Page 105

Eventually, the evening dissolves into guessing baby names, so I decide to call it a night.

Pushing back from the table quietly, I mutter something about being tired, which isn’t a lie. No one stops me, too engrossed in the conversation to care. I trudge down the cool, dim hallway, imagining how good it’ll feel to collapse face-first onto the mattress. When I push the guest room door open, though, I stop short.

Devon’s already there, sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, head bowed. He looks up as the hinges creak, eyes widening. “Hi.”

“Hey. Thought maybe you went out for some air.”

He shrugs and drops his gaze to his loosely clasped hands. “Got tired of Matty staring at me like I was about to steal the silverware.”

My jaw tightens. “He wasn’t doing that.”

A corner of Dev’s mouth lifts, but there’s no humor in it. “Sure.”

Shutting the door a little harder than necessary, I lean against it and cross my arms over my chest. “You could’ve told me you were coming in here.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Silence settles heavily. He shifts on the mattress, and I realize with painful clarity that there’s only one bed.

“So,” I say, forcing my voice to remain neutral. “You sleeping in here then?”

“If you want me to take the couch, I will.”

“No.”

He glances up, brows pulling together. “No?”

“I mean—” Blowing out a breath, I lick my lips nervously. “No. It’s fine. We’ve shared a bed before.”

Something indiscernible flickers in his eyes. “Yeah. We have.”

The silence that follows is worse than the first, louder somehow.

I push off the door and step farther into the room. “What’s up with you? You’re acting off. This is weird.”

Devon huffs out a quiet laugh. “You really wanna open that can of worms right now?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He studies me closely, like he’s deciding what to say, before leaning back on his hands. “Dinner was fine. Your friends are good people. Your family is, too.”

“So why are you in here brooding?”

His gaze drifts to a spot behind my head. “It’s just… hard being the odd one out. Always has been.”

Something in my chest twists sharply. “You’re not an odd one out.”

“Christian.” He gives me an incredulous look. “I think we both know that I don’t belong here. Everyone else sees it too.”

Without realizing what I'm doing, I step into his space. “You don’t have to belong to them, pastelito.”

His features soften slightly. “Then where do I belong?”

That question hangs in the air dangerously.

I don’t answer right away, because the truth is sitting right there—heavy and begging to be said out loud, but I’m not sure I’m ready to own it yet.

So instead, I kick his feet apart and move between his legs, tugging him toward me. He comes willingly, pliant under my hands as I cup his jaw to angle his face. And when our lips meet in a slow caress, tongues dancing lazily, he pulls me onto his lap.