"I might pass out. I might die, actually. Tell Hendrix I loved him. You're the—" He stops. Swallows. Tries again. "The tailor guy."
"In my defense, I really did need a tailor."
Devon's mouth is hanging open. I didn't know people's mouths did that outside of cartoons.
"Santa hats," I add, like that helps. Like anything helps at this point. "For the charity game. They needed to fit overhelmets and I couldn't find any that were big enough and I needed custom ones and—"
"You're rambling."
"I'm aware."
"You ramble when you're nervous." He says it like he's filing away information. Like he's taking notes. "That's interesting."
"Can we focus on the actual issue here?"
"Which is?"
"The fact that I've been—" I gesture vaguely between us, hoping the motion conveys everything I can't say out loud in a public establishment. "You know."
"Sexting me?"
I hastily glance around. "Jesus Christ, Devon."
"What? That's what it's called." He's staring at me with an expression I can't read. Not angry, not disgusted, just... processing. "How long have you known?"
"Just two days. I would have told you sooner if I knew. I—" I cut myself off and run my hand through my hair. Whatever was about to come out of my mouth next would technically be a lie. That's not why I'm here. I'm here to be honest. "Actually, I wasn't sure whether to tell you or not. Not until—" A still image of the video flashes through my mind. I push it aside and shift in my seat. That might be a little too much honesty all at once. "So, yeah. Two days."
Devon's studying me now like I'm a specimen under a microscope and he's trying to figure out what species I am, and I'm doing my best to squash the need to fill the silence.
Finally, his head jerks back as if he's hit with a fresh revelation. "Hold on. Back up. The guy you told me about. Fromwork. The one you couldn't stop thinking about. The one driving you crazy. That—" He pauses, and something shifts in his expression. "Was that me?"
The temperature suddenly rises by a million degrees. The bartender is hovering nearby, clearly eavesdropping. I shoot him a look and he retreats to the other end of the bar, suddenly very interested in polishing glasses.
Only then do I lean in, my face closer to Devon's, close enough that he can hear my whisper while still respecting his personal space. "Did you miss the part where I kissed you in front of fifty people?"
Devon's voice is anything but a whisper. "Abirdmade you do that."
I'm stuck somewhere between a chuckle that wants to break free and an impending heart attack as I lower my voice even more, my eyes darting left and right to make sure no one's within earshot. "A bird didn't make me get hard from it."
Devon inhales sharply. "You— what?"
"You heard me."
I'm not sure where all that bravado comes from, but I'm rolling with it.
Devon squints and says, "I'm not sure I believe you," and I swear there's a hint of a dare in his voice.
For some reason, I'm more than happy to take it. "Why do you think I stayed behind that bar for twenty minutes after?"
He shrugs and tries to pull an innocent face. He fails at it. "I thought you were being diligent. Committed to your bartending duties."
And now I'm on a roll. "I was committed to not showing the entire bar my erection."
A roll that apparently proves a bit too much even for Devon. "Holy shit," he says, our faces still only inches apart.
"Yeah."
"Holy shit."
