by Mira Bailee
Devon gulps from his glass, draining it quickly. The sound of my own voice leaves me self-conscious, but I can’t stop myself from jabbering on.
“Since the day I got my license. And it cost me two thousand dollars at a used car lot. That’s six years, one car, no payments, and…” What am I doing talking about my lame car?
Devon smiles, but there’s no sense of condescension at all. “I enjoy some of the benefits of being a Stone. I’m not going to pretend I don’t. But it goes along with too much bullshit.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“None of your concern.” He places his empty glass on the coffee table, and I stare at the red bead of wine slowly dripping down the inside, settling at the bottom. “Tell me what life was like for you when you were ten.”
I laugh, but he doesn’t. Okay, this could be an interesting game. I imagine younger Devon was pretty wild, so if I divulge, he better too.
“Okay…um. Ten. I think that’s the year my family went on a vacation to Disney World. We flew all the way to Florida to compare the World to the Land. But it was my first plane ride–our first, my brother’s and mine–and our parents had to deal with us in a complete panic.” It started with me crying, but then Jared took his big sister being upset to mean something was terribly wrong, so he joined in. I tell Devon all about our hysterics and how mom shut the window shades and made us pretend we were still on the ground. She was so patient with us that day. “We probably annoyed everyone on the plane, but how do you settle the fears of children who are certain they’re about to die?” It should have been merely hypothetical, but my unfiltered mind jumped forward several years. How did Jared feel when he knew he was about to die?
I shake my head. No. Don’t think about it. “Okay, your turn,” I say. “Same question.”
“When I was ten. My father took Kaidan and I down the red carpet of some event. Before then, we’d usually stay behind at the house with whichever nanny my dad was screwing at the time. But that year, he got us all dressed up in these stifling, stiff tuxedos and told us how no matter what, we had to hold our heads high and smile for the cameras. If we were asked questions, we had to be sure to give positive responses that made the business look good, and under no circumstances were we to talk about our personal lives.”
“And how did that go? Did you hate the cameras back then too?”
“I’ve always hated the media, but I was up for an adventure. Plus, I had a plan.” Devon relaxes back into the couch as he speaks, his head tilts back into the plush leather, and he closes his eyes. I follow the contours of his jaw to his chin over his Adam’s apple, and I lick my lips. My mouth is suddenly very dry.
I sip at my wine and ask, “Which was?”
“To trip Kaidan halfway down the carpet.”
“Oh, you did not!”
“Of course I did. And it went better than I could have ever planned. When we walk the red carpet, all the celebrities are perfectly spaced so the media can talk to everyone and the cameras have time to capture everybody. Ahead of us was that old band, Seventh Inferno, and when I stuck my foot out, Kaidan went flying. He toppled over and face-planted in front of everyone. The lead singer of Seventh Inferno was being interviewed at that same moment, so when it happened, everyone froze and zeroed in on Kaid. I swore he was going to piss himself.”
“That’s sort of mean, don’t you think?” Only stating the obvious, of course.
“That’s nothing compared to the crap we did to each other at home. Hell, the red carpet thing was payback from him dumping ice on me in the shower the week before and adding a bottle of women’s perfume to my shampoo.” Devon looks like he could fall asleep as he speaks, resting his eyes and speaking in a nonchalant tone, as if everyone experienced the same things growing up.
I could only imagine being the adult who had to wrangle these boys. “So that’s what it’s like to be a twin?”
“Or a Stone. Whether it’s personal or business, it seems like everyone’s always trying to one-up everyone else.”
“Including you?” I ask.
He opens his eyes and looks at me, leaving several seconds of uncertainty before speaking. “Is that what you think I do?”
“Of course not.” Way to act like a jerk, O. “Tell me what the infamous Stone twins were like at fifteen.”
“Fifteen.” He lifts my legs up onto his lap, and as he speaks he gently glides a hand up and down my shin. His touch sends chills up my spine, and I find myself getting distracted by his fingers. “I don’t remember that much. We spent most our years fighting over girls, I do remember that.”
