Heignored me as he shook his head, twisting his lips. “And then, he usedsomething likethatagainst you? Fucking asshole … He was trying tointimidate you, Kylie. He wanted to make you feel small and weak against him,but you know what? I’m bigger, and I’m stronger, and I think we established thefirst fucking night we met, that I won’tevertolerate someone treatingyou like that.”
Thereminder of that night, all those years ago, sent a current of reminiscencethrough my bones. My mouth went dry at the memory of a younger Devin, astranger to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. Staking false claim overme, in defense against the bastard that tried to drag me away. I remembered thepolo, the khakis, and suddenly,all ofthosesimilarities weren’t lost on me.
Maybethere was something to Nate’s accusations. Maybe Devinhadbeenprotecting me,possessingme all this time, and I hadn’t noticed.
Or,maybe I did, and maybe I liked it.
Theheat radiating from his body was angry, and primal. The way he hovered over me,blowing hot gusts of air through his nostrils, his chest heaving and fistsclenching.
Iswallowed and wet my lips. I could feel it—that magnetic pull between us, theone that had gone ignored for so long—and I swallowed again, stepping aroundhim to breathe.
“Youshould get out there,” I said, keeping my eyes lowered.
Henodded, thrusting a hand into his hair. “Yeah … yeah, okay.”
Andwith that, he hurried through the door and across the room to the stage. Butbefore the door could stop swinging, I caught a glimpse of him, glancing overhis shoulder. Watching for me. Waiting.
Whenhe was no longer in my sights, I pressed my back to the refrigerator, clutchingmy hands over my chest in that movie heroine sort of way. My heart thrust withstartling strength into my ribs and I knew it wasn’t the break-up, or Nate’sway of making me feel like crap, that had done it.
No,it was the crush I had denied for so long, bubbling to the surface. It remindedme that it was hard—so fucking hard—for attractive men and swooning womento be friends.
CHAPTER TEN
Devin
“So, does anybody elsewant to mess with metonight, or can I play my songs?” I asked as I jumped onto the stage.
Thegathering of town residents and outsiders chuckled as I slid the guitar strapover my arm and head before taking my seat on the wooden stool. The mic feltcold in my hands as I readjusted it one last time.
“Okay,that’s better,” I said, and the mic squealed through the speaker. “Whoa there,buddy,” I said to it, and the gathering of people laughed again. “It’s excitedto see me, I guess.” They laughed louder, and I smiled, taking the giggle breakto scan the crowd.
Therewere about a dozen faces in all, some I recognized and others I didn’t, and myheart surged into overdrive.
Butthen, my eyes fell on Kylie, noticing that she’d let down her hair. I homed inon her eyes, finding my courage within them as I always did. She smiled, and Inoticed her lipstick. The grayed-purple hue that so beautifully emphasized thefullness of her lower lip and the pronounced dip of her cupid’s bow. She hadn’tbeen wearing any during the altercation with Nate—I would’ve noticed, I alwaysdid—and she rarely wore makeup unless she was seeing someone,impressingsomeone …
Myeyes quickly swept the room, looking for who her next target might’ve been, andaside from the very uninterested and very married Patrick Kinney, I came upempty. A match was struck in my gut and a flame began to build, with the hopeand possibility, thatIcould have beenhim, and when I lookedback to her, that flame grew to bonfire proportions at the sight of her stare.Cracking. Spitting. Coaxing my desperation to see things that might not havebeen there at all.
Itwas only lipstick, after all.
Withthat sobering reminder, I glanced at my guitar and placed my fingertips on thefrets. I held my pick, closed my eyes, and leaned toward the mic.
“Thisone’s called ‘Objects of Attraction,’” I said, and with a clearing of mythroat, my fingers plucked and strummed against the strings.
Every vibration of every note,was adirect line to my heart, and the acoustic folk-blues rhythm I made my own gaveway to lyrics inspired by the girl in the front row—my biggest fan. My eyessqueezed tight, my forehead crumpled, and I let the words carry me toward thatnight I wrote the song.
Sunmeets the sand,
Ablinding expanse.
Yousay, “Which one would you choose?”
They’reall so perfect, all so pretty.
Butnone of them are you.
Aday on the beach, years ago.All ofthose girls in theirbikinis, many of them looking in my direction, with flirty eyes and bashfulsmiles. Kylie hadn’t asked me which I’d pick—that was an artistic liberty on mypart—but I had asked myself, “If you could have any one of these girls,which would you want?” And it was only ever, undoubtedly, without a fuckingsecond thought …Kylie.
Thesongendedand the crowd clapped. A few peoplecheered, those folks that just had to make some noise. Kylie was always one ofthem, standing up, hands above her head, hollering, “Yeah, Devin!”
