Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
The absurdity of him being nervous was amusing enough to loosen the knot in my chest.
“You can sit down,” I said.
He turned his gaze to me. “I’m fine.”
“Devon. Sit down.”
He exhaled through his nose, which I was learning was the Devon Grant equivalent of a growl, and then lowered himself onto the foot of the bed as far away from me as the twin bed would allow.
The mattress let out a groan so loud it could only be described as a full-scale complaint.
I pressed my lips together as Devon tipped his head to the ceiling as if searching for divine intervention. Unfortunately, it came in the form of a wooden slat slipping off the frame. The foot of the bed dropped beneath him.
But it was the way he didn’t move a muscle and just sat there, inches off the floor, cussing under his breath that made me lose it.
A loud laugh sprang from my throat, continuing until I was crying for a different reason.
Without even asking me to get up, he dropped to the floor, lifted the mattress and box spring with one hand while using his other to slide the wooden slat back onto the frame.
When he stood back up, he planted his hands on his hips and glared at me. That look had probably made grown men cower.
But as his lips twitched, it lost all heat.
“To be fair,” I said between laughs. “It’s done that to me before, too.”
“Deeply comforting,” he muttered. “Scoot over.”
I grinned, wide and proud, inching to the side.
The bed produced a secondary creak of equal drama as he settled against the headboard beside me. His shoulder pressed warm and solid against mine.
“You want to tell me why you were crying?”
I sobered immediately. “Not really.”
“Okay then.”
I focused on the moonlight coming through the gap in the curtains. “Can we maybe talk about something else for a while?”
He crossed his legs at the ankles. “We can talk about whatever you want, Lofton.”
The smile that stretched my mouth threatened to swallow my face. I felt like I’d been waiting a lifetime for him to open that door. I did not delay in sprinting through.
“Do you have a girlfriend, wife, or significant other?”
His brows shot up his forehead. “Wow. You went straight for it.”
“I figured I better get it in there before you give me the whole speech—” I dropped my voice low to do a bad impression of him. “The less questions you ask about me, the less I have to act like a dick when I shut you down.”
He chuckled. “Alright, smartass. I think we’re a little past that. I’ve shared plenty about myself with you.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve shared information, Devon. Black and white facts that you carefully drop knowing they could never paint a full picture.”
His chin jerked to the side like I’d slapped him. “That’s not true.”
“Okay, for example. You grew up in California. But where? It’s a big state. You have two sisters. Though you’ve never mentioned either of their names. You live in Chicago? House, apartment, parents’ basement?”
He scoffed. “I’m thirty-four, Lofton. If I still live in my parents’ basement you should fire me immediately.”
“Oh, so you’re thirty-four. Never would have known.” I shot him a sardonic smile.
“Didn’t know my age was proprietary information.”
“It’s just a stroke of color on the canvas of Devon Grant.”
He was silent for a beat, his eyes flicking from side to side, focusing on absolutely nothing. It was what he always did when he warred with himself.
And I sat there patiently, waiting to see if he would finally open the book for me.
Victory sang in my veins as he blew out a long-suffering sigh, another one of Devon’s tells.
“I grew up in Fresno. My sisters’ names are Elena and Bella. No girlfriend. No wife. No significant other.”
“Oh, look, more nondescript answers.” I smarted, all the while secretly celebrating that last part.
Chuckling, he shook his head. “Fine. I grew up with a single mom in Fresno. Her name is Leslie, and she’s a retired paralegal. She’s incredible, and we text daily. My dad, however, is not incredible. He left when I was a baby, never looked back, and I never cared to find him. I’m the youngest. Elena is forty and Bella is thirty-eight. They are both married, though no nieces or nephews yet.” He drew in an exaggerated breath, pinning me with a teasing stare before continuing. “While I might be tragically single, I do like to live on the edge, so I quasi-recently bought a house in the burbs with a homeowners’ association. Most days, I’m allergic to drama and gossip, but the neighborhood Facebook page is a dumpster fire of the highest order—and my favorite guilty pleasure.”
“Shut up,” I breathed, barely able to contain my joy. That was a whole damn rainbow of colors from Devon Grant, and yet not nearly enough. “Or actually, don’t shut up. I need all the HOA deets.”