“But who could possibly pass up that Devon charm?”
“That’s what I’ve always said.” He grins. “And they rarely did. Kaid’s got his own tricks, though, I’m sure.”
“And what are your tricks?” The room continues to spin, but all I can think about is how I love being this close to him. I love having him talk to me, openly and without other motives. This is a Devon I could easily fall for.
He leans forward and grabs ahold of my hips pulling me onto his lap. I help him out by straddling a leg on either side of him. My dress has hiked itself up and is showing off too much thigh, and Devon rubs his hands along both sides of me–up my thighs, along my hips, and underneath, gripping my butt. He pulls me toward him and kisses my stomach while staring up at me beneath my breasts. My fingers comb through his hair, and I sit back on his legs so I can reach his mouth. We kiss, and I swear the sparks between us could set the couch on fire.
His so-called tricks are the grand finale at a fireworks display. They’re dynamite exploding every atom that makes up my being.
And then he cuts everything off, like a kid with an attention disorder. “Oh right!” Devon says, sloppily pulling away from me. “I remember fifteen. We took my dad’s car out for a joy ride.”
How can you get sidetracked from a kiss like that? “You what?”
“We flipped for it to see who’d get to drive. I called ‘heads’ and won.”
“But you didn’t even have a license back then. That was il–” I cut myself off before turning into Miss Obvious. Of course the legality of it was not on their minds at fifteen.
“Dad had just gotten this hot, red Ferrari–a little two-seater. We couldn’t stay away from it. He said if we even put a fingerprint on it, we’d never see the light of day again.”
“So you…”
“So we took it as a challenge and got three miles away before crashing into a tree.”
I gasp–such a ridiculous reaction, but I couldn’t help it. “What did he do?”
“Paid off the media to keep it out of the headlines and bought himself a new one.” He says this so plainly, like it was the obvious solution. At what point in your life is it normal to replace Ferarris like broken light bulbs?
“He let you guys get away with that?”
“It would’ve been too much effort to actually discipline us. But he did install a Devon-proof security system in the garage making it impossible to do it again–not that I didn’t try.”
“You’re such a troublemaker,” I say, kissing him again. “Why am I turned on by that?”
“Because I’m irresistible.”
“You think so?” I gaze into his dark pupils. He’s so certain of himself. Cocky but with every right.
“You tell me.”
He runs a finger up my spine and over my jawline. My lips part, and I shiver. Tilting my head to one side, he leans up and kisses my neck. I arch my back and press myself into his lap even harder. I can feel my temperature rising as my heart flutters. I strain to keep my own composure. I want him, but I want more than sex. If this could lead to something more, then I don’t want to be some one-night stand.
“Mhmm,” I say, nodding. “Definitely irresistible.”
He laughs and moves himself out from under me, standing up. “How about you? What was Olivia like at fifteen?” He walks back into the kitchen and pulls a beer from the fridge. His confidence
and cool composure drive me crazy. “You want one?” he asks.
“No thanks.” I try to think of life at fifteen while I wait for him to return. I’m sitting on the couch and smoothing my skirt back out when he speaks up again.
“Let me guess. Fifteen-year-old Olivia had straight As. She was actively involved in student government. She never missed a day and was every teacher’s favorite student. I’m pretty close, right?”
I turn on the couch to face him. He’s slowly pouring his beer into a glass. “Actually, Mr. Know-It-All. I smoked my first joint at fifteen.”
The crashing of glass is satisfying as Devon is completely caught off guard by my confession. He’s dropped the bottle, and amber shards lay in a puddle of beer on the floor.
I cover my mouth to keep from laughing, but I stand up in an attempt to help him clean the mess.
“You’re either full of shit or full of surprises,” Devon says.
