Daring Devlin (Lost Boys #1) - Jessica Lemmon Page 0,52
macabre cheers. I drank several long swallows, the carbonation burning my throat. He gestured for me to continue.
I shook my head, but continued anyway. “It’s a cautionary tale of underage drinking and distracted driving.” Then I added the part I never told anyone about. “The story of how the bad girl led her saintly boyfriend to his untimely death.”
“You? A bad girl?” The edge of his mouth lifted with one eyebrow.
“All things being relative.” I waited for him to pity me. To apologize. He did neither.
“Was your boyfriend really a saint?”
I shrugged. “When you die at eighteen, no one seems to remember anything bad about you.”
Long, thick lashes swept over his blue eyes. “And they didn’t remember anything bad about you, either.”
“Nope.” He got it. Just like that. No pseudo-sympathizing. No judgment. Nothing but an assessment that happened to be spot-on.
He hugged my knees and dropped his chin on his arm. “Did you want to keep being bad?”
I nodded.
“Instead you were forced to be the mourning girlfriend. Go to a shrink. Talk through your problems.”
He was right on all counts.
“What did you do after that? Only date guys who were in seminary?”
I picked at the frayed ends of the blanket. “I… didn’t date anyone.”
He let go of my legs and sagged against the back of the couch. “Don’t say until me.”
“Okay. I won’t say it.”
His chest expanded to take in a deep breath.
“It’s a burden isn’t it? Knowing you’re the guy who came after I dated the perfect guy? Why do you think I stayed single for four years?” I tipped the beer bottle and guzzled, feeling Devlin’s eyes on me. I poked his leg with my toe. “Your turn.”
He faced me and a shock of hair fell over his forehead. “My worst thing can’t touch yours.”
I believed it. Death had the final say.
“I don’t want to know your worst thing. I want to know the story behind your learning you had a brother.” I wasn’t sure he would tell me. Then he did.
“My dad’s best friend, Paul, who I’ve been trying to help out of a tight spot, apparently had an affair with my mom behind my dad’s back. Years ago. Mom split and didn’t tell Dad she was pregnant with Cade. Dad’s dead now, so…”
Sounded like he had me on the worst tale after all. I’d miss my parents if they weren’t around. I felt my brows pull in sympathy.
He didn’t see my expression because his head was down and he was talking to his bourbon. “Paul’s son, as it turns out, is my half brother. Mom took off when I was, like, two. That left me with Dad, who managed to lose nearly everything—including his life—by the time I was eighteen.”
It was the first time he’d talked about family. About anything personal, actually. I really didn’t know Devlin. Our bodies knew each other, and I’d believed that was enough. I didn’t know if I still believed it was enough, but that idea frightened me. Knowing more about him would only make it harder when he left. And he would leave. On some instinctive level I knew Melinda was right about him. He would hurt me. Not physically. Physically, he could only delight me. But there wasn’t a doubt in my mind he’d stomp my delicate heart into sawdust when he was through with me.
I wrapped my own arms around my knees. “Sorry about your dad. How’d he die?”
“Jumped off a bridge into the river.”
I winced, the visual hitting me hard.
“Cade’s dad, Paul, took me in. Out of the goodness of his heart.” He refilled his glass, splashing bourbon on the coffee table. He slammed the bottle down so hard, I was surprised when the glass table didn’t crack.
“Did you learn how to gamble from your dad?”
He nodded, drank, and poured some more.
The bottle was almost empty. “Maybe you should stop drinking.”
“Maybe you should go home.” His sharp glare sliced me in two.
“You invited me to come here.”
“I got what I wanted. You can go now.”
My limbs tingled as adrenaline washed through my bloodstream. I’d never known anyone more mercurial. I’d been giving him the benefit of the doubt, but he’d pushed me too far with that barb. He could wallow alone.
I put my feet on the floor and wrapped the blanket around me like a sarong. He wanted me to leave and leave mad. No problem. I snatched the liquor bottle, unwilling to go quietly into the good night.