She’s wearing my SLHS varsity soccer zip up jacket, the cuffs giving her sweater paws. My heart lurches in a tailspin at the sight.
I’ve given her actions to make up for my behavior, but I need to do more. Maybe I should give her my words, too.
“Oh, hey.” Blair’s lips purse in excitement as she sprinkles seasoning over the bowl of popcorn. “I was going to read on the deck.”
Say something.
I flounder, searching for a way to not blurt out what I have floating around in my head. I’ve never apologized before. Every ounce of strategy flees now that I need to craft my words carefully.
“Want me to light the fire pit?”
Blair hums in consideration as she fills up a glass of water. “Thanks, that would be cool.”
“I see you’ve commandeered my hoodie.” I circle the island and pluck at the sleeve.
“It totally looks better on me.”
“It does.” I swallow.
The material almost covers her athletic shorts, giving the illusion that she’s wearing my jacket and nothing else, driving me wild with the runaway thought.
“Listen, there’s been something I’ve wanted to say.” I tug on my ear as Blair tosses popcorn in the air, aiming to catch it in her open mouth. Heat shoots into my groin. “Blair.”
“Yeah?”
“I want to—I’ve been—” This is ridiculous. My tongue refuses to cooperate with my brain. Why is this so hard? “The way I’ve treated you…”
Blair’s eyebrows hike up. “Dude. Get it together. This is weird to witness. It’s ruining my image of Mr. Control Freak.”
I huff out a laugh. Tell me about it.
“I shouldn’t have,” I wave my hand, “been such a shit to you. The things I’ve said about you, I mean.”
Blair stares at me as she gathers her inky hair into a ponytail. “Are you having a stroke?”
I scrub a hand over my face, peeking at her through my splayed fingers. “Maybe. This is harder than I thought.”
“What is?”
My stomach flips over. “Apologizing.”
“Is that what you’re trying to do?” Blair laughs. “Damn, you suck at this.”
“I mean it, though. It wasn’t right.”
Blair shrugs and eyes me warily. “Are you saying you want to end the, um…” She gestures between us. “The deal.”
“What? No.”
I muffle a groan behind my hand as I cover my mouth. This is a disaster. She’s not getting it at all. I’m just trying to say I’m sorry for treating her like a bug and playing stupid pranks on her. Is there some way to make her believe me? How can I make up for what I’ve done?
“Should I leave the popcorn stuff out?”
The water glass catches my eye and spurs an impulsive thought. I always strive for control, but right now this feels right. If she doesn’t understand, maybe I can show her. We’re not in the cafeteria, but this will have to do for now.
I swipe Blair’s water while she rummages in the fridge.
“Blair.”
She turns to me and I dump the glass over my head, blinking through the rush of cold water soaking my head.
Blair’s jaw drops. “Wh—”
She busts out laughing, hugging her stomach.
Water drips from my hair into my eye. “I mean it.”
“Okay, you mean it.” There’s a light in Blair’s eyes as she reaches up to push the wet clumps of hair back from my forehead. “You’re so weird.”
A weight lifts from my shoulders and a soft smile curves my mouth. “I’ll grab some logs to put in the firepit.”
Blair gathers her popcorn, book, and a new glass of water to take out on the deck. My chest feels warm as I watch her go.
* * *
Later, a rare conversation with Dad drove me outside. Like an idiot, I answered the call. Any morsel of attention Dad offers makes me forget logic and the patterns he follows.
All he wanted to talk about was his expectations for me. He has my whole life planned out. Pre-med. Medical school. Continuing the renowned reputation the Murphy name carries in the medical field.
Fuck anything I might want. Fuck the fact I don’t really want to do whatever he expects. Fuck that I’m his son.
Dad only cares about his goals and plans.
I sit in my spot on the roof outside of my bedroom window with a lit cigarette dangling from my fingers. I take a drag and tip my head back to blow out a plume of smoke. The nicotine takes off the edge.
