve got a lot of shit to work through, I know that.
I’m quick to react and not think. I make things bigger than they need to be and let it spiral out of control, hoping someone or something can reel me in before it’s too late. ”
Gulping, I listen to the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin against my cheek.
He says softly, “It scared me when I found out your age. We didn’t know each other, but I felt a connection—the spark. That sounds corny out loud, but it’s true. I admired your fearlessness from the start.” He pauses, thinking of what to say next.
“What we were doing…it didn’t feel like a mindless hookup for me. I was already planning our first date—what we’d do the following weekend, even though I had nothing to offer and nowhere to take you.”
“I remember,” I whisper. “You mentioned that—how you were homeless and wished you could take me somewhere private and nicer.”
He nods, throat clicking. “I never wanted you to feel like I was just…using you,” he croaks.
“But I found out your age, and then it all got twisted. I felt used. Lied to. I was scared to death that my entire life was going to get flushed down the drain because I didn’t recognize it sooner. Didn’t stop myself in time.”
“I was stupid.” I take a breath and pull back so I can face him. “I didn’t think of any of that. My mind had a single focus, and that was getting to you.”
He smiles, but it’s sad. I can see the regret in his eyes, the guilt over everything we’ve put each other through, but also a sliver of hope. That maybe…maybe we can let it go.
He pinches my chin gently, lifting it higher and brushing his thumb over my lower lip. “Did you ever tell anyone? About what happened back then?”
I shake my head. “No. Never.”
“Me either.” That finger traces both lips now before swooping over my cheek. His eyes scan every inch of my face before landing on my throat. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
He’s already apologized for that. I need to know what’s going to happen now. “Devon,” I say, taking hold of his wrist while careful not to expose my naked body again. “I don’t want you to apologize to me if you’re going to treat me differently tomorrow.”
Brows furrowing, he blinks, confused.
“Treat me like you usually do,” I clarify.
“Will you treat me like you usually do?” he asks.
I chew my cheek, knowing that I’m equally as guilty.
“Do you really hate my mohawk?” He lowers down so we are eye to eye, a playfulness playing on his lips.
My blush is instant. “No,” I rasp. “I actually really love it.”
His smile widens. “I fucking knew it, you little liar.” He scoops me up, pulls a squawk from me, and carries me back to bed.
“I actually think Lewis is a cute name, even if Lex suits you better. And I love that you always smell like a lavender garden.” For emphasis, he smells me like a dog, and I giggle through his obnoxious sniffing.
“I also hate peaches. And how tight your pants are,” he growls, stuffing his hand under me to palm my ass.
“My pants?” I exclaim, lighting up inside from this new feeling.
“Just draws my eyes right to this,” he groans and jiggles my cheeks.
Overwhelmed by his affections and words, I blink back fresh tears and let the blanket fall open to hold him. “I’m sorry I fucked everything up.”
“We both did, baby. Don’t shoulder that all alone.” He wipes my tears, kisses my eyes and lips before scooting down to lie his head on my chest. His mohawk grazes my cheek and ear, but I don’t mind. “Whatever this is…we’ll take it day by day.”
“Day by day,” I parrot. “That sounds stressful and chaotic.”
“Sounds like the best damn decision I’ve made in a long time,” he muses, pressing sweet kisses to my chest, inching awfully close to my nipple.
“You’re really…touchy.” It’s an observation, not a complaint, but he stills.
“Is it too much?” he asks quietly.
“No—well, I’m just not used to it. I didn’t say it was bad.”
“Let me know if you need space. I’ve been told I’m clingy before.”
My face scrunches up, and a pulse of potent jealousy nearly has me shoving him off my body. I know Devon has had relationships over the years. He was with a woman named Shannon for 1 year, 3 months, and 8 days. Not that I counted or anything. But…hearing him say it…out loud…
“I get jealous too,” he mumbles when I don’t respond. “All the fuckin’ time. But it’s a good thing, I think. Means I appreciate that I get to have you now.”
I hum. Still a bit annoyed, but my hackles are smoothing some. “Just me?” I clarify.
His head whips up so fast I get slapped with his limp mohawk. “I’ve had your cock in my mouth, princess. I licked it. It’s mine.”
I blink at him, silent. And then it happens.
I laugh and laugh, the weight in my chest lifting and disappearing into the air.
The loud, obnoxious wailing guitars from Children Of Bodom’s Morrigan jerk me awake.
I glance around for the source of the noise and see Devon’s phone lit up, vibrating and blasting that damn metal song over and over.
I poke at his side, and he doesn’t even stir.
Groaning, I climb over him, careful not to actually touch his body and snatch his phone.
I go to ignore the call, but see it’s Michael.
Quickly muting the ringer, I hurry to the bathroom and shut the door. I answer just before it goes to voicemail.
“Hello?” I whisper.
There’s the distinct thumping of bass in the background, people yelling and talking, followed by soft breaths.
“Hello?” I say, louder this time.
“I d-don’t know what to d-do anymo, Dev,” Michael slurs into the line. I wince.
He’s drunk. Again.
“I k-keep thinking. Thinkin’ and…and…,” he hiccups, “I h-hate the tinking. Y-you did dis t-t-to me.”
My eyes bulge, and I lower the phone call volume just in case.
“I was fine!” He screams. “Fine! And now…” Another horrible hiccup.
“Michael?” I squeak. “It’s not Devon. It’s me, Lex.”
“Don’t even ge’ meh start on L-l-ex,” he groans. “I’m fucked because of you. I’m j-jus ghucked.” The line goes dead, and I slowly lower onto the closed toilet.
I set the phone down and rub my face.
This is bad.
Something’s wrong with Michael. I should wake Devon to go find him.
It’s right. But Michael’s words and how drunk he is worry me.
What if he says or does something he can’t take back?
I’m supposed to manage the band. Now there’s a rift between the lead guitarist and bassist. Dreadful, can’t function with one missing.
It’ll destroy them.
Crush all of their hopes and dreams.
Eventually, they will work through whatever this is… I’m sure of it. Devon doesn’t need to know Michael drunk-called him tonight. When he’s sober and in a better frame of mind, I’m confident he will talk to Devon.
Without thinking it through, I delete the call from the phone log and get back in bed. It takes me hours to fall back asleep.