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I still don’t know if or when I will ever get used to being ‘Mrs. Royal.’
I pause, watching him closely. “Bryant put you up to this, didn’t he?”
Brian gives me an apologetic smile. At least he looks a little bit sorry, even if he’s not. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You can call me Isa, Brian.” He shuffles slightly. “Unless it makes you more comfortable calling me Mrs. Royal?”
He nods. “I’m afraid I feel more comfortable referring to you as that.”
Patting his arm, his big, strong arm, I reply, “Okay, and I will try not to be long.”
He shakes his head. “Take as long as you need.” Then I turn around and walk into the large purple store. The smell hits me instantly, deep-fried pastries sprinkled in warm cinnamon and brown sugar then dipped in chocolate syrup, maybe. Oh, or caramel syrup. My stomach grumbles loudly, making it known just how hungry I am. Damn, I feel as though I’ve died and gone to heaven. I see Devon’s back facing me and my heart rate picks up again. Coming up behind him, I quickly wrap my arms around his neck from behind and he instantly jolts up from his chair in surprise, picks me up, and spins me around.
“Hey, trouble…” he whispers into the crook of my neck.
I relax, all my nerves contracting as I let out a long sigh. “Hey, mischief.”
He puts me back down to my feet, pushing me back softly before gazing at me up and down. “Marriage looks good on you, señorita.”
I roll my eyes and take a seat on the chair opposite him. Devon has always been a terrible liar. “Stop bullshitting.”
“No lies.” He shakes his head, and it’s then that I notice how the skin around his eyes are wrinkled at the edges and his jaw has a few days scruff on it. Not like Devon at all, he’s always been a strong advocate for the ‘no beard’ campaign. I don’t know if there is such a campaign because you wouldn’t catch me dead in it, but Devon would definitely be the ringleader of the entire operation, equipped with a big flag that would read ‘No Beards’ across it. Riding horses are cool, but have you ever ridden a beard? I have, and let me tell you…
Yikes. I’m getting distracted.
“You look good.” I remove my jacket and toss it over the chair beside me.
“Now who’s lying.” He gestures to the waiter and then looks back to me. “I’m sorry, Isa.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t care anymore.” I place my hand over his. “All that matters is that I have you back.”
His eyes remain on mine, his jaw clenching a few beats and then he abruptly yanks his hand away, his eyes finding the waiter’s. “Can I get two caramel filled donuts, one long black, and one latte.” The waiter scribbles his order down and then walks off.
“Devon?” I raise my eyebrows, trying to gain his attention. “I do have you back—right?”
He stares down at his glass of water and then picks it up. “Honestly, Isa, I don’t know.” He leans forward as he reaches for my hand but it’s my turn to yank it away from him. Tugging on his hair in obvious frustration, he leans back on his chair again. “What we’ve been, how we’ve known each other…I just—I don’t think it’s going to be as easy to change from that to something more mainstream.”
Mainstream. If there was anything to sum up Devon and I’s friendship, it would not be mainstream.
I gaze out the window. “Why is that hard, Devon?” I look back at him. “It’s simple. We are still friends, we just don’t do that side of what we used to do.”
He laughs, but it’s a bitter laugh, not a light laugh. Not a laugh I’ve heard come from Devon. “Oh, right, and so I should just forget how you use to come to me when you needed sex or anything? Or I should forget how your skin felt under the palm of my hand?” He tilts his head. “How am I supposed to forget all those things, Isa? How am I supposed to forget the moans that would leak out of you right before you’d combust all over my dick.”
“Devon!” I look around the restaurant, hoping no one heard his little outburst. Regardless whether or not that he would find it hard, I thought we had always been clear about where we stood with each other. It was always just sex and that’s why when we would have sex with other people, it was never a big deal. “Devon…” I change my tone to a whisper. “Do you have feelings for me?”
The waiter comes over placing the donuts and the two coffees down. “Here you go…” he smiles, but both Devon and I are glaring at each other from across the table, none of us flinching, and he doesn’t have to say it because I see it there. Point blank right in his face that he does, in fact, have feelings for me. The waiter leaves once the silence gets uncomfortable.
