I take my blanket and drape it over him, and then head to the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth before trying to tame my hair, brushing it and smoothing it out. When I walk out of the bathroom, Devon is awake and sitting on the bed, his elbows on his knees, with his head down.
“Devon?” I say, concerned. His posture screams defeat, and I don’t like seeing him like this. He instantly sits up straight, maintaining his façade. He takes my reader from next to the bed, and turns it on. I groan when I remember what I was reading last night.
“Never took you for a whips and chains kinda girl,” he says after a few moments.
“I’ll try anything once,” I say with a nonchalant shrug. His eyes widen for a second, his interest evident.
“Is that right?” he asks, returning the reader to the side table.
“Sure. You only live once, right?” I say as I sit down next to him, leaning into his personal space.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks suspiciously, scooting away. I lift my hand and place it on his shoulder, ignoring his flinch when we make contact.
“You’re so tense,” I say as I sit up on my knees and start to massage his shoulders. He groans when my fingers find a knot, and I work it out with my thumb. He makes a noise deep in his throat that causes a tug in my lower belly and my heart to race.
He is masculine perfection.
And not meant for me.
I sigh, pulling my hands away, and sitting back on the bed in silence.
“Thanks,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse.
“Anytime,” I reply, meaning it.
“I’ll get you some breakfast.” He stands up from the bed, but doesn't leave.
“I’m going crazy in here, Devon,” I tell him, my tone wavering slightly.
He turns to face me, his eyes staring into mine. His hands clench into fists. “I can’t take you out, Leighton.” The regret in his tone confuses me.
“How long am I supposed to stay cooped up like this?” I ask, standing up and putting my hands on my hips.
He doesn't say anything, just looks at me, heaving a heavy sigh because we've been over this. I know it, but I'm not about to give up.
“I want pancakes for breakfast.” I decide to be difficult, narrowing my eyes at him, daring him to say no.
“Fine,” he grumbles, taking a step toward me, leaning in, his face just inches from mine. His eyes dance between my lips and my own eyes. For a second, for a terrifying and exciting second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I could help him. I could just close the small distance between us and finally taste his lips after all this time. I can see that he wants it, but he’s fighting it.
We stand like that for what could be mere seconds or maybe minutes, I don’t know. I can see it in his eyes when he decides not to do it, feel him retreating, stepping away from this situation as he always does. He backs away toward the door, his eyes still holding mine, pleading not to push him when he’s so close to snapping. My shoulders slump in defeat and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to hate him.
“Fuck,” he practically growls, and then I hear the door slamming. My finger flies to my lips, wishing I’d closed that space between us. I open my eyes and stare at the door, willing it to burst open and for him to barge in and just kiss the living daylights out of me.
But he doesn’t.
I know the two of us is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever had. My dad would probably flip out at the thought of it, let alone if he found out it happened.
My hand falls limp by my side. He’s coming back soon and I need pull myself together, pretend I wasn’t burning up inside for him.
I tidy up my bed, and put all my dirty clothes in the laundry basket. I don’t know who washes my clothes, but Hayley takes them out. She even brought me a bag of new clothes the other day.
All designer.
Where is Hayley, anyway? I was actually getting a little fond of her.
I walk into the bathroom, stripping down to my birthday suit and turning on the shower. When it’s the perfect temperature I step in under the water. I frown at my prickly legs that really need to be shaved. Not like Devon is going to give me a razor.
I really think he overestimates me.
I dry my hair and my body, walking out into the room wrapped in a towel. A short, bald man stands next to my bed, leering at me. I scream, run back into the bathroom, and lock the door behind me. It’s a flimsy lock that even I could probably pick, but a lock nonetheless, giving me some security.
Who the fuck is that man and why is he in my room? I stand against the door until my breathing evens, then I dress back into my pajamas, since I didn’t take my fresh clothes into the bathroom, and put my ear against the door, listening.
Silence.
I wait about ten more minutes before I open the door. Seeing that the room is empty, I sigh in relief.
Fucking creeper.
Ten minutes later, Devon walks in, scowling, with a plate of pancakes in his hand.
“What the hell, Devon?” I shriek, my voice shaking.
“What now? You changed your mind about the pancakes or something?” he says sarcastically, slamming the plate down on the table harder than necessary. It's plastic, so it doesn't make any noise, but the pancakes slide around on the plate.
“This isn’t a joke,” I say, crossing my arms in a protective gesture.
“What?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“One of your fucking minions was in my room!” I yell, letting my expression show him how I felt about it.
“What the fuck? I said the room was off limits,” he says in a low angry tone. His words shouldn't feel so good to hear, but they do. They give me just a little hope.
“He just stood there, staring, then left,” I point with my finger at the place where the man was standing. “He looked like a serial killer.”
“I’ll take care of it. Eat,” he demands and storms out of the room.
DEVON
I pound on my uncle's door and enter without waiting for permission. He looks over from what seems to be a heated discussion with Stevie, but when they see it's me they stop talking.
Stevie looks furious. Frank's face is perfectly neutral.
“Devon.” Frank rounds the table and takes a seat in his leather chair. I watch his eyes, but as usual, they give nothing away. I've never seen him and Stevie fight about anything. Everything my uncle says Stevie just does, no questions or objections.
“I said I'll handle it,” I tell them both through clenched teeth.
Frank nods at the same time Stevie shakes his head, like he's disappointed. “I know you will,” Frank tells me.
“So why in the world did you send one of your goons in her room?”
My uncle's head snaps to Stevie in question. “Did you go in there?” he says, his voice low.
“You scared the crap out of her, Stevie,” I tell him.
He just shrugs like it's no big deal. I walk up to him and grab him by the collar of his jacket before I even realize what I'm doing. “That. Room. Is. Off. Limits. Understand?” I shake him with each word for good measure.
Frank clears his throat, stealing my attention. He gives me an amused look. “Calm down, Devon. Sit,” he says, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his table. I inhale deeply, trying to calm myself down and let Stevie's jacket go. He stumbles back.
Walking to the other side of the table, I'm about to sit when he says, “Why the fuck were you in her room all night? You spend an awful lot of time with her, is that your way of handling it?”