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Nine
Devon
I let out a rough bark of laughter at Waho’s response before closing out of my email app and slipping my phone back into my jacket pocket. I’m not sure why I keep emailing him; he’s such an arsehole, and yet, I also find our exchanges incredibly entertaining. I was looking for a distraction from the tedium that is this going away party for Emma—the event that wassupposedto have been our wedding—and I definitely found it. I’m tempted to continue the conversation, but I know that’s probably not the best idea, especially now that it’s taken a turn for the dirty, which, yes, I know was my fault—don’t ask me to explain why I thought bringing up blowjobs again would be a smart move. I know he was joking last time when he claimed to be both a teenager and a geriatric, but I’d still prefer not to start sexting with some random stranger over email.
But the emails’ content aside, I know I can’t spend the entire night on my phone. It’s bad enough that people already think I shouldn’t be here; I don’t need to be antisocial and prove them right. I scowl, recalling Wes’s comment about me accepting a ‘pity invite.’ Emma flat-outinsistedthat I come tonight; I wouldn’t be here otherwise.
“What’s that look for?” Ryan asks, accepting the beer I brought back from the bar for him.
“Wes Holt,” I growl. “Such a bloody tosser.”
Ryan lets out a soft chuckle and takes a sip of his beer. “Well, just think, after tonight you’ll probably never have to see him again.”
I give a nod of acknowledgment. “True. If there’s a silver lining to this whole thing it’s definitely washing my hands of that arsehole.”
Silver lining. Right.Whoever is in charge of that aspect of my life has some serious explaining to do. That’s the first thought that runs through my head as I stand there glaring at the man who just opened Emma’s front door. The second thought is so shameful and fills me with so much self-loathing I almost want to cry; because Waho was right: Iamattracted to Wes. Somehow, some completely primitive part of my brain has completely taken control of all my reasoning abilities, and is determined to ignore Wes’s horrible personality, instead zeroing in on the tattoos and the piercings and the muscles…so many muscles.
Rather than cry, or sigh, or—worst of all—start drooling, I just glare harder. And he glares back.
We’re finally interrupted by Emma, who comes rushing to the door, looking utterly mortified. “Oh my god, Wes—what are you doing? Let him inside.”
Wes scowls and steps aside so I can enter the flat. “What’s he doing here?” Wes demands.
“Hehas a name,” I say tersely. “And I’m here to drop some things off for Emma. I thought she might want them in Paris.”
“Just what everyone needs for a move abroad ,” Wes says with an eye roll. “Junk they left at their ex’s place.”
Without comment, I hand the M&S bag I’m holding to Emma and wait patiently for her reaction.
She peers inside the bag and lets out a little squeal, immediately throwing her arms around me. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I was wondering where I’d left these!” she gushes, tugging a pair of ankle boots and a cashmere scarf from the bag.
I arch an eyebrow at Wes, who just shakes his head.
Seemingly buoyed by the return of her boots, Emma drags me into the kitchen, insisting I stay for a cup of tea. If it were just Emma, I’d probably turn down the invitation, mainly because I know she still has a ton of packing to do and, even though we’re friends, that’s not really something an ex can help with. But with Wes there lurking about, clearly chagrined by Emma’s burst of hospitality I have no problem accepting, purely out of spite.
Immature? Absolutely. Do I care? Not one bit.
Of course, my childishness comes back to bite me because I spend the entire time drinking my tea forcing myself to focus on the conversation with Emma and not get distracted by Wes instead. He has a new ring in his bottom lip, and I’m certain the whole purpose of it is to drive me insane.
“Really?Anothernew piercing?” I finally ask, unable to stop myself.
He fingers the silver loop in his bottom lip. “Yeah, we have a new apprentice at the shop who needs to practice piercings. It was my turn to be her guinea pig.”
My face screws up in horror. “You let some untrained amateur just stick holes in your skin?”
Wes just shrugs. “She needs to learn somehow. Better me than paying clients. And she did a pretty good job, I think. See—” He lifts his t-shirt, revealing not only a set of tight, well-defined abs, but a shiny new silver piercing sitting in his belly button.
I stare at it, utterly transfixed, my mouth going completely dry at the sight.
“Oh my god,Wes!”Emma cries. “Stop it. You know Devon’s terrified of needles. Can’t you see how freaked out he is?”
“Why do you think I’m showing him?” Wes says with a smirk.
Ignoring her brother, Emma turns to me, concern in her eyes. “Are you okay? You seem really shaken.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her, happy to let her think my reaction was because of my phobia and not because of the sudden impulse I had to drop to my knees and run my tongue all around Wes’s new piercing.
Setting my mug down, I offer Emma a tight smile. “It’s actually probably time for me to go. And I’m sure you’ve got a ton to do before you leave.”
She nods. “Yeah. Best get back to it.” She walks me to the door, giving me a tight hug as I leave. “Thanks for the boots.”