Agitation grips me, making me jittery and belligerent. I’m filled with an angry energy, prepared to whip the jagged lash at anything.
It’s always like this whenever I talk to Dad. Mom, too, to a lesser extent. At least she pretends she has a maternal bone in her body, but it’s never been enough.
They both leave me hollow, opening the chasm of my insides to brim with the lonely rage engulfing me, drowning me beneath choppy waters. I can’t keep my head above the current.
Squinting at the sky, I spot a shooting star. Make a wish.
It’s stupid, but I started doing it as a kid and can’t stop.
A heavy sigh leaves me. But I didn’t just start it, did I? It’s because of Blair. Weeks later and I’m still reeling from remembering our brief connection, and realizing she’s the reason my private ritual began thanks to what Blair told me when we were kids.
Her encouragement to wish on stars was my single saving grace that kept me from being swallowed all these years.
I massage my temple with my thumb knuckle and let the cigarette burn down to the butt, mesmerized by the ash.
I’ve told the stars so much in my life.
They wait for me as I peer at the sky. Blair’s freckles pop into my head. They remind me of the stars.
I lick my lips and rub my fingertips together.
Blair was my first wish, but I always thought it didn’t come true.
I also wished for a brother and sister. Lucas was always there, but I wanted more family to play with. I even wished to be a part of Lucas’ family instead of my own.
I begged the shooting stars to send my parents home for longer than a few days. To make them talk to me. To take an interest in me past how much money they’ve sent, how my grades are, and if I’ll go pre-med.
I’m their son, not one of their petri dish research experiments.
The work they do as doctors might be important to help so many people, but can’t a kid just want the attention of his parents?
None of the wishes ever work, but something about sending my deepest, secret desires to distant balls of burning gas and fragments of rock falling into the atmosphere makes me feel better. It’s a ritual that calms the ocean of bitter pain for a brief moment.
Tossing the cigarette into the ashtray I brought out, I think about calling Bishop or Lucas to see what either of them are up to. I’ve calmed down somewhat from talking to Dad, but speaking to them would help.
“Here you are. I was looking for you.”
I whip my head to the side. Blair climbs through the window nimbly and navigates the narrow ledge that leads over to my spot on the roof. The wind disturbs her ponytail as she stands over me, taking in the view.
The vulnerability burns. No one’s ever found my spot. I swallow.
“Are you going to sit?”
Blair settles next to me. “It’s cool up here.”
“Yeah.” I try to picture it with fresh eyes, forgetting everything I’ve confessed up here. “I come up here to think.”
“There’s a spot in the woods between the trailer park and the convenience store where I used to hide out when I didn’t want to be found.”
Blair tucks her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She’s wearing the same oversized hoodie from the night her mom collapsed, her fingertips poking out of the big sleeves. I pinch the pant leg of my sweatpants to keep from reaching out to take her hand.
We’re quiet for a few minutes. My pulse turns erratic. I’m plagued
by an awareness of her presence and every movement.
“I know your secret,” Blair murmurs in a conspiratorial tone.
I dig my grip into my sweatpants, out of view. She can’t.
“Doubt it,” I scoff. I tap my chest, near my heart and the shooting star tattoo. “I keep them all under lock and key.”
Blair rests her chin on her knees. Her gaze holds mine. “You want everyone to think you’re this carefree playboy. But you’re not. Your secret is that you care. More than anyone.”
My stomach drops at the truth in her assessment. In my pocket, my phone sits heavy like lead. Three texts sent to Dad after our phone call go unanswered.
The puppets at school believe my mask is the real me, but it’s not. They see what I want them to. Blair’s right. The truth is I try hard as hell not to care about anything. I compartmentalize it all, burying the hurts deep where they can’t get to me.
How does she do that? How does she always see through the armor I’ve constructed to protect myself from disappointment?
