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“Way to put a lady on the spot.” I chuckle while dipping a piece of fried squash in the tentsuyu. “I don’t know. I like variety. Picking one thing seems impossible.” Tipping my head back, I stare at the ceiling. “If I had to pickonefood, it’d probably be bread. Any kind except white sandwich bread. And fresh out of the oven.” I hum, and out of the corner of my eye, Devlyn shifts his position.
What was that?
“Bread, huh?” I nod. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” Why? And what does that mean?
Devlyn picks up the remote and presses play, ending the story. Our conversation may be over, but we both wear ridiculous smiles on our faces.
When our bellies are full, Devlyn puts the leftovers in the fridge. We relocate to the couch, seemingly closer than before, and watch more episodes ofDark. I do everything within my power to focus on the show and not how close we sit.
Inevitably, I lose the battle and it isn’t long before I lay my head on Devlyn’s shoulder and press my weight into him. Never more comfortable than in this moment.
TWELVE
DEVLYN
A pinchin my neck stirs me from sleep, but I don’t dare move. Not when my senses spark to life and a scent I know all too well drifts through my nose. Jasmine, orange blossoms, and patchouli. Such a unique combination. Each note detectable on its own, but addictive when combined.
Shelly.
I crack an eye open, take in her blonde locks, then inhale deeply.
Face buried at the base of my throat; Shelly’s body curls into mine. Our legs a tangled mess. Her arms sandwiched between us, palms pressed to my chest. One of my arms supports her head while the other drapes her waist.
I close my eyes and absorb the moment, the connection, the gravity we can’t escape.
Oddly, in this blip of time, fear doesn’t grab me by the ankles and pull me under. In fact, fear is nowhere to be found. No fear, but anxiety bubbles just below the surface. That will never not exist when close to Shelly—physically and otherwise.
Thinking back to last night, Shelly sank into me more with each passing minute. Our bellies full after we gorged on the living room buffet. The second she laid her head on my shoulder, I closed my eyes and fought the voice of doubt in my head. The voice I heard often when it came to Shelly.
I don’t want to fight what I feel for her. I also don’t want to hurt again.
Question is, how do I balance what I feel for her and the self-doubt eating at my heart?
Shaking away my thoughts, I focus on the here and now. Focus on the sleeping woman in my arms. Opening my eyes to see her in a new way, a new light, close up and unrestrained. Expression soft, hair disheveled, lips slightly parted.
God, it feels good to hold her.Reallyhold her. How many times have I pictured this moment? Well, not thisexactmoment, but a similar one. One where I wrap my arms around her frame and haul her snug to mine. One where her touch provides me comfort and not unease. One where I sweep my knuckles softly over the line of her jaw, her cheekbone, her chin just before I lean in and brush my lips with hers.
Too many times. Not enough times.
A mumble leaves her lips. Something unintelligible. By her tone, I assume it was endearing or sweet, but can’t be certain. She mumbles again, a softpleaseagainst my skin. The heat of her breath, mixed with the weight of her plea, sends goose bumps across my skin.
Then she moves… and I freeze.
Her legs weave more with mine like vines climbing a trellis. One arm wraps around my torso and hugs me while the other fists my shirt. Her nose burrows into the bend where my shoulder and neck meet. And then she sighs. Melts into me more. Holds me physically captive. Arrests my heart. Consumes my soul.
I love and hate it equally.
I love how easy it is to love Shelly. To fall into her in ways I never did with Kelsey. To look forward to her smile and voice and presence. To feel the radiance bounding off her aura and spilling into mine. I love how her dark, starry eyes suck me in and send me soaring. Shelly makes me dream of possibilities, of the future, of a life with her.
In the same breath, I hate how easily I give in to my emotions with her. How easily I am willing to tear away the barrier guarding my heart, the one that has kept me sane and safe and whole for the last four years. The armor that shielded me from making irrational decisions based on what my heart wanted versus what my brain knew.
But Shelly isn’t Kelsey.
Shelly is vibrant and charismatic, brilliant and vivacious. When she walks in a room, she brings light and laughter and love with her. More than any of that, she is wise. Wise beyond her years. Mature. She would never just drop someone because she wanted to explore life freely.
We haven’t discussed our pasts—not in-depth—but her rosy cheeks every time I toss out a compliment give her away. Tell me her experience with men isn’t as vast as other women her age. She is selective with who sees her heart. If that’s true, it only adds to her allure.