He picks up the broken glass while I mop up the puddle. “Neither,” I say. “That’s about as bad as I ever got. Friends and I–we’d skip school and smoke pot in the woods. It’s pretty juvenile.” I glance over at him. His floor wasn’t the only thing to fall victim to my confession. The bottom half of Devon’s pants has two long lines of beer spilled down them. Now I feel bad.
He glances down and notices the mess on himself as well. He looks back up at me and says, “Maybe warn me next time.”
“Sorry.”
He walks past me and starts up the stairs to the second floor loft. He stops midway and looks back at me. “You coming?”
I follow him upstairs and am immediately met with an extra large bed, adorned in dark gray and black with a pile of pillows at the head of it. The headboard is black iron and curves around in a way that’s threatening and alluring. This is a bed that looks like it has its own secrets. Two black side tables sit on either side of the bed. One has a book on it, the other, a lamp. Simple. I like that. A large, looming wardrobe is off on one side–its doors closed–and on top, a line of white candles. The fact that they’re melted halfway down tells me someone else has been up here to enjoy them. To enjoy Devon. A coldness burrows through me, and my stomach does a flip. Jealousy.
But I’m here now. I need to forget Devon’s less-than-appealing history, and that includes everyone in it. I turn away from the candles to see a doorway on the opposite wall. A bathroom. I step closer and see it’s nearly as big as my bedroom. And where Devon’s room was darker and a little on the gothic side, his bathroom is bright. White walls, huge mirrors, bright lighting…There’s no hiding anything in there.
I stop in the doorway. Another door in here leads to his closet, and I can hear Devon inside. There’s some rustling around and then he steps out.
Thank you, god.
He’s naked. He’s. Fucking. Naked. And here I thought I’d get some grand revealing at the right time. No. He ditched all his clothes and is now standing in front of me like it’s no big deal.
But it is a big deal. Emphasis on the big.
I’ve already seen him shirtless, and that’s a glorious view. But now? He’s tan and toned. The outlines of his abs invite me closer. I want to trail my fingers along those crevices. I want to run my tongue along the even more defined indents above his hips that angle in, as if pointing toward the dark black curls of hair. My eyes follow, and as hard as I try to not look right at…him…my gaze betrays me and I find myself staring. Yeah, he’s nice. Very nice. In my mind, visions race through of me gripping him in my hands. Him thrusting into me. Me holding onto the headboard of his bed as he has his way with me.
“You’re blushing.” He interrupts my happy thoughts and walks past me out of the bathroom. He briskly strides to his wardrobe, pulls out a pair of boxer briefs, and steps into them. I’m trying to think of something–anything–to say to ease the tension building up in me. Devon walks back to his closet, and a moment later, he’s back out wearing a pair of flannel pants and no shirt. I want to wake up to this relaxed version of him forever.
“So tell me more about Pothead Olivia.”
“Ugh…no. That’s not who I was at all. I was young and experimenting.”
“Experimenting. I like the sound of that.” Devon walks into his room and flops down onto his bed. He relaxes into the plush mattress, one leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee.
“Then it must still sound more exciting than it was. I spent more time hiding from my parents and bribing Jared not to tell on me than I did doing the things that would get me in trouble.”
“Who’s Jared? An old boyfriend?”
My stomach turns, and I realize I’d kept myself from saying his name before. I sit on the edge of Devon’s bed. “My–um–my brother.”
“You said he died. What happened?”
No one ever asked me that so bluntly. Usually, people avoided bringing it up altogether. Even right after he died, some of my friends carried on acting like nothing happened at all. No one’s lives had changed. No one’s lives had been turned upside down. Yet, Devon openly asks.
“He was being bullied. One day, they…took it too far. They beat him until he was unconscious.” I can feel my eyes welling up with tears. “Only, he never woke up.”
“Shit. That’s bad.” There’s a sense of shock in his eyes, even if he doesn’t have the right things to say to make me feel better. “What happened to the guys that did it?”
“They were only kids. They were charged as kids. They…” My chest is tightening. Flashes of anger flood through me, and I can’t bring myself to say more. “Can we not talk about it?”
