“Tomorrow,” he demands in a deep, sexy rumble that makes my ovaries scream for more.
“Can’t,” I say again. Everything below my waist is begging me to reconsider. My heart is shaking in terror and my reason is barely holding on. “Family dinner.”
He takes a deep inhale and nips at my neck, the frustration driving him crazy. “Friday?” he pleads.
I’m supposed to be at a frat party with Michelle on Friday night. I promised her I’d be there. Despite ditching me last time, she’s still insisting she needs a wing woman. I fight against the guilt of flaking on her. We have a whole damn house full of sorority sisters dying to go to frat parties. She can find someone else to be her wing woman for sure. If I’m going to see Devin again any time soon, I need to say no to something else. I need to choose him.
“Okay. Friday.”
One last grind and Devin breaks away from me and steps back across the room. He runs his hands through his thick black hair and glares at me. I bite my lip and press my legs together, missing the hardness of him against me. He is so dark. Eyes. Hair. Soul. He looks angry, but I know better. He is tortured and beautiful and I’ve never seen anything sexier.
Screw it. I slide off the desk, determined to get my afternoon delight. But before I can step closer, he’s out of the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Jessie
Devin knocks on my door right on time for our second date. I get a flock of angry birds swirling around in my stomach when I see him standing on my porch. My mind slides back to the night we met. To that first kiss that ruined any other lips for me. I slide a hand up his chest and place a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Hi,” I greet him.
He nods, cups my face and kisses me. It’s not his usual soul-stealing variety. There isn’t the usual desperation, like he’s containing a wild beast inside him that will tear me apart. This is sweet. Familiar and intimate. It’s how a groom kisses his bride after the ‘I do’. It’s chaste, but greedy. He kisses usually say ‘mine’. This one says ‘my darling’.
When he pulls away, there’s a small smile on his beautiful lips. My heart skitters to a stop in my chest. Devin takes my hand in his and leads me to his car. The drive is quiet. I’m focused on sorting out my jumbled emotions and Devin, well, he’s always quiet.
“Tell me about Shawna.”
He takes me in with those dark eyes, his lips pursed and his eyebrows pinched together, making him look like an angry caveman.
“BB said she was your high school sweetheart.”
He looks back out at the road and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ Becs.”
“So? Was she?”
He nods.
“What happened?”
“She left.” His voice is hard. His grip on the steering wheel tightens.
“Why didn’t you go with her?”
“Couldn’t.”
This is excruciating, but I’m going to drag the truth out of him, one one-word-answer at a time.
“Why not?” I scooch closer to him on the bench seat.
“Becs,” he answers. That’s not the whole answer, but I get it. Family is family.
“But you wanted to go?”
He doesn’t answer. He slows as we pull into a parking lot and I know I don’t have much time left before he makes an escape.
“Would you have left, with Shawna, if you could?”
He turns off the engine, gets out and slams the door. I let out a disappointed sigh and follow behind him. He waits at the front of the car for me and takes my hand again when I stand next to him.
He looks down at our interlocked fingers. “Maybe.”
I nod. He raises his gaze up to me and there’s so much hurt there. He’s massive, strong and intimidating. But standing here, he’s bare and vulnerable. I lean forward on tiptoes and kiss him. My darling.
Bowling. We’re bowling. I have a feeling Devin is trying to keep things as casual as possible with these dates. He thinks he can chase me away with dive bars and bowling alleys. Ha. I have three brothers. Jake can burp the alphabet and Jamie thinks pull my finger is the height of comedy. I’ve got this. If he wants to chase me away, he needs to stop kissing me.
“These are sexy as hell,” I deadpan, staring down at my ancient multicolor bowling shoes. “I don’t know how you’re going to be able to keep your hands off me.”
He’s sitting in one of the orange plastic chairs, tying his own sexy bowling shoes. I do a little spin in front of him and end it with a sexy model pose and a wink. He wraps his long fingers around my waist and pulls me to him while he stands. He’s graceful for someone so big. Every motion of that powerful body seems thought out, planned. Choreographed.
“Maybe I don’t,” he mumbles, staring down at me.
