“I just wanted to make sure you were still here to help me hide the body.”
Meredith looks my way and gives me an exasperated shake of her head. As she makes her way to refill her tequila I hear her murmuring something about getting it out of our systems and inevitability. But none of it sticks. It all just goes in one ear and bounces off my occupied brain. Because I’m too busy thinking of more ways to rile up the smirking smartass at the table beside me.
Chapter Eleven
Devon
Lesson 12: Never answer the door when a Salvatore brother is on-screen.
My last weekend before school traditionally requires an action-packed weekend of absolute stillness and peace. And there is only one place in the world right now where I can achieve such a state. Meredith and Kevin are at work. Tara’s still off gallivanting in Europe like she’s a royal. My mom is hogging our house—surprise, surprise. And I am at my leisure in Mer’s empty apartment.
It’s just me, my soul couch, and the Salvatore brothers, living life to its fullest when there’s a knock on the downstairs door. I ignore it, a) because I’m not wearing pants beneath the Drexel Med hoodie that reaches down to my knees, b) because Damon has his shirt off on the screen and I forget for a second that someone is knocking, and c) because going down the steps in mystupid boot requires serious work so I’m not getting up unless I absolutely have to. There’s another loud pounding and I realize that we are now in the “absolutely have to” territory.
I pauseVampire Diariesand hustle (waddle like a penguin) down the never-ending steps leading to the front entrance that empties onto Passyunk Avenue just as the third loud pound sounds on the triple latched door.
“Alright, alright! I’m coming!” I yell, reaching for the intercom button. “Yes?” This better be good considering topless Damon.
“It’s Jeff.”
I look up at the water stain in the corner of the staircase ceiling and shut my eyes. It’s been a full week since the chance run-in at CHOP and the tequila sodden shitshow that followed, and it has become increasingly difficult to avoid this man and believe me I’ve given it my full A-plus effort. The upcoming school year should provide a convenient excuse. I knew there was a reason I worked.
I press the intercom button again. “What do you need?”
There’s a long pause and I imagine Jeff’s dark hair glistening with sweat as the steam from the manhole on the sidewalk engulfs him in swampy clouds. Serves him right.
“Devon! Can you just open the fucking?—"
I unlatch the final lock with a smile. Something about Jeff cursing gives me unnatural joy.
The joy vanishes when the door swings open and a wave of suffocating heat sweeps over me and up the staircase. Jeff steps in and closes the door behind him, shaking his head as he looks me over. He’s barely sweating in his fitted jeans and vintage tee.
“Watch your language,” I tell him, turning and heading back upstairs which requires me to step and heave—step and heave—like I’m Jacob Marley pulling a ball and chain behind me. My mom would smack me in the back of my head for being suchan unwelcoming hostess, but I just want to get back to Damon’s pecs, hoping he will wipe the image of Jeff’s broad chest in his soft gray t-shirt from my annoying thoughts.
“Says the woman who drops the f-bomb like it’s a hot potato,” Jeff says from behind me.
“I only curse in the summer. I have to get it all out of my system. Why are you here anyway?”
I hold the back of the sweatshirt under my ass to make sure he cannot see any of my?—
“I’m not looking at your box o’love. And I’m here because I was invited.”
He has found a way to work box o’love into every conversation we’ve had since our sober introduction. Unfortunately, his determination and creativity impresses me. But he doesn’t need to know that. I press my lips together and ignore him as I lower myself onto the couch. I fold my good leg under me and lift my boot onto the coffee table then hit play, watching Jeff’s long stride in my periphery as he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge. I’m used to this with Kevin—the way he makes himself at home at Meredith’s and at my mom’s—but with Jeff it feels funny. Like we’re playing house. He makes his way back out of the kitchen with two bottles and hands one to me.
“Thanks,” I murmur, keeping my eyes glued to the screen as I take the beer.
He plops down on the cushion beside me. There’s a cushion open at the other end. Who sits in the middle when the end is open? Someone who knows exactly how far I want to be from him. That’s who.
“Ya know, I never understood why Elena goes for Damon. Stefan is obviously the better brother,” Jeff says.
I hit pause again and turn my neck slowly—exorcist style—use the full force of my teacher glare.
“If I have to do this with you, there’s some things you need to know.” He’s smiling and I want to poke something sharp into that stupid dimple on his right cheek. “Number one, I like my personal space so move over.” He murmurs something about the rules and scoots over like an inch, keeping his ass firmly planted on the middle cushion as he waits for me to go on. “Number two, Labor Day weekend is a sacred teacher pastime brought over by the Vikings in the early days of yore.”
He lifts his brows.
“Yup. So don’t go fudging it up for me.”
“It’s still summer so you might as well just say f?—”