Maybe Blair hides a chained up monster, too, because her little claws scrape at the box I’ve tucked all of the weakness into. Sometimes it seeps out, like Pandora’s chaos escaping a cage not strong enough to trap the torrent of horror desperate to get out and spread.
Blair’s voice is soft when she continues. “I think it’s why you try so hard to control everything around you. Down to the exact curve of your smiles.”
I laugh jaggedly to play off how she blindsides me when I least expect it. Dragging a hand through my hair, I turn my attention up to the sky. “I didn’t let you sit up in my secret spot with me so you could psychoanalyze me. Quit it, or you’re getting the boot.”
“Sorry.”
More surprised that she apologized to me than the fact she figured me out, I cut a quick look at her. She fiddles with the cuffs of her hoodie.
“Me too,” I offer.
The rest gets stuck in my throat. I mean all of it—sorry for internalizing so much anger because she left, sorry for making her my favorite target, sorry for trying to drive her to leave all these years.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, trying to push all of my meaning into the apology. “I know I muddled it before and you didn’t believe me, but I am. Do I need to find another glass of water to dump on myself?”
Blair laughs, the bright sound drifting in the night. “No need, though I think I do prefer you wet.” She sends me a sly look from the corner of her eye. After a beat, she flaps her hand. “I guess I’m sorry for making a move on your car, too.”
“I’m not.” Blair’s brows lift in surprise. I shrug. “If you didn’t break in, I wouldn’t have you here right now.”
It’s fucked up that my revenge plan led to this, but I can’t say I’m mad at the turn in the tide.
She smiles, the corner of her mouth tugging up. “I like it up here.”
The stars blink down at us, faintly twinkling.
I haven’t asked the stars for the thing I want most of all lately. The secret I thought Blair figured out.
It’s impossible, too much for even the magic of a wish.
Blair studies at me with an unreadable look, the moon painting the side of her face in pale light.
My stupid, messed up heart thumps, aching at her beauty. Her full lips slide together to contain whatever she’s holding back from saying.
“What?”
She blinks like she’s coming out of a daze. “You reminded me of someone I used to know. A long time ago.”
“Who?” I swallow past the shards stabbing my throat.
Does she remember, too?
“A sad boy I knew once. I told him about shooting stars.” Her brow wrinkles. “You have the same kind of look in your eyes.”
Tell her, my mind screams. Tell her you are that boy. That you knew her, too, but she left.
Like the others. All of them leave. No one stays.
Part of me doesn’t want to tell her. If I do, she’ll see my weaknesses. She could leave again. She will leave eventually. Because she’s not here for me. Blair is only here for other reasons.
Not because I’m worthy of her company.
Not because I’ve earned her trust or her affection.
Not because I deserve any second I steal with her.
My wretched heart lurches as I stare at her.
Maybe it was always coming, wanting her as much as my next breath. I’ve just smothered it. Learned to survive around it.
Now it’s a force I can’t contain, the need for her living in my veins and my bones like vines wrapping around every part of me.
I rub my fingers together and turn my attention to the sky. When I spot a shooting star, I point it out. “There’s one. See it?”
Blair hums in acknowledgement. “There’s another. Mom used to read me this book about a falling star.” Her expression turns fond and tender, like it does when she visits her mom in the hospital. “It was one of my favorites.”
I study her profile in the moonlight.
The urge swirling inside becomes too much. I’ve fucked around with plenty of girls, but I need something else right now.
The words leave me before I’ve fully formed the thought. “I’ll pay you five grand to sleep in my bed tonight. Just sleep.”
Blair’s head snaps around. “W-what?”
“Five thousand,” I repeat, clenching my jaw.
If Blair’s stubborn, I’m a stone wall. I’m selfish and I can’t help myself.
It’s the first order I’ve officially given her since she moved in, because I want a guarantee.
If this is my only chance, I want it. This time I’m not waiting on the stars to grant my wishes, I’ll take it for myself.