I feel tears running down my cheek as Devon sits up straight and reaches out for me.
“Hey, hey.” He takes my hands and pulls me toward him. I settle in next to him, my head on his chest, my legs tangled with his.
Dammit. I had expectations for tonight, and none of them involved me crying in Devon’s bedroom.
The gentle lull of his heartbeat settles my mind. The rushing thoughts of past memories, of the loss my family endured, how we never recovered–they taper off and slow as I find myself hypnotized by the thumping of his heart, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the warmth and security of his arms encircling me. My eyes feel too heavy to keep open, so I give into temptation and let myself get lost on the serene wave of Devon.
“You’re so haunted,” Devon says to me, his voice soft and low. How can somebody who himself is filled with trouble and secrets be such a comfort to me? “What’s it going to take to make you happy?”
“You make me happy,” I mumble.
He disregards my compliment. “What do you want for yourself?”
I think about it. Life’s like a checklist, right? I moved away from home, went to college, graduated. “I want to be an event planner. You know, coordinate the things that bring people their best memories.” Particularly when my own memories aren’t as great.
“That’s a job. That’s not what I was asking. You really think that would make you feel fulfilled when you’re lying on your deathbed?”
I give it some consideration. I mean, if I’m being perfectly honest, “I’d find some way to change the world.”
He laughs, his outburst jolting me out of my own exhaustion, but he stops himself quickly. “Sorry. You caught me off guard. Now you’re being too broad. How are you going to change the world, Wonder Woman?”
It feels like another life, but before everything happened with Jared, I remember how my family was. Dad was trying to move up in politics. He’d succeeded after he left his family behind. Now he was a senator up in Washington. When they were together, mom helped him. She was involved in a bunch of nonprofits, and they were like the perfect team. If our family hadn’t fallen to ruins, who knows what they could have accomplished? I never took it seriously as a kid. Politics seemed dull. But now…
“I’d get involved in activism. Equal rights…gay marriage and…” I yawn. “I’d get involved with schools. You know, help shape the younger generation, so t
here’s less hate and intolerance as they get older.” I’d stand up for those who are bullied or hurt–something I should’ve done five years ago.
Devon nods his head. “Admirable. I’ll buy you a cape. Where does the passion come from though?”
“My brother was gay.” My breath catches. I can’t believe I admitted that so easily. I don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud. “Wow.”
“Were you not supposed to tell me that or something?”
“No. I–uh–I’ve always kept it to myself. He told me right before. He didn’t get a chance to tell anyone else. That moment was the closest we’d been in a long time.” I take a deep breath. It’s painful to talk about it, but strangely, it feels lightening confiding in Devon. “And then he was gone.”
“Why didn’t you tell people after, for him?”
“After? Because I was a mess. My family was a mess. My parents were burdened with guilt. He’d been complaining about being bullied, but dad told him to suck it up and fight back. After…” I stop speaking to relax my breathing and my rampaging thoughts. “After he died, rumors were going around. Only they weren’t rumors, obviously. But only I knew that. My parents refused to believe them, and I wasn’t in a state of mind to correct them. I didn’t care about them. I didn’t care about anything. Then dad moved out. I haven’t seen him much since. Mom stopped speaking for a while. And I counted down the days to when I could move away and start a new life.”
Is it me, or is it entirely too late at night to be talking like this? But the sound of Devon’s voice soothes me. “It seems like that past followed you though.” He’s not afraid to speak the truth. I admire that.
And he’s right. The OCD, the walls I put up. I never did start that new life.
“It’s alright, Olivia. You’ll save the world. You’ve got plenty of time.”
“And what about you?” I ask. “What are you going to do?” Which reminds me… “What did you find out about your dad’s will? You went through all that trouble, yet…”
“I haven’t looked at it yet. I’ll get around to it.”
Self-restraint? That’s impressive. “Don’t you think he’ll notice it’s gone?”