I stay put, take the time to pull my shit together and stop the tachycardia she’s triggered. She needs comfort. And I need to back off. And get my heart rate steady. But I know that all the cleansing breaths in the world aren’t going to steady this. I’m fucked. Head-over-heels fucked. And if I really let myself look closely, I know that I have been for a while. Every piece of me is pulling toward her, except that one reasonable part of my brain, saying, “don’t be a selfish shit, Jeff.” Give her what she needs. Maybe I should head out back and scrape the chicken shit. That’ll cool me down.
I take a long swig of my beer and roll my shoulders once, grab onto that reasonable voice in my mind, and get ready to face that cupcake.
Doc, Doc, Goose
Tara: Anyone heard from Devon tonight?
Meredith: She won’t text me back either.
Kevin: That’s because Jeff went over to check on her.
Tara: WHATTTTT!
Meredith: About time.
Kevin: He just needed a gentle shove.
Tara: I’m gonna call her.
Meredith: Leave her alone, T! She might actually be getting laid.
Kevin: There’s no way in hell she’s going to sleep with him tonight, of all nights.
Meredith: Is someone jealous?
Tara: I’m with Kevin. Devon won’t be able to get it up tonight.
Meredith: Fine. I give him til’ Sunday to close the deal.
Kevin: I’ll take that bet. Dev’s got on that chastity belt from Robin Hood: Men in Tights.
Tara: I’m still with Kev. Except I don’t know what that is.
Meredith: Kevin. You are a fucking nerd. And a hundred dollars Jeff ends Dev’s dry spell by sundown on Sunday.
Kevin: I call.
Tara: I’m in.
No outside involvement though.
Meredith: Obviously. It’s not like I’m gonna handcuff them together naked or something.
Kevin: Oh man. Here we go.
Tara: Ohhhhhh. I remember! Call the locksmith! haha
Meredith: Please don’t humor him, T.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Devon
Lesson 33: Be careful with grief. It can push you over the edge.
My emotions are in hyperdrive. I can’t keep my leg from bouncing like a sugar-stoned kid on a trampoline. After all those cupcakes, I just mightbesugar-stoned. And Jeff keeps putting his hand on my thigh to stop it—like that’s going to help calm my neurons.
It’s not enough that Hugh Jackman and Zac are doing an Irish jig on a bar like they do with less clothes in my dreams twice a week, but Jeff keeps watching me with this adorably cautious expression and asking if I need another cupcake/beer/slice. I want to kiss him so badly that I keep shoving cupcakes in my mouth to keep it occupied. On top of all that, I’m fighting back tears every time something beautiful happens on the screen—and spoiler alert—something beautiful happens every thirty seconds in this goddamned movie. Neither the cupcakes, northe rapid blinking back of tears is making Jeff’s gaze any less tantalizing. And so we are stuck in this vicious, delicious cycle.
