My heart does a thing. You know, the thing a heart does when it stops working, because I'm pretty sure that's exactly what's happening to me right now. And now it's my turn to stay perfectly still, perfectly silent, and if it weren't for the music, the whole bar could hear the slush of my bloodflow.
This is it. One silly question, worded in an unserious way, the Devon way, hanging in the small pocket of air between us, demanding an answer that has the potential to change my entire life.
The word refuses to come out, so I nod. And nod again. Only then does my throat finally unclench enough for me to produce a, "Yes," even though it barely sounds like a word at all. "I think I'd like that."
The bar noise fades to static. There's nothing but Devon's face, and his eyes, and his mouth that's slowly settling into a smile, the kind of smile that promises things I'm not sure I'm prepared for but desperately want anyway.
"I have a roommate," he says, and my brain malfunctions.
Because why does that matter now? Why is he changing the subject? Why—
It takes me so long to realize what lies behind those words, it’s embarrassing. When I finally do, the world around me ceases to exist. "I don't," I finally say, my voice all rasp.
Things happen quickly then. Devon picks up his drink and finishes it in one go, then slides off his barstool and shrugs on his coat. Somehow I'm standing too, although I don't remember getting up. And I continue standing, unmoving, as Devon takes the first few steps toward the door.
He then looks over his shoulder and asks, "You coming?"
I let out a shaky exhale and follow him into the cold.
CHAPTER 18
ACE
MY CAR IS right there. Twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten.
Each step lands heavier than the last, like I'm wading through setting concrete. My heart has forgotten its regular rhythm and just pounds against my ribs, and my hands are shaking like I'm about to defuse a bomb instead of unlock a car door. And maybe that's not far off, because I'm about to get in a vehicle with a guy who just asked if he could show me his dick in person.
And I said yes.
The key fob's slippery as I thumb the unlock button. The beep slices through the quiet parking lot, way too loud, like it's broadcasting to every person in a three-block radius that Ace Jackson is about to do something he's never done before.
With a man.
We get in simultaneously, doors thumping shut in a way that feels final.
My grip on the steering wheel borders on violent as I stare at the brick wall in front of me. The engine's not running. I should fix that. Turn the key, back out, drive home like a functioning human who isn't having an unprecedented flavor of sexual meltdown.
My hands stay locked on the wheel.
Devon shifts in the passenger seat, and I'm annoyingly aware of every sound: the rustle of his jacket, the shift of denim against leather.
"Ace."
My throat's closed up shop. No words available, sorry for the inconvenience.
"Hey." Something in his voice softens. "If you don't want to—"
I turn my head, and that's where everything goes sideways. Because Devon's right there, close enough I could count his eyelashes if I had the brain capacity for math right now. His eyes are dark, pupils swallowing the color, and his lips are parted just slightly, and every rational thought I've ever possessed just packs its bags and leaves.
"Fuck it," I mutter, and then I'm reaching for him.
Except Devon's faster.
He lunges across the center console, and his mouth collides with mine hard enough that my head bounces off the headrest. His fist tangles in my shirt, yanking me forward, and I'm kissing him back before the surprise wears off.
And it's nothing like the bar kiss. That one was performative. It was a question mark, tentative and uncertain, testing the waters.
This is Devon giving me the answer.