“Balls,” I say flatly. His eyes narrow in confusion. “We need balls.” I skip off to find the perfect bowling ball. I settle on a neon lime-green eight-pounder. Devin has a monstrous black thing that weighs as much as I do. He lifts it like it’s a box of Kleenex, the cords in his tattooed forearm flexing. Damn. Bowling isn’t supposed to be a turn on, but when Devin struts down that alley and bends over to toss his ball, the muscles in his back rippling, I get hot and bothered. I squeeze my legs together and think of clipping my toenails and scrubbing my toilet.
Devin knocks down eight pins and picks up the next two on his second try. I’m not going to be winning this game and I couldn’t care less. As long as I get to stare at Devin all night, I’ll throw gutterballs until the end of time. He plops down across from me, spreading his legs wide and resting his arms on the back of the bench seating. He’s got a damn smug look on his face. Okay, Mr. Bennett. Let’s play.
I scoot around the ball dispenser thing and bend low in front of him, wiggling my butt in his face. He takes a deep breath and I peek over my shoulder, happy to see his eyes are locked on my ass. I’m definitely winning this game.
I grab my green ball and hurl it down the lane. It makes a beeline for the gutter, leaving all ten pins glued in place. Not an ideal start. I overcorrect on my second attempt and fling it down the other gutter.
“I need nachos and beer. That’s the problem. Lack of sustenance.”
Devin shakes his head at my declaration, but he nods when I stick out my thumb and pinky finger, holding them to my lips in the ‘want a drink’ gesture. He reaches for his wallet but I stop him with a glare. We lock eyes. He stalks over to me, shakes his head and slaps a twenty in my hand. Guess he’s buying this round then.
The entire little argument about who’s paying happens in a few seconds without us saying a thing. I like that I understand him without needing words. We could have an entire date without talking. I think Devin might prefer it.
Our game is almost over. Devin’s managed three strikes, two spares and a handful of eights and nines. The best I’ve managed is a four and polishing off most of the nachos. It’s the second to the last frame and Devin’s got three times the points I do. The smug, lopsided smirk on his lips is unmistakable. I’ve never seen him happier than when he’s beating me. I’m not worried. I’ve got this.
“I’m getting a strike on this roll. I can feel it,” I declare. Devin quirks an eyebrow at me, taking a lazy sip of his beer. Challenge accepted. I pick up my lime-green ball and stage whisper, “Come on, Greenie. Let’s show him what we’ve got.”
I line myself up in the center of the alley. I keep my eyes locked on the head pin and focus on the smooth, fluid motion. My ball rolls down the lane, starting out straight and true. My heart ticks up. Yes. Yes. Yes. Then Greenie gets a little wobble. No. I lean to the right, trying to keep her on track. It doesn’t work. Greenie keeps diving toward the gutter.
A stifled laugh, covered by a fake cough, sounds behind me. I spin and stare daggers at Devin, who’s reclining in that ugly plastic chair like it’s his blue-collar throne. Anger surges through my body.
“You know what a strike is, JB?” Devin asks when I flop into my chair. He picks up his ridiculous black ball and rolls it d
own the lane with impressive force. The pins go flying, parting like the damn Red Sea. He struts back to me. “That’s a strike.”
He winks. Winks! Who is this guy? He is playful and aggravating. I’m getting that damn strike if it kills me. I try to pick up his black ball, but the holes are too far apart. My fingers don’t fit. I use both hands and scoop it up. Devin cocks his head at me, but I give him a hair toss and charge forward.
“Watch this,” I tell him.
His voice is both sultry and condescending. “I’m watching.”
Let’s do this, Blackie. I take a deep breath and heave the heavy black ball with everything I have, hoping force will make up for aiming. Unfortunately, Blackie decides to go more up than forward. In a glorious arc, it soars forward before slamming down into the wood of the lane with a resounding thud that echoes across the alley. Shit. Can you get kicked out of a bowling alley? I’m about to find out.
