“Well, that will be nice. I’m sure Tara will be happy to see you. She can’t stop talking about how nice it was that you came to Devon’s aid that morning.”
I lift my gaze and Jeff shrugs, his eyes serious, and on me.
“It was nothing. Whenever—whatever she needs,” he murmurs. My cheeks flush under his focus.
My mother’s hand reaches out and pats his shoulder and she goes to stand and Kevin and Jeff get up at the same time like we are in Victorian England. Curtsey, Mom!
“We’ll do the dishes,” Kevin tells her and she puts her hands up in surrender.
“Maybe you two could move in?” my mom suggests.
“Maybe Devon could go fetch the cupcakes from under her bed,” Jeff says, lifting his brows at me while he clears my plate.
I narrow my eyes on him. How’d he know my secret spot? I open my mouth to say I have no idea what he’s talking about and my mom gives me a look that I have yet to perfect in front of themirror. It would be so useful during assemblies to have that look in my arsenal.
As I leave the kitchen, I keep my eyes on Jeff to let him know I’m watching him. Gosh forbid he follows me up to my room like he did in the shed. I’d be pregnant by midnight.
I’m like a hormonal teenager around him and I want to chalk it up to my lack of sexy time, but in Syd’s words, “denial isn’t just a river in South America.” Whatever is going on here with Jeff needs fixing. This is not a Katy Perry song and I am not seventeen in my skin-tight jeans—though they do feel a bit tighter after that chicken parm. I’m a grown-ass woman with at least a modicum of self-control.
Ooooh! Cupcakes!
I slide them from beneath my bed and lift the lid, inhaling their sweet, decadent aroma, and stare down at the cream cheese icing that glides across the red-velvet like skis on fresh snow. He even got a few with cookie crumbles on top, just the way I like them. I lift one from its spot in the corner and turn it in my hand. I dab my tongue into the icing.It’s just a cupcake, Devon.Just a perfect, delicious cupcake.
But no one has ever brought me my favorite cupcakes before. The fact that he even knows my favorite cupcake is making the walls of my chest feel too tight for my heart. This is not good. I’ve got to do something about this situation—STAT. Shut. It. Down. Before someone, namely me, gets hurt. And ends up with a half-a-dozen fat chickens, terrified to leave the house.
Jeff’s a friend. A very kind, very platonic, annoyingly sexy friend. That’s all he can be. He proved that when he didn’t show up that night for dinner and sent me spiraling into the past like Marty McFly. He has priorities that are not me. Just like my Dad did. And look where that landed us.
I just need to add a few things to my rules and everything can go back to normal, safe, panic-free life. No more sheds. Nomore balconies. No more anything that architecturally separates us from others. Make-out prevention at its finest.
I open my mouth to take a bite of the cupcake-that-is-just-a-cupcake.
“Devonnnnnn!”
Damn that she-witch.
I yell back. “Comingggg!”
Then I shove the whole cupcake in my mouth.
Dr. Dick
Dr. Dick: What time do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?
Devon: Never. How’d you get my number?
Seriously though, what are you talking about?
Dr. Dick: I’m offering to take you up to Tara’s. Remember. I’ve got an interview at Langone.
Devon: Is Langone a strip club?
Dr. Dick: Langone is a high-priced escort service.
Devon: I’m supposed to be avoiding you.
Dr. Dick: Again? Didn’t we already play this game last month?
Devon: Yeah. I lost that round.
