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Devon was looking at me with that unflinching gaze of his, and it felt like he could see everything. He probably could, but it didn’t matter. I put my hands in my pockets and looked back at him.
He cut me some slack and turned to Olivia. “You think he’s a hot bearded guy?” he said, his voice deceptively calm.
She groaned in embarrassment. “Thanks a lot, Gwen,” she said to her sister, and then, to Devon: “He is. It was just an objective observation. It doesn’t mean anything.”
I managed to smile at her. I liked Olivia. She had smarts and so much guts that Devon never intimidated her. “Thanks,” I told her. “I’m complimented. Are we going to go find this box, or what?”
I looked at Gwen while I said it. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her posture rigid. She was flustered. And suddenly, everything was clear to me.
She was scared. She thought she could pretend this wasn’t happening between us. She thought I would actually believe that we were a mistake. That we were done. That she could use her fear to make me walk away.
She actually thought I’d walk away.
She was wrong.
Chapter 13
Gwen
I was still in shock as we walked to the theater’s wide staircase and started up toward our box. Max was Devon’s friend? His best friend? That was what Olivia had said—that Devon was bringing his best friend. I felt like everything was being moved in front of my eyes, things I thought I knew, like coming home to your apartment and seeing the furniture rearranged.
Max had said he was from LA. Devon, I knew, had had a long, checkered career, most of it criminal, in both LA and San Francisco before inheriting his money. If they were best friends, there must be a side of Max that I hadn’t seen. A side that had maybe done some of the things Devon did. Lived the life Devon had. The Max I knew was a recluse, quiet, dateless, reading his books and mostly hiding from the world.
There was obviously more to Max than I thought.
The men preceded us up the stairs, walking slowly alongside the crowd that was moving with us, Max with his distinctive gait as he ascended the stairs. I watched as Devon’s head bent close to Max’s. They were the same height, though Max was bigger than Devon, heavier with muscle because of all his time at the gym. Devon was powerful, but he was muscle packed tight, quick and lethal. Max was the guy you’d hire as a bouncer for his lumberjack shoulders and arms.
Max said something back to Devon, just a word or two, and Devon leaned closer, talking again, gesturing briefly with one hand. I could see it in that moment, their intimacy, friends who had known each other a long time. Neither was saying much in number of words, but it was obvious their conversation was intent, Devon’s focus utterly on Max. As a side benefit, the two of them were basically a sex sandwich, and half the women who saw them were practically falling down the stairs as they craned th
eir necks.
My sister grabbed my wrist and leaned close to me, mimicking Devon’s posture ahead of us. “What the heck is going on?” she hissed.
I swallowed, peeled my eyes from Max—holy hell, he looked gorgeous in dress pants and a shirt, and he’d done something ridiculously sexy to his beard—and glanced at her, shrugging. “It was just a crazy coincidence,” I said. “I had a gig at Shady Oaks one day, and we met.”
Her big, dark eyes were wide. “And?” she prompted.
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “It’s complicated,” I said. “It’s nothing, or maybe nothing. It’s just a thing, sort of. I guess.” I turned to see she was staring at me like I had two heads; I had never talked about a man like that before, babbling inane phrases to fill the quiet. “Never mind,” I added, apparently unable to shut up. “I’ll tell you about it later. Or most of it. Sometime later. Not now.”
“Holy shit,” Olivia said quietly.
I sighed. “Forget it, okay?”
“Be careful, Gwen,” she said in a near-whisper as we got to the top of the stairs. “Devon adores him. Just… try to be nice, okay?”
That stung. My first reaction was anger—What do you mean, be nice?—and then I remembered how the words by mistake had flown out of my mouth, and I knew I deserved it. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d always thought of myself as strong, independent, opinionated. I’d never equated those things with being a bitch. I never crossed that line unless the situation called for it. But once again, I’d just proved myself an insecure idiot when Max Reilly was around.
“There’s blood and death in this, right?” Devon asked as we walked into the theater box. It was beautiful—elegant, comfortable, completely private, with an unparalleled view of the stage. Below us, the crowd was taking their seats, the hum of conversation classy and excited. It had been years since I’d been to the theater, since the year I’d gone to acting school. I’d forgotten how fun it was, especially right before the curtain came up.
“Lots of blood and death,” Max promised. There was a row of four seats. Olivia took the end. Devon sat next to her. I sat next to Devon—since this whole evening was supposed to be about him and I hanging out—and Max sat next to me.
He smelled good. His big arm brushed mine. The lights went low, though the curtain didn’t go up yet. It was a moment of hushed silence, of almost unbearable anticipation.
Devon and Olivia were talking quietly, so I said to Max, “I wasn’t trying to insult you. I was just shocked.”
He shifted in his seat, and his arm brushed mine again. It made my nipples go quietly hard under my dress. “It’s fine,” he said. “I seem to have that effect on you.”
“The one where I behave like a bitch?”