“What’s your answer?”
Blair slides her pouty lips together, sucking the bottom one into her mouth. “Yes.”
Twenty-Eight
Blair
We climb through the window into his bedroom. He goes first. I take his hand to balance as I hop down from the wide windowsill.
It’s a surprise he doesn’t have much in here. It barely looks like a teenager’s bedroom.
The first few years after Dad left, I would pick catalogues out of the trash, imagining the house Mom and I would get if we won the lottery. I went through a period where all I wanted was fairy lights to hang over my bed and a sheer purple curtain to drape around it.
All that money, and Devlin’s room has a big bed that’s meticulously made, a wall of modern dark wooden panels that I think are closet doors, and a stack of books on the nightstand next to a pack of cigarettes.
It looks more like a hotel room than someone’s bedroom. Clean, but impersonal. Like he can’t express himself in his own private space.
Even I have some photos, my book collection, and some print outs from the library of my favorite art pieces from around the world in my room.
I take off my hoodie, draping it on a lacquered live-edge wood bench by the closet. If I sleep in it, I’ll overheat. I’m left in leggings and my SLHS girls track team t-shirt.
Padding over to the nightstand, I tilt my head to read the spines of the books. The Social Animal, Influence: Science and Practice, and The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How Good People Turn Evil are the top three in the stack.
“You really like psychology, huh?”
Devlin hovers at the bottom of the bed. “I like knowing how things work. Human behavior is…” He circles the mattress and stops in front of me. Cupping my shoulders, he pushes me to sit down. “Fascinating.”
I watch as he strips out of his gray henley with languid movements, leaving his chest bare. The sweatpants hang low on his hips.
My mouth goes dry. The cut V in his hips leads down into the waistband of his sweats. His body is chiselled like a work of art, lithe with athletic strength.
I tuck my hands under my thighs to keep from reaching out to trace his abs.
Devlin has claimed me with a kiss, but that’s as far as it’s gone between
us. Kissing me in the lake doesn’t mean he wants me.
“Scoot back,” Devlin rumbles. “That’s my side.”
A flutter tickles my stomach as I move across the mattress. “You have a side? What are you, eighty-five?”
Devlin peels back the covers and climbs into bed. “I like my side.”
Once we lay down, Devlin turns out the lights, plunging us in darkness. The only sound in the room is our out of sync breathing. Devlin breathes, then me. Inhale, exhale.
The distance between us is palpable, like a wall I could press against. It’s only several inches, but it might as well be a cavern.
I’m about to open my mouth and say something to break the awkward air, but Devlin’s hand lands on my hip. His touch is hot, seeping through my leggings.
“Okay?” Devlin’s normally authoritative voice is hushed and hoarse.
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
Devlin doesn’t just take an inch, he takes a mile. His arm snakes around my waist, dragging my back against his bare chest. He’s like an octopus, wrapping himself around me. For someone I once believed was cold like marble, his body heat envelopes me.
A rough sound chokes out of Devlin. His breathing turns tense and edgy. He slides his big hand beneath my t-shirt, caressing my belly and up between my breasts. I don’t have a bra on. His thumb traces the edge of one breast, drawing a gasp from me. My nipples pucker, the friction of my t-shirt making me squirm in a burst of oversensitivity.
“Devlin,” I breathe.
He said he only wanted to sleep. Does he want more? Does he want me?
Devlin’s nose buries against the back of my neck. His stiffness relaxes and he hugs me tighter. He nudges his knee between my legs and I can feel his half-hard cock against my ass.
I shift my hips, rolling them against his length.
Devlin growls, his arm locking tighter around me. He presses his hips against mine in response, his dick growing harder.
“Sleep, troublemaker.”
I bite my lip. The spark of fire he ignited in my stomach leaves my skin tight and my clit throbbing. We’re really going to sleep like this?
Tempting Devil: Sinners and Saints Book 2 Page 19