He moves into the kitchen, and I feel him pause behind me. I know he’s looking at the laptop screen I haven't closed fast enough. But all he can see is Instagram.
"What are you doing?"
I can't do this anymore.
I turn in my chair to face him. He's holding a container of last night's chicken, looking at me with slight concern. “Checking the credit card bill."
He blinks. "Okay?"
"Two hundred and forty-seven dollars at the Hilton bar. That's a lot of drinks." My voice sounds like it’s going to snap. Maybe it is.
His brows crash together. “It was an open bar for the mixer. That must have been?—”
"It wasn't the mixer. The charge is time-stamped after midnight."
Now what is he going to say?
Devon sets down the container. He scratches the back of his neck and presses his lips together. My skin prickles.
“Mila and I got drinks; didn’t I say that?”
My blood boils. I think I’d remember if he fucking said that.
"You told me you were with Grant. You texted me you were talking to Grant."
"Because he came over?—"
"Mila posted photos, Devon." I hold up my phone, showing him the screenshot. "Old friends, new adventures. Eleven forty-five PM. Where was Grant then?"
He stares at the screen. I watch his throat bob as he swallows.
"I don't know what you want me to say, Jade. I had drinks with Mila. I told you that. Grant came over, but then—he was weird, so I had some drinks with Mila. She was telling me how he’d turned aggressive after they split?—”
I’m not interested in Mila’s fucking sob stories, so I cut him off. “So, you lied.”
"I didn't lie, I just?—"
"You told me you were with Grant when you were with her. That's a lie, Devon."
His hands curl into fists at his sides. “Look, I told you I had drinks with her and got silly drunk. I didn’t lie about Grant being there; he just didn’t stay.”
“Oh, so instead of calling me back, you got hammered with Mila?”
He looks at me, and for one moment, I see something flicker across his face—fear, maybe, or regret—before it disappears.
“I didn’t want you to get upset,” he says finally. “It was just drinks.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly it hurts.
But I can't.
“Drinks that cost over two hundred dollars and ended with you sleeping in her hotel room,” I whisper. “Something happened. Maybe not what I'm imagining, butsomething. And until you tell me what it is, I can't trust anything you say."
Devon opens his mouth like he's going to argue, but he doesn’t.
And that tells me everything.
Chapter Thirteen
