“No. It’s so you can scream into the pillow.”
Her eyes widen and the amber around her pupils seems to melt. The words hang there between us. I’m suddenly aware that my hand is still on her leg and that I’m sitting on her bed and her chest is rising and falling beneath that ridiculous tee. She’s not wearing a bra. She rolls over just as my eyes find her hard nipples.
I let out a slow breath that does nothing to help the situation beginning in my pants.
“Alright, you ready?” I ask her as I get into position.
“No,” she murmurs into the pillow.
“I’m just going to stretch you first,” I explain as I slowly rotate her ankle and pull out her toes.
She grunts a little and then giggles when my fingers accidentally brush along the balls of her feet.
“Careful. You might get kicked again,” she warns.
I push my thumbs into the lump on her calf and make a small circle. She tenses, her hands grip the sheets and the sight of her fingers wrapped around the linen makes my throat go dry and forces me to look away.
“You ok?” I ask as I work the tissue in slow circles.
She turns her head so I can see the side of her face.
“I’m fine. Get the damn thing out and stop fucking around,” she tells me, and I chuckle and push a little harder, causing her to turn her head back into the pillow and let out a low groan.
“Ummm. Am I interrupting something?”
I jump a little, but Devon doesn’t flinch. Tara is standing in the doorway holding two mugs of coffee, her mouth stretched into a wide smile.
“Shut up, Tara. He’s getting the watermelon out of my calf.” Devon rolls over and sees what her sister is holding and lights up. “Oh, Angel of Mercy. Coffee.” She claps. Actually claps.
I take a mug out of Tara’s hand and thank her then watch as she holds the second cup just out of Devon’s reach.
“You want this?” Tara asks.
Devon’s eyes turn to slits.
“Promise you’ll come to Milan in the early spring,” Tara demands, pulling the coffee back slowly as Devon’s fingers reach forward.
“That’s not even remotely fair. And isn’t it cold? Couldn’t you pick a nice Hawaiian?”
“Then I’ll drink it.” Tara takes a sip.
“You know I can make my own damned coffee,” Devon says.
“I used the last of the grinds and I doubt you can walk on that.” Tara gestures to her bad leg.
Devon shoots me a look and then stares at my mug as I lift it to my lips. I let out a long mmmmmmm.
“Dick,” she murmurs. “Fine, T. I promise to come to Milan in the spring if you promise to visit Mom twice a month until you leave.”
Tara scoffs. It’s like watching a chess death-match. I can’t help but wonder why the hell Devon wouldn’t want to go to Milan. Or why Tara needs to make a promise to see their mother. I’d kill to see my own mother right now.
“That’s a bit much,” Tara begins, but Devon gives her a look that could have started global warming and Tara shrugs. “Fine. I promise.”
Devon lunges for the coffee and I’m shocked it doesn’t spill everywhere. She puts her lips to the cup like it’s the holy grail. They both turn to me at the same time as if they’ve just remembered I’m still there.
“Can you get her in for an MRI today?” Tara asks.
Devon smacks her. “Eavesdropping again?”
