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“Keep looking at me,” he whispers with urgency when the intrusion becomes too much and my eyelids clench shut. I grip his back and do as he says. “You’re more than beautiful, Nova Pratt. That was my first thought when I saw you on the screen that day. I’d already stalked you online, already knew I’d struggle to stay away from you.” His eyes flutter, and he stops moving, and ahhhh, we’re so close.
Inches.
“Hey, Hotshot.” I grit my teeth, taking a moment as the burn—the evidence of my virginity’s soon-to-be demise—sets in. “Keep those eyes open.”
His damp forehead touches mine as he laughs through a curse. Feeling giddy, I run my nose along his cheek, kissing his jaw.
After a moment, Devin withdraws, his head lifting so he can see my face. “Attraction is simple.” My hands slide up his spine, clutching as his body presses into mine. “Attachment was foreign—” Devin’s mouth steals my whimper on his last push and my heart with his last words, “until you.”
* * *
Everything below my waist aches, but it’s a pleasant ache. The type that has heat crawling over my skin as I think of how I got here. How a confession of want turned into passion. How passion turned into need. How sharing ourselves with each other felt like the most natural of things. It still does. I have no regrets. No matter how complicated the future is, sharing that moment will always be special.
Devin held me as our heartbeats calmed, his face buried in my neck and his fingers massaging my hip and thigh until I fell into a blissful sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, I’d stirred at the loss of his heat against my backside, and he kissed my shoulder, saying he was using the bathroom. I must have rolled over and fallen asleep before he returned, totally sated.
Biting back a smile, I inhale a cleansing breath and roll over, my hand searching the sheets for Devin.
My fingers meet nothing.
My eyes snap open. I’m alone in bed. They drift to the bathroom—door open, lights off. To the chair where he tossed his duffle—empty. To the pillow beside my head—my car keys rest.
What the…
Grabbing my keys, I wrap the sheet tightly around my body, unable to process anything other than fear and throw open the motel room door. I press the button for the trunk—
Empty.
eighteen | devin
November | TWO YEARS LATER
Maybe I’ve becomespoiled with the Mediterranean-like California weather, but the bitter twenty-seven-degree Vermont wind cuts through my coat. I miss calling Michigan home, but I don’t miss winters this cold. Mom and Willa are lucky I love them enough to endure leaving behind the high sixties on the beach.
Stopping in front of a two-story white stone building in downtown Burlington, Palmer and I shake off the chill. We walk through black doors and enter a dimly lit hall into The Whiskey Room. A hostess seats us at a table along a leather bench bordering the room, and Palmer scoots beside me.
After ordering a drink, my gaze wanders the rich, mahogany bar bustling with groups and dates. Being the Friday after Thanksgiving, I’m unsurprised by the crowd. Probably all the schmucks who spent too much shopping sales at six a.m. and now they need drinks to wash the fighting mobs and credit card debt away. Though I’ve never been here, my brother-in-law recommended it, so the mass of people better mean it’s good.
Pulling my roaming eyes back to Palmer, they stall on the long blonde hair of a woman on the opposite side of the room. A familiar profile paralyzes me. Nova tips her head back with a laugh I hear from memory.
My mouth dries, my palms sweating. It’s not that I didn’t think she’d be home for the holiday, I just didn’t expect to bump into her out and about. I didn’t expect to see her at all. I equally want to flee and scoop her up in a hug. Should I go over there? Say hi? Do I take Palmer’s hand and hightail it before Nova sees me?
As if feeling the weight of my stare, her head swivels in my direction. The glowing smile gracing her lips falls in an instant. Time suspends, the bar’s volume fading to background noise, a steady hum. Nova blinks like she thinks she imagines me, and I lift a wave. Her hand rises, but her grin doesn’t return, her eyes in a battle between skepticism and relief.
It’s now or never.
“There’s someone I need to say hi to.” I pat Palmer’s knee. “I’ll be right back.”
As I draw closer, Nova’s mouth moves, but she’s not loud enough for me to hear. And the heads of three women whip my way.
“Real smooth, guys,” Nova mutters when I’m within earshot. Reaching her table, she toys with standing, hands gripping the edge of the table, but ultimately stays seated. “Devin.” My name is a blend of politeness and reluctance.
“Hey there, Spitfire.”
She covers a faint wince as she adjusts in her chair. “How are you?”
It’s a small talk question, so I give a small talk answer. “I’m all right, staying busy. You?”
“Good, great.” She forces a smile. Whether Nova realizes I can tell or not, she holds firm.