I let out a loud gasp and slap my hands over my face. I spin back to Devin, eyes wide in panic. He’s laughing. Not chuckling. Not giggling. Laughing. Out loud! It’s a deep, rich exhilarating sound. I’ve been dreaming about this moment for weeks and every fantasy has fallen short of the majesty that is the sight of Devin Bennett laughing. His eyes are bright and light with crinkles in the corners. His luscious lips are curled up, revealing brilliant white teeth. Dimples aren’t a cute enough word to describe the adorable dip that turns his strong jaw into a playground. He is irresistible. My heart melts, puddling in my hideous bowling shoes.
My arms fall limp at my sides and my mouth drops open. I stare at him in complete awe. His eyes go wide with concern and he points behind me. I turn to look, convinced the bowling alley bouncer is coming to toss me out on my ass. There’s no burly bouncer. There’s just Blackie, rolling down the alley, straight and true. The ball hits the first pin dead on and keeps going. It surges through all ten pins, each teetering over in submission. Strike! I got a strike. Hysterical, I jump up and down.
I run into Devin’s arms, letting out a high-pitched victory squeal. He spins me around. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and let waves of pure happiness wash over me. Getting my first strike is nice, but it’s nothing compared to being in his arms. It feels so damn good. Hearing him laugh, knowing he’s let down that ton of bricks he carries around, even for just a second, is the best feeling in the world. He’s happy.
I pull back and take in the gorgeous sight of his full, goofy smile. His teeth are white and straight, he’s got small dimples popping—and those eyes. They’re sparkling black pools of joy. My heart flutters in my chest. I feel so light I could take off like a rocket. Where’d the gravity go?
“I lo—” I slap my hand over my mouth and jump away from him like he’s the electric chair and I’m the soon-to-be dead man.
How could I be that stupid? It was on the tip of my tongue. It almost slipped out! I’m not ready for ‘I love you’s. That’s what couples say after months of dating. Serious dating, not sexually frustrated blackmail dating. It’s a hop, skip and a jump to the world of ‘marry me’, ‘I do’, and ‘it’s a boy’! I’m not anywhere near there. I’m happy in Netflix-and-chill land.
Devin would look gorgeous in a tux, that wide smile on his lips, watching me walk down the aisle to him.
Gah!
What am I saying? That is insane. I don’t want to get married. I’m not ready. This is all Elizabeth’s fault. Her and Austin and their stupid sappy love story. That’s great for them, but I’m not there yet. I’m barely ready for a steady boyfriend. My heart is thudding and my mind is racing dizzying laps.
Devin is staring at me, concern and confusion replacing that beautiful smile on his face. Good. That’s safer. He takes a cautious step toward me.
“Shit. Sorry. I lost—” My mind? I bite my bottom lip and search the area around me for a believable lie. I rub my chest—it’s a thousand degrees. “I lost…my necklace.”
“Here?” Devin asks, his dark eyes falling to the floor. “What’s it look like?”
Guilt rips through me as we both drop to our knees, searching for my imaginary necklace.
“Look like?” I ask, buying time. “It was just a thin gold chain.”
Devin grunts in response, continuing to look. What is the appropriate time to let the man you’re in love with search a dirty bowling alley floor for an imaginary necklace? Five minutes? Fifteen? Every second we spend scouring the tiny space is a knife to my stomach.
“Maybe I lost it at home, when I was changing.”
“Want to go home and look?” Devin asks. I nod, needing some space to figure my shit out.
We’re halfway to my house when he asks, “Was it special?”
“What?”
“The necklace.”
Right. “No, nothing sentimental. Just thought it was pretty,” I answer, hoping never to talk about the stupid thing again.
He walks me to my door, the tenderness of his large hand on the small of my back driving me crazy.
I crack the door and turn to him. “Thanks for tonight.”
“You don’t want me to help look?”
My breath catches at the thought of Devin in my room. Where my bed is. I’ve had my world rocked enough for one night.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it.” I bite my lip.
“You okay?” He inspects me, rubbing my cheek with a rough thumb. My knees go weak.
“Yeah, I’m good.” My voice is high-pitched and shaky.
Devin tilts his head and grunts. He knows I’m full of shit, but he’s going to let me get away with it tonight.
