Page 55 of A Deal with the Devil

* * *

I put far more effort into my appearance on Saturday than is called for, cutting short my visit with Jonathan and Gemma—adorably chubby and way more active than I realized she’d be—to see a hairdresser-to-the-stars friend of Ava’s.

I walk out with amazing highlights—subtle caramel and gold like I once got from the sun as a child—my hair falling over my shoulders in perfect waves.

I’m trying to live up to this idea Hayes seems to have that I’m somehow capable of impressing Ella and his dad, but perhaps I’m hoping to impress Hayes too.

When you’re in the beige dress, there’s nothing wrong in the entire world.

No one’s ever said anything like that to me before. Did Matt tell me I was beautiful? Sure. But with Hayes, it wasn’t simply the words. It was the way he said them, bitten off like they were a curse he’d pay for later.

“Look at you,” Drew says over video while I get ready, “putting on actual makeup for your date with your boss.”

I dab concealer under my eyes. “It’s not a date.”

“No, it’s just your boss who said you were the most impressive, hot woman he’s ever met, asking you to pretend you’re his girlfriend and meet his whole family.” Which is not what Hayes said, but I’ve already corrected Drew on this twice and she seems determined to believe her own version of the story. “I would kill to have Six say that. I just wish he’d give me some sign what he’s thinking, you know?”

It seems to me Six has given her plenty of signs what he’s thinking and she doesn’t want to see them. Was I any different with Matt? He showed me in a hundred ways that he wasn’t the right guy. He talked me out of going to my dream school, he persuaded me to drop out of my master’s program. Sometimes the only sign you need is that a guy cares way more about himself than you.

“I think you should find the hottest guy ever and have four amazing months with him,” I tell her. “Just go be your best self, and Six will be eating out of your hand when he gets home. Lipliner or no lipliner?”

She leans back in her chair, tapping her fingers over her chest like a vaudeville villain. “Oh, Tali, you’re in so deep if you’re finally gonna call attention to those yummy lips of yours.”

I groan. “I’m not. I just hate this woman, and she kind of fucked him up, you know? I want to do my best to twist the knife.”

“Wear the lipliner, then,” she says. “I bet you a hundred bucks it winds up on his dick by the end of the party.”

* * *

He pulls into the circular drive in front of my building and climbs from the car, eyes flickering over me once and again. He swallows. “The vomit came out of the dress,” he says quietly. “That’s good.”

“You flatterer you.”

He comes around to my side and holds the door. “You look amazing,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “I’m...never mind.”

The door shuts, and I decide to let it go. This whole situation is awkward enough without us opening up to each other on top of it.

“We should probably get our story straight,” I tell him when he climbs in, twisting my hands in my lap. How fortuitous Jonathan talked me into a manicure.

“You’re far too worried about this,” he says. “It’s a child’s birthday. No one’s hooking you up to a polygraph.”

I turn toward him. He’s skipped the jacket today and is wearing a deep blue shirt, collar undone, and khaki pants. His hair is a little fucked up, like he’s run his hands through it once too often. I’ve never seen anyone so handsome in my entire life. My gaze drifts to his neck, and I imagine nuzzling his skin there, like a pig after truffles.

“I’m not good at lying,” I tell him. “Otherwise, I’d lie to you all the time. I just need the basics.”

“Fine,” he says, pulling onto the street. “My cock is huge, and you can’t get enough of it.”

“Yes, that sounds like exactly the kind of classy thing your impressive girlfriend would say.” I roll my eyes. “How long have we been together? Where did we meet? Where was our first date?”

A muscle flickers in his cheek. “Just stick with the truth as much as possible. We met six months ago when you were tending bar.”

He glances at me and I worry I’m flushing. I sometimes think about how it might have gone if he hadn’t rushed out. But we are closer to a relationship now than we ever would have been had he tried something. And if it were a relationship, it would certainly seem like a good one. As if we’d really begun to care about each other.

“Where was our first date?” I ask.

“You’re not being interviewed for Cosmo. No one’s going to ask you that.”

I don’t know how he’s so relaxed about this. He’s the one who’ll look like an asshole if we mess this up. “They might. Or they could ask you why you asked me out.”