Page 5 of Wild Devotion
“Now there’s a deep thought.” She hummed into her glass. “Might be a little too philosophical for me right now. But you’ll have to tell me your story someday, Cal. I have a feeling it’s a good one.”
“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“Get another drink in me and you just might get lucky.” She winked.
When her glass was empty, Zadie insisted on shots. She downed the first while we joked about Chantel’s bossy behavior. Slammed back the second while she told me a story about a nightclub experience that made me nearly choke on my beer.
Every time she opened her mouth, I leaned a little closer. Stared just a little harder. Craved her a hell of a lot more.
“I was feeling sorry for myself tonight.” After three drinks with me, plus whatever she’d had earlier, her speech was slurred.
“Is that why you’re getting drunk at a stranger’s house party? Kind of cliché, don’t you think?”
“Cliché? Really, Mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome? Who’s cliché? Besides, I’m not alone. I’m with you.”
Her words slid up my spine, leaving a scorching trail of heat in their wake. “You really are drunk.”
“Yes, I am. It feels good, too. I almost don’t give a shit about anything. Self-pity eradicated, one drink at a time.” She raised her glass.
I clinked my third untouched bottle against it, holding her gaze. “Do you want to talk about it? Whatever it is you’re trying to forget?”
“Why? You don’t really want to hear my sob story, do you?”
Fuck yes, I did. I wanted to hear every word that came out of her lush mouth. I wanted to catalog every detail and store it away like a goddamn stalker’s memento. “If you want to tell it, I do.”
“Really? You want to know how I got screwed over by a man?” Her gaze held mine. “Want to hear how totally cliché my entire life has been?”
She frowned, and that possessive urge ripped through me again, tempting me to wrap my arm around her and never let go.
“A poor, heartbroken girl falls for a semi-famous rich guy.” Her voice lifted as though reading a fairy tale. “He’s wonderful at first. He promises to take her away from her problems, to give her a good life, and to love her. Except, it’s all too good to be true.”
The party around us had become nothing but background noise. And I was all-in, fucking captivated.
“He told me he was in love with me. That he couldn’t live without me. And I believed him.” She paused, her finger tracing the moisture on her glass. “I moved to Montreal for him, and six months later he left me. I hardly knew anyone. I could barely speak the language, and the job I’d found was crap. But I didn’t break. I kept going, got my shit together, and made new plans for myself.”
The look she gave me nearly put me on my knees. Brow furrowed, eyes searching, that pouty frown aimed right at me like she had no idea what it was doing.
“Then he came back, and like the desperate, pathetic loser that I am, I let him in. I let him back into my life…back into my bed.” Her jaw hardened. “Can you guess what happened next, Cal?”
“He left again?” My voice was the only part of me that felt steady.
“Exactly. I woke up to a note that said he had to go. A note. He took everything he’d ever bought me and a couple of things he hadn’t. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers clumsily. “He’s an asshole, a liar, and a fucking thief, and I didn’t even see it coming. How sad is that?”
“Doesn’t sound too sad to me.” Sounds like a dead man walking.
“But it is. I should’ve been the one to leave, not him. Better yet, I shouldn’t have let him come back. I should’ve been stronger. I’ve made way too many mistakes.”
Our stories couldn’t be further apart, and yet, we wore the same armor. Both protecting the pieces of ourselves too wounded to show the world.
I wanted to peel hers away, layer by layer, strip her down to her beautiful core. Replace her hard shell with my own fucking body. Shield her from anything or anyone who ever tried to hurt her again.
“Anyway, look at you.” She leaned back, motioning toward me. “You seem too confident and smart to make those kinds of mistakes. You don’t think it’s sad because you can’t identify with it.”
“Zadie, confidence is just a mask people wear to hide the truth, and I’m not that smart. Trust me, I’ve made mistakes.”
She tried to argue, but I covered her hand with mine. “I don’t think your story’s sad because what I see is a chance for you to start over. He’s the one losing out, not you.”
“Oh, no. You’re one of those glass-half-full people. The sun’s always sparkling? Rainbows, squirrels, unicorns, and…fuuuuck. I’m drunk.” She shook her head like the movement might help make sense of things.
