“But Paris and California are coming out in two weeks,” I say. “They wanted to celebrate the fact that I’ve finished my master’s program.”
“Are their hot men coming too?” Melody asks.
“Caleb and London are coming, yes.” I shoot her a look because I know what’s coming next. “But the four of them think they’re coming here to relax, not to attend a wedding.”
“They’ll have a great time; I’ll make sure of it,” she says with a wave of her hand. “But poor you, JJ—I know you claim you love being single, but I don’t want you to be lonely.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her.
But my sister just grins devilishly, adding that if I have no one to bring, she’ll have to set me up with someone in the party.
“I promise to hook you up with someone hot.”
I have no way to organically find a date on that short of notice and no interest in using an online service to secure a man. Melody knows this, but she wants what she wants for her wedding weekend. I should be surprised she tricked me into coming here under the pretense of celebrating my graduation. But I’m not.
I come from a feminine line where everyone except for me tries to constantly one-up the other for attention. Grandma did it to Mom, who did it to her, and now Melody’s joined the game. Me, I must have come in as the balancing energy because as Mom loves to say, sometimes she forgets I’m related to her. I’m not sure what she means other than to assume she prefers not to focus on my existence. I think I remind her too much of my father. In looks only.
My father’s half-Korean and half-Italian, and Mom’s Swedish, but I got a lot more of the Korean and Italian genes, apparently, because my jet-black hair, wide eyes, and petite stature make me the definitive daughter of Dad and not my fair-skinned, blond mother. I did get Mom’s blue eyes, which are so deeply blue they look almost out of place on my face, but I suppose my mother doesn’t make eye contact with me enough to notice.
Speaking of Mom.
“I have some news too.”
Melody and I turn expectantly to our mother, who’s known for casually dropping bombs like they’re tiny grains of sand. And she doesn’t disappoint.
“I forgot to mention this earlier, Jade. Your father’s dead.”
I blink at her. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“Your father? He died.”
I keep blinking, feeling liquid pooling behind my eyes. “That’s what I thought you said. And you found this out—when?”
She waves a hand with immaculately-painted red nails haphazardly in the air. “A couple of days ago, I think.”
I always wondered where I’d be and how I’d feel when I found out about my father’s death. Because I’ve known it would come sooner rather than later. In many ways, I’m surprised he lived as long as he did. He didn’t take care of himself much better than he took care of me.
I tell myself not to get emotional. But a single tear slides down my face anyway.
I wipe it away immediately, hoping Mom and Melody don’t notice. Any grieving over the loss of my father will need to be done in private.
“The attorney called and wanted your contact information,” Mom says. “So I gave it to him. He’ll probably be reaching out.”
“Oooh, I wonder if Lee left you anything,” Melody says to me.
“He had nothing to leave me. The last time I saw him, we were living in a homeless shelter,” I say. “Mom, how did Dad die?”
“Motorcycle accident,” she says. “He was riding along the Pacific on one of those curvy coastal roads, and he lost control of his bike. He always was reckless. Anything else, he couldn’t be counted on.”
That’s as true a statement that’s ever been made.
I stand up. “I need to go home.”
“But we’re still discussing Melody’s wedding!” Mom protests.
“I’ll be at the wedding,” I say. “But I have to go. I have to be at my new client’s place of business early tomorrow morning. Can’t be late on the first day.”
Besides, the news about Dad is hitting me hard, and I need a break.
“Why would you leave your studio to work for someone else?” Mom asks.
“Believe me, this client made it well worth my time. I’ll make well over what I normally do in a month, and I can pass my classes off to the other instructors.”
I kiss my mom and sister goodbye, then I push past Melody’s chair and around the table. Needing a distraction more than ever, I take the long way outside so I can pass by Gorgeous Guy’s table.
His long legs are sticking out into the aisle, and I slow my pace to get a closer look. Christ, those thighs are like mountains. I’ve never seen a man so built. And wow…his well-defined arm, which is flexing so he can continue to play his goddamn game on his phone underneath the tablecloth—that bicep could seriously have its own town. At least its own neighborhood.
At that moment, he looks up.
And catches me ogling him red-handed.
Instead of striding past him with my head held high, I freeze.
Devon.
4
Devon I-never-learned-his-last-name, the guy I saved from a mugging, and in turn, he saved me from the darkness I’d fallen into, is the Gorgeous Guy. And he’s freaking sitting five feet away. This is the first time I’ve laid eyes on him since that afternoon by the beach nine years ago.
I take him in hungrily, almost feeling proud of how well he’s grown up. His suit is clearly expensive, and this restaurant certainly isn’t cheap, so he must have done well for himself. He’s a full-grown man now, no doubt about that, but he was a kid just like me when we met, and I thought about him often over the years—How was he doing? Did he become a big star the way the realtor said he was going to?
I never did find out what field he was in—model or actor. Television or film? I never saw him in any movies or TV shows. I thought about looking him up online a couple times, but I decided not to. I think part of me didn’t want to locate him that way. I had this silly teenage dream in my head of running into him again one day and him telling me his story himself. To figure out the facts and details by searching online would have spoiled my romantic fantasy.
