Page 23 of Wild Devotion
Because fuck it. First impressions were already ruined. Second impressions were actively on fire. No point pretending I was anywhere close to functional right now.
“Is that really where you want to start this conversation?” His eyebrow lifted, and the expression on his face made him look not only interested but somehow even hotter than before. “And do you really want to start it now?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I sank against the dresser, regretting my complete lack of a filter. “Everything’s already awkward as hell. I just figured, you already know I’m heavier than I look and that I drool when I sleep. Might as well get the rest of the uncomfortable stuff out of the way.”
He laughed, and despite my all-over body ache, I couldn’t fight the pull of it. That sound did things to me that should have required a warning label.
“All right, I’ll play along.” He settled onto the edge of my bed like he belonged there. “But let me ask you something first. Why does my age matter?”
“It doesn’t. I mean, it shouldn’t. But it does.” Eloquent, Zadie. Really nailing it.
He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his eyes locked on mine. “I know I caught you off guard the morning after the party. That wasn’t my intention.”
I blinked at the pivot. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m not apologizing.” His mouth twitched. “I’m telling you I know I rattled you. And I want you to know, nothing happened in that bed—other than sleep. I’d never touch a woman who wasn’t begging me to.”
A shiver rolled through me that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Still, some stupid part of me had been hoping he’d say it was the best night of his life. That Chantel was wrong and something had happened between us. Something wonderful.
Maybe it was just the hormones. But that same part of me had been clinging to the irrational, impossible dream that it was Caleb, not Sean, responsible for the plus sign on that test.
“Falling asleep next to you wasn’t planned,” he continued, oblivious to the ache blooming in my chest. “But I don’t regret being there.”
He didn’t regret it.
That was worse. Worse than an apology, worse than embarrassment, because it meant he’d chosen to stay. He’d been sober, he’d been in control, and he’d stayed anyway.
And I couldn’t have him.
He was young, gorgeous, and had his whole life ahead of him. And I was a cautionary tale with a positive pregnancy test in my bedside drawer—three feet from where he was sitting.
“It’s okay.” The words tasted bitter. “I won’t lie. I freaked out. But only because I couldn’t remember what happened. When I woke up and saw you there, I assumed the worst.”
“Understandable.” The tension in his expression eased. “Twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one?”
“Yeah, I’m twenty-one. Does that bother you?”
“Why would that bother me? I don’t even know what we’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do.” His voice dropped low, threaded with heat. “You met me a month ago and it was chaotic as hell, but you’re still curious. So I think we’re both thinking the same thing.”
“And what exactly are you thinking?” Despite the damp clothes, the humiliation, and lingering morning sickness, I wanted him to say he’d thought about us naked together.
Because I had. Repeatedly.
He looked devastating in his ripped jeans and fitted shirt, those glasses giving him an edge that was both intellectual and predatory. His voice stroked over me with every word, soft then hard then soft again. It was unnerving. Torturous, even.
And it all pointed to one simple solution.
Sex.
“I’m thinking we should go out. On a date.” He said it like he was ordering a coffee. Like it was the most obvious next step in the world. “Preferably one with no alcohol. Or very limited quantities.”
He couldn’t be serious.