“I had fun,” he tells my lips. It’s the mother of all confessions for Devin Bennett, Mr. Serious. I should be thrilled, but I’m too focused on keeping my mouth shut to respond.
I rest my hands on his thick waist when he steps into me, closing the small space between us. He brushes his full lips against mine, a tentative touch. A soft moan slips out. That’s all the permission Devin needs to consume me. His kiss lights a path across every inch of my body. Warm, fuzzy tingles spread across my flushed skin and penetrate deep into my chest. His kiss is a claim on my body and plea to my heart.
He breaks the kiss, pulls back and watches me. His small smile restarts my heart. Without a word, he walks off into the night.
Yep. Definitely in love with Devin Bennett.
Shit.
Chapter Fifteen
Devin
I hand Austin a beer and sit on my couch next to him. He asked to come over for a ‘serious talk’. Talking is as much fun as getting waterboarded to me, and Austin would rather get his balls waxed than be serious. The fucker would crack a joke at his own damn funeral. For him to ask to come over for a talk means some shit has got to be proper fucked. My guess is it’s got something to do with Elizabeth. He lost his fucking mind when they broke up late last year, but they’ve been inseparable since he moved in with her a couple of months ago. How she puts up with his shit is beyond me. He crashed at my place for a couple of weeks and his dumb ass just about drove me fucking insane.
I tip my head back. “Well?”
Austin takes a long sip of his beer. He’s sitting there, quieter than I’ve ever seen him. His knee is bouncing and he’s picking the label off the bottle. I don’t say anything, letting him take his time to spit out whatever the fuck is important enough to waste my Saturday night.
He shoots off the couch and paces like a caged tiger. I’ve never seen him so worked up. He’s usually the king of calm, cool and collected. His smartass smirk is always locked in place. But not today. Today he’s about thirty seconds from losing his shit. It’s glorious.
“Just hear me out.” He comes to a quick stop in front of the TV, wiping a hand down his exhausted face. He takes a deep breath and holds it, rolling his shoulders. “Okay, here it is.”
I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees and giving him my undivided attention. His locks his eyes on me. He looks like he might throw up.
“I’m going to ask Elizabe
th to marry me.”
Fuck. I was not expecting that.
I’m careful with my words, knowing he’s nervous as fuck. “You’ve only known her a couple months.”
“I know. I know. But it seems like so much longer than that.”
“It’s not.”
Austin sighs. “I didn’t come here to argue about calendars and bullshit.”
“What did you come here for?”
“To figure out if I’m fucking insane.”
“You’re insane,” I deadpan.
“Fuck you.”
He sits on the couch. We drink our beers in silence.
“I love her, man. So much.” Austin’s voice is soft and sincere.
“Why do you want to marry her?”
“Because I love her?”
“Marrying her gonna change that?”
Austin pauses, thinking. “No.”
“Then why do you want to marry her?”
I’m no expert on relationships, but I know it doesn’t matter how much two people love each other if they don’t want the same thing. They’ll walk separate paths. I shake my head to get rid of Jessie’s beautiful, haunting smile.
“Marriage is serious. You can’t take that shit back.”
“I know.” Austin’s voice has a defensive bite. He takes a long pull of his beer.
“So why?” I ask again, watching him from the corner of my eye.
He takes a deep breath in through his nose and looks up at the ceiling. “She’s the one, man. She’s beautiful. Smart. Sweet. Sassy. Loving. Sexy as fuck without even knowing it. She’s everything.” He sits up and stares into the distance. I swear I can see the lightbulb switch on. “And I want to be with her for the rest of my life. Wherever she’s going, I’m going. She’s home.”
I turn to look at him full on, seeing the truth in his words. I hold out my beer. He clinks it in a toast.
“Congrats.” I stand and we share a quick hug with plenty of back slaps.
“Thanks.”
He’s still brimming with energy, but now it’s more excitement than anxiety. I couldn’t be happier for him, but a cold ache tightens in my chest. What he has is rare. Something I might never find.
This is So Happening (So Far, So Good Book 2) Page 9