He sets the glass on the patio table and glances down at himself, at the people still lingering below, at the camera, at the whole freakingspectacleof it.
Then he just… shrugs.
Shrugs! With that stupid beautiful smile and freshly washed hair and eyes like sun-warmed tea and abs so perfect theyhaveto be airbrushed.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” I demand.
“In my defense, Violet, it’s an unseasonably warm day and you told me to make myself at home.”
“Right. Because you often sit around the fires of Hell naked with a glass of wine in the middle of the day, holding court for the ladies?”
“Hell? Not since I was asked to leave. But in Los Angeles, yes, naked day-drinking is high on my go-to activities list, right up there with getting stoned with Finn, adult movie night, adult swim, and roaming from one room to the next without so much as a stitch of clothing to slow me down. In fact, when all this is over, you should visit the estate. I’d love to show you around, clothing optional, of course.”
Devlin’s energy shifts, his earlier excitement dimming.
Still trying to follow what might very well be the most insane conversation of my life, I finally process what he said. No, not the naked-romping-around-the-estate part. The earlier bit.
“Someone asked you to leave Hell?” I ask, my inner rage notching down from inferno to crackling bonfire. “But… who could do that? I thought you were large-and-in-charge down there.”
He clams up, a new feeling flooding his energy—one I’m quite familiar with.
Shame.
“Ugh! Long story, very boring, moving on.” Devlin downs the last of his wine and turns back to me with another smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The point being, yes, Ihavebeen known to appreciate the fruits of the vine in the nude, especially when I’m in the excellent company of beautiful women and good lighting and—oh, goodness! How utterly rude of me! I completely neglected to offer you a glass. Of your own wine, no less.” He laughs, shaking his head in self-admonishment. “No wonder you’re scolding me like an errant schoolboy caught masturbating in the teacher’s lounge.”
“What?”
With his typical fluid grace, he rises from the lounge chair, his glorious physique on full display—a display I can objectively appreciate as an objective appreciator of fine craftsmanship in general, which should always be appreciated, whether in the form of a marble sculpture, human being, immortal Devil or otherwise.
But still. Not appropriate. Whatsoever.
“Devlin!” I whisper-shout again, making a vague gesture toward the crowd.
“Oh, right! Wow, I’mreallyoff my game today.” He waltzes over to the edge of the balcony, the view of his lower half thankfully shielded by a row of my potted lemon balm, and tosses down the rest of the roses. “Thank you all so much for popping by. I hope to see you all patronizing Kettle and Cauldron in the coming weeks!”
The adoring fans cheer and whistle and shout out their phone numbers. Someone launches something onto the balcony… pretty sure it’s a black lace bra, but I can’t bring myself to look too closely.
Because all I can see right now is the tattoo on his backside. Theleftside, specifically. Firm, rounded, and inked, impossible to miss.
I narrow my eyes and scrutinize, since that’s clearly what the situation calls for. “Is that a… apitchfork?”
Devlin chuckles and turns to face me, still just airing it all out like nobody’s business. “Admiring my body art, are you?”
It takes me a minute to catch my breath again.
Is my blood sugar crashing? Do I need more tea? Why am I so light-headed?
Goddessdamnit!
“Admiring?” I scoff, averting my eyes. “Hardly. It’s just impossiblenotto see it when you’re flashing it all around like a… a… a bigflasher…guy. Who flashes everything.”
“As big flasher guys are wont to do.”
“I can’t believe you have a pitchfork tattooed on your butt cheek.”
“It’s ironic.”
“It’s tacky.”
