Page 39 of My Fallen Saint

She holds her hands up in surrender. “I believe you. But you’re not even trying.”

“I go out.”

She cocks her head and stares me down. I get the message.

“A relationship, Ellie. Give yourself permission to be in a relationship.Even just friends. Have you gotten close to anyone in New York?”

I pick at a chip on my fingernail polish. “There are some people I hang with.”

“Like me? Like Lamar?”

“Roger?” It comes out like a question. Roger is great, and definitely the person I’m closest to in New York, but he’s not in the BFF zone. Not really. Brandy knows that as well as I do.

“All I’m saying is you need to open up. Get to know more people. And give yourself permission to be in a relationship.”

That’s like saying I should give myself permission to stab myself through the heart. It doesn’t sound appealing. Because relationships end. You get close and you risk losing people. I don’t tell her that, though. If I did, I’d have to tell her how every day I battle the fear that I’ll lose her. Or Lamar. Or even Roger.

I’ll have to admit that I hold things back. Because if I don’t give them all of me, then maybe I can outwit fate and keep them safe.

I’m by myself at the dessert table when Lamar sidles up next to me.

I shift my attention from the desserts to him and, in the process, notice that Devlin is currently mermaid free. Even better, he’s looking in my direction.

“Laugh,” I tell Lamar, who manages to look both intrigued and confused.

“What?”

“Like I just said the funniest thing.”

His eyes narrow, and I notice the moment he clocks Devlin. His expression turns to ice, not laughter, and he’s glowering as he asks, “Exactly what happened in his office?”

“Nothing.” Which is the absolute, literal truth. After all, Lamar limited his question to the office. He didn’t ask about last night. Or about my history with the notorious Mr. Saint. Although, technically, I have no history with Devlin Saint. And according to Saint, Alex Leto is dead, along with so many others in my life.

He studies my face a bit longer than is comfortable before answering. “Don’t get involved with him, Ellie. I know his reputation, and you’re better than that.”

“Reputation?” Automatically, I turn back around, my eyes seeking Devlin again. But he’s disappeared into the crowd. “Earlier you made it sound like he was God’s gift to Laguna Cortez.”

“As a citizen, I have no beef. But when we’re talking about you, things change. He doesn’t get serious about anybody, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I scoff. “What makes you think I’d want to get serious?”

“I don’t. But he—”

“What?”

“He has that look,” Lamar says. “Like a giant flame of pheromones, and he’s going to burn you. You know what I mean. He’s damn near irresistible.”

“Oh, is he?” My voice rises in pitch.

Lamar chuckles. “Well, I’m not blind.”

“I didn’t think he was your type.”

“Please,” he says. “Of course, he’s my type. The man’s walking testosterone.” Lamar hasn’t dated that many guys, but I know there’ve been a few over the years. And all of them looked like they could have starred in a Bond movie. For that matter, so did all the women he’s dated.

He pins me with his eyes. “My problem is that he’s your type, too.”

“So?”