But right now, my fantasy is being dragged back down to earth pretty fucking fast.
Because Devon doesn’t recognize me. I’m sure he doesn’t.
His pale blue eyes drift over my face with no sign of recognition like it’s the first time he’s seeing me. Although he’s clearly more than happy to take a long look.
His interested gaze travels down my body and back up to my face. Zero shame is on his cocky expression when we lock eyes at the end of his perusal. His five o’clock shadow is dark and adds to his brooding look. Those pale blue eyes are cold and calculating like he’s been through a war and is still fighting every day. And his mouth—all I can picture are those lips slamming against mine.
He smirks.
I snap out of my stupor and glare at him. As soon as I do, something shifts between us, and a strange look crosses his expression like he’s…confused?
Ducking my head, I rush by his table, but as I pass his date, I hear the last part of her sentence. “…don’t know if I’ll be in Malibu this summer or not. My house needs a refresh…”
And I’m safely past them.
As soon as I’m outside and have made it around the corner of the building, I stop short. I lean up against the wall of the restaurant and suck in a deep breath. My pulse is all over the place.
God, the last time I reacted that way to a man, any man, was nine years ago.
And no matter how hard I crushed on Devon What’s-His-Name as a homeless teenager, as an adult, I don’t want a man in my life.
Growing up, I learned from my own father just how unreliable a man can be, and besides, I don’t have the bandwidth to enter into a relationship right now. Maybe after my yoga studio is a stable business, which is about three rungs up from where it is now. So I don’t know, in about ten years,
maybe I could start thinking about finding someone who’s relationship material. But until then, these legs stay closed.
But God, the way Devon’s eyes raked over me got me going. Everything about him has me thinking dirty thoughts. From the cocky way he studied me to those freaking muscles he was sporting, it’s like God made him for sex.
I admit, it stings that he didn’t know who in the hell I was. I guess, for him, that moment between us on the beach was just another passing, flirty exchange with one of a long line of girls. Granted, my hair was a blond, tangled mess back then, and now it’s styled short and back to my natural black, plus I’m dressed up and freshly showered whereas then I was…not. But still…the teenager in me wanted none of that to matter.
And even though my teenage fantasy is now a little deflated, just thinking about Devon, I could practically come without even touching myself. And if he touched me…I can’t imagine it not being satisfying. More than satisfying.
Devon
I know her.
The beautiful woman who just walked by after shooting me a death look—I know her somehow. And I’m fucking pissed at myself that I can’t place how.
But my dick doesn’t care how I know her. He’s just happy she walked by. For the first time all night, my dick jerks in my pants, coming awake in the middle of a shitty evening.
Christ, that woman was gorgeous. From her thick black chin-length hair with the cool red streaks running through the strands to her fantastically brilliant blue eyes, she’s striking. She has everything I look for in a woman—petite, toned body with long legs; natural beauty with minimal makeup; no doubt a firecracker temper from the way she glared at me; and most importantly, the ability to get my attention without trying or even wanting to.
That last one never happens to me. Not in a very long time, and even then, it was only once. With one girl.
“Hey. Mr. Wilkens.” Sabrina waves her hand in my face.
I force myself to look at her for probably the third time all evening. She’s pissed.
Yes, I’ve ignored her tonight. But I was beyond irritated at being manipulated by her. What was supposed to be a business meeting to discuss a potential opportunity for me to lend my name and money to a charity has turned into Sabrina hitting on me. Fucking nonstop the entire dinner. And there is no actual charity. I’m used to women hanging on me, on all of us football players when we give them no reason to, but I’ve never had someone be so shallow as to use a fake charity before.
Eventually, I tuned her out. But she hasn’t given up.
And I’ve never been subtle when I’m not interested.
Sure, I’ve had my share of casual sex. But being lied to about a business meeting when it’s actually meant to be a date—that’s crossing the line.
And right now, I can’t get the black-haired beauty out of my head. I stand abruptly.
“Hey!” Sabrina says. “Where are you going? I’m not done with my meal.”
“I have to go.” I pull some bills out of my wallet and drop them onto the table. “That should more than cover both of us. See you.”
“Mr. Wilkens! Wait!” Sabrina calls after me.
But I’m already heading for the door. I take a second to order Sabrina a car, and then I exit the restaurant.
I don’t see the mystery woman at first. Frustrated she’s already left, I let out a low curse and head down the sidewalk.
And that’s when I spot her. She’s leaning against the concrete wall of the building, staring off into space like she’s stuck in a memory. She’s twirling a lock of that red-tipped black hair around her index finger, and she doesn’t notice me advancing on her.
“Hey, Gorgeous.” The lame-ass line spills out my mouth as I reach her.
And maybe, subconsciously, I wanted to piss her off again, maybe I wanted to see those daggers flare in her aquamarine eyes.
I get my wish.
She whirls around. “That’s not my name,” she snaps. “Devon.”
So she’s a football fan, or somebody she knows is. And to know my given name means she must really follow the game. I don’t hide my real name, but I don’t advertise it either.
I raise my eyebrows casually as I lean my hip against the building and face her. “So you know who I am. That’s not fair, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’d like this to be an even playing field. Why don’t you tell me your name?”
Her face contorts in obvious pain, and I freeze. But before I can ask her if she’s okay, she smooths her expression over with a fixed smile.
“My name is none of your business. Devon.” A devilish look flashes in her eyes like she enjoys saying my name and giving me nothing back.
And my dick is enjoying this game as well. Too much. He twitches in my jeans, and I’m lucky the woman whose-name-I-still-don’t-know is looking at my face and not my crotch.
“What if I want your name to be my business?” I say. “Would you tell me then?”
Rather than answer me, she does something interesting. Looking up at me in what feels like a staredown, she fingers the black cross on her necklace. And something about the way she does it…
“That’s pretty,” I say, surprising myself. For someone who makes it a point to keep women at a distance emotionally, that comment sounded especially personal. Intimate, even.
“Thank you.” She pauses and then adds, “I’ve worn it for years. I never take it off.”
“Oh, yeah?” I take a closer look. “It must mean something special to you then.”
She nods but offers nothing more.
5
Jade
Devon’s gaze skates down the length of me again like he has every right to stare at my body as much and as often as he wants to. He’s even more powerful up close, and that stone-cold, impassive look he seems to have mastered is intimidating as hell.
The warm sensation flooding the lower half of my stomach is unnerving.
All because of this gorgeous, cocky guy who doesn’t remember me.
The woman he was with at dinner is nowhere in sight.
But that doesn’t excuse the fact that he was just on a date. And now he’s hitting on someone who’s not his date. Maybe he has terrible cognitive skills, and he already forgot about his date, too.
I should probably go. I should definitely go.
But I can’t bring myself to walk away from him.
Besides, he still hasn’t smiled, and I want him to. I want to watch his face break into that panty-dropping grin he gave me nine years ago.
I vow to leave after he smiles. One genuine flash of proof that he’s happy, and I’ll walk away and not look back.
He lightly catches my wrist with his huge-ass hand. “Can I ask you a question?”
I look at him. “Maybe.”
Still no smile, but maybe that intensified stare is him being amused?
“Have we met before?” His thumb grazes the underside of my wrist.
A spark of electricity shoots through me, and I swallow.
His eyes that are still the color of a California sky in winter stay fixed on my face.
Somehow, I find that more unsettling than when he peruses my body. And what am I supposed to say to his question?
Yes, we met when I was homeless and my life was a complete mess. I saved you, and you saved me. Then, we went our separate ways, and you clearly became a huge success.
I did okay, and I’m damn proud of myself, but that doesn’t mean I want to remind him of my past.
But Devon’s still running his thumb along my wrist. His motion is purposeful and erotic. From the looks of his intense expression, he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You always pay up,” I murmur, barely aware I’m saying it out loud.
He straightens. “What did you say?”
“I’m…” Realizing I’m on the edge of completely losing control and ceding him everything he wants, I shift the conversation.
“So. Did you lose?” I a
sk him.
I’ve confused him, which was my goal. His thumb stops moving over my heated skin as he says, “Excuse me?”
“Your game. You must have made it through a lot of levels considering you played through most of your dinner.”
The shift of emotion behind his eyes is his only tell that I’ve surprised him.
“Hey!”
At the sound of the shrill voice, he drops my wrist like it’s burned him just as his date bursts into our little group.
“I thought you went home,” she says to Devon in an accusatory tone she disguises with a saccharine sweetness. “I need a ride.”
“I can’t take you home. I’ve ordered you an Uber.” He looks at his phone. “It just pulled up.”
Sure enough, a car is idling right at the curb.
His date hits him in the shoulder. “You’re an asshole! And to think I was gonna blow you as much as you wanted!”
She storms off and into the car, which disappears down the block.
He looks at me. “Bad night.”
“Bad date, you mean,” I say.
But he shakes his head. “Not a date.”
I put my hands on my hips. “What would you have called it then? Because usually when two people share a meal together and half of the party talks about sucking the other off, they’re out on what’s called a date.”
The blue of his eyes changes to a darker hue, and the corners crinkle. He almost looks…turned on.
“I’m telling the truth—that was not a date.”
“Well, what the hell was it then? Good exercise for your wrist?”
He steps into me, and as his thighs brush mine, I bite back on a gasp. “Honey, if I wanted to ‘exercise’ my wrist as you say, I can think of plenty of better ways to pass my time.”
We stare at each other, the air thickening between us. I want to kiss that cocky mouth. I want to pull him toward me until his hard body is pressed up against my softness.
But he’s clearly otherwise engaged. Even if he isn’t serious with the woman who just stormed off, he took her out and then apparently decided he wasn’t interested. I don’t think I could handle his casual nature. He makes me feel too much as it is. He always did, and he may be the one man in the world I’d have a hard time letting go of in the morning.
Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology Page 327