Daring Devlin (Lost Boys #1) - Jessica Lemmon Page 0,8
I offered, meaning it.
“No, you don’t have to do that.” She palmed my arm. “Tony and I might be a while.”
He smirked. I narrowed my eyes. I could still blame him. The bastard.
“He’ll drive me home,” Tash said, then to me, “Are you sober?”
“Yeah.” Ridiculously so.
“Great.” She tugged Tony to the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “Text me when you get home, okay?”
Right. Like she’d be in the position to read that correspondence.
Chapter Three
Rena
Home from the party, I changed out of my tight clothes and into a pair of black yoga pants and a long-sleeved gray hoodie. I’d spent a lot of Friday nights home alone. The girl whose boyfriend died was a downer at any party, so it wasn’t like I’d gotten a lot of invites back then. With the exception of Tasha dragging me out to be social. Kind of like she’d done tonight.
I wasn’t mad at her for ditching me, but I didn’t look forward to the phone conversation we’d have in the near future about how I’d “never believe what Tony did!” or her declaring she was going to become a lesbian because all men were jerks.
My reason for swearing off men was more organic. The love of my life had died and left me here with enough guilt and remorse to last two lifetimes. I hadn’t so much as been on a real date in four years, despite the fact that I’d been asked out and Tash had attempted to set me up. I tried a sort-of group date, but the setup had felt unnatural. Wrong. Which had made me consider Tasha’s pretend-lesbian option more than once.
It’d sure as hell be easier.
Sketchbook and graphite pencil in hand, I settled on my couch and had drawn exactly two lines when there was a knock at my front door. I looked to the window. It was sleeting outside, just enough to spit on the windows and smudge my glasses, which I was now wearing, since I’d peeled the contacts off my eyeballs when I got home.
Warnings ricocheted in my head about not opening the door to strangers. About being careful. All in my mother’s overprotective voice. A young girl living on your own needs to be careful. You could be raped or robbed or—
I peeked through the venetian blinds because the peephole was too dirty to see through. A figure hunkered on my porch wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. No coat. I hesitated even though I knew curiosity would win out.
Armed with my drawing pencil and a bullshit-o-meter in prime working condition, I yanked open the door and faced the man on my stoop. I cocked an eyebrow at the stranger whose head was angled downward as if he was studying his shoes. No, not shoes. Boots. The lace-up kind, not the cowboy kind.
When he didn’t look up for several long seconds, I said, “Yeah?” because I was oh-so refined. Then he lifted his head and I nearly swallowed my tongue.
Blood. Blood everywhere. Oozing out the side of his mouth, from the corner of his eye, slashed across his knuckles like a Jackson Pollock painting.
He swallowed thickly before speaking. “Can I use your phone?” His words were garbled, coming from between the split edge of his lip and a swelling jaw. His hand rested on the doorjamb while he waited for my answer, leaning toward me but not in an intimidating fashion. More like he’d fall over if he didn’t hold himself there.
“I’ll stay outside,” he vowed. Long ink-black hair covered the other half of his face, but my attention was riveted to the mess on the bloodied side. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face and I gasped.
“Devlin?” His hair wasn’t slicked back the way he wore it at work. My eyes traveled to where blood and weather had darkened his black T-shirt. He wasn’t wearing a suit and tie, but it was him, all right.
Those long black lashes closed slowly over his eyes and he tipped forward. Before he succeeded in falling into my house, I rushed to his side and clasped his body with one arm. He was freezing. And solid, so solid. If he collapsed, I’d have no prayer of dragging his muscular body over my threshold.
“Go inside,” I grunted when he leaned into me. I shoved the pencil into my hair and wrapped both arms around his waist. This wasn’t the way I’d envisioned holding him for the first time, that was for damn sure.