Could I feel his nipple piercings through his shirt? He was pressed right up against me, but it wasn’t as if anything was sticking into me. Maybe they were subtle, maybe I just didn’t know what I was looking for, maybe Aiden had been full of shit.
… in any case, I wasdefinitelythinking too much about Devin’s nipples all of a sudden. I’d never evenconsideredthe subject before, and yet here I was, obsessing.
This was a mistake.
I was going todiedoing this, of either embarrassment or frustration—whichever reached a critical point first.
But the look on Devin’s face, wide eyed, soft, so goddamnhopeful… that made it worth it. That would’ve been worth anything.
“I’ll see you later,” I promised, backing away again.
Devin gave me a tiny wave just as I turned to leave, and I couldn’t stop myself grinning as I stepped out into the sunshine again.
… shit.
Aiden wasnevergoing to let me hear the end of this.
4
Devin
“If you makethat face any longer, you’ll get stuck like that,” Marta said from behind me, swimming into view in the tiny staff room mirror I’d been checking my hair in for…
Ten minutes.
Morgan had texted me to let me know he’d had a last-minute problem to solve in the shop, so now I was hiding out in the back trying to look as put-together and dateable as I could manage in my company-provided polyester polo shirt and with very little product in my hair.
“I wasn’t making a face,” I said.
“Yeah you were,” Marta argued. “Like this,” she added, scrunching up her nose and going cross-eyed, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips.
Imighthave been making a face, butthatwasn’t it.
“I’m physically incapable of looking like that,” I said.
“Yeah,” Marta agreed, tilting her head to look at me. “You don’t have my cheekbones.”
“Just tell me whether or not I look okay before he gets here.”
“You look fine,” Marta said, reaching out to flip a strand of hair I’d just spent ten minutes getting to stay in place. “You always look fine, you’re naturally pretty.”
“Do you think he likes pretty?” I asked, self-conscious all over again.
I’d only seen Morgan with one other guy, and he couldn’t have been described aspretty. He’d been… decidedly masculine.
He’d also called mekid, which was ridiculous, because Morgan was only a year older than me. That was nothing now that we were in our mid-twenties.
“You know my opinion,” Marta said. “But you don’t believe me about the way he looks at you when you’re not looking.”
“He thought we weredating,” I pointed out. “I’m not relying onanyone’sobservational skills, here.”
“You want my opinion?” Marta asked.
“No,” I teased. “But I know that won’t stop you.”
“I think he convinced himself we were dating because he’s scared to make a move on you, and if you were already with someone else, he didn’t have to. Hewantedus to be dating.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Who’d be scared ofme?”
