The room two doors down from mine.
I gulp and zip into my bedroom, leaning against the closed door.
“What have you gotten yourself into now?” I mumble.
Be careful, troublemaker. The voice in my head sounds like Devlin’s.
Time to adapt once more. But are the rules the same?
Are we even playing the same game?
Twenty-Three
Devlin
After discarding the towel and changing into briefs, I sit on my bed with the crinkled magazine page we wrote our contract on.
Having Blair here is more intense than I imagined. She smelled so enticingly sweet as I caged her against the wall. Walking away from her in the hall when I had her right where I wanted her was a challenge. But after forcing her to come here, I couldn’t ignore the voice in my head telling me to leave her be. I think it might be my conscience.
Who knew the rusty old thing was alive and kicking?
It’s forcing an awareness of what a dick I’ve been to the front of my mind, messing with my plans.
Releasing a sigh, I trace Blair’s signature. It doesn’t have an ounce of the quirky way Blair used to write her name with a star. Now it’s neat, straightforward, and to the point. Has she changed as much as I have since we were kids?
The question lingers as I map the letters in her name. Even with my penchant for stargazing, I’m nothing like the boy I was then.
The sadness I carried grew with me, festered, and pushed me into the shadows.
We might be too different from the kids we were and the people we’ve become to ever regain the brief bond we shared. Are we even the same now as we were when we made this contract?
I picture Blair’s feisty expression as I proposed this arrangement, her arms tied to the stool.
My tongue swipes over my lip as I search for the same hate I harbored for her that night. There’s even less than before. It’s bleeding out of me by the day, replaced by the urge to chase her for another taste of her lips.
The creased page makes a faint sound as I shift to my feet.
If I put it away, I won’t have to face why she’s here. I can just enjoy it while it lasts.
Crossing to the closet panels along the wall, I tuck the contract out of sight beneath a stack of shirts on a low shelf. Rubbing the back of my neck, I return to the bed.
So much of my energy is focused on fighting for control, but I don’t have it. I never did. Not just over Blair, but over myself, too. Everything I’ve done is a futile attempt to gain control.
It’s always been easier to strive for it than face the reasons I want control so badly.
Blair is here, but now what? If I keep on the same path, she’ll only meet a monster at the end. Blair deserves more than that.
If she sees my demons head on, there’s no question about it—she’ll walk away, just like the others.
Maybe I can change that.
Twenty-Four
Blair
Waking up in an unfamiliar room makes me jolt out of bed in the morning. It takes a few seconds to catch up with my reality: living with Devlin.
Climbing out of bed, I tug on a pair of leggings and a gray wide neck t-shirt that drapes off my shoulder.
Turns out, Devlin is easy enough to avoid in such a big house. I give him the slip as I explore it more in the light of day. I learn where the exits are and commit them to memory, mapping out the giant property until his commanding voice fills the house over an intercom system.
“Get your ass to the kitchen for breakfast, troublemaker,” Devlin demands. His wicked chuckle fills the room. “Don’t make me come find you. I’ll hunt you down and take whatever I want as a finder’s fee.”
I scramble to the kitchen, wary of what he might do.
Devlin stands at the stove with a fresh pan of eggs. The shock of him making food stalls me in the doorway. The savory scent of bacon makes my mouth water, and I inch closer. A strange warmth blooms in my chest at the sight of him dishing out the food he made.
“Do you want to eat or not?” He sounds amused.
“It smells really good. Thanks for cooking.”
Devlin hums, setting a plate of toast down. Circling the island, he clasps my wrist and pulls me over, where he has two plates set side by side.
It’s so…domestic. Normal. Like a family used to eating together. I’ve only ever had that with Mom.
The blooming warmth expands.
“Wow, you really cut up fresh fruit, too? I don’t think I ever pictured someone like you cutting up your own fruit.”
“I like cooking. My aunt taught me.” Devlin takes the seat next to me, the one he tied me to the first time I was here. “You’re not going to starve while you’re here. Eat.”
“You didn’t poison it, did you?”
Rolling his eyes, Devlin crunches into a piece of bacon.
It smells divine. Who knew the devil could cook?
I take a bite and clap my hand over my mouth, groaning involuntarily.
A small satisfied smirk curls Devlin’s mouth.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. I’m having a full on experience. It’s a surprise that he would lift a finger, but finding out he actually is a good cook is blowing my mind.
“I’m going to go for a run before the party later,” Devlin says, breaking the quiet.
“You are?” I perk up.
Devlin quirks a thick brow. “I assume you'll follow me on the trail anyway, so you might as well join me. Did you bring shoes?”
“Yeah.” I don’t mean to sound so breathless, but I haven’t gone for a real run in so long. “I want to come, too.”
We finish eating and the world doesn’t grind to a halt. It’s a miracle. Maybe we stopped being bitter enemies when I wasn’t looking, but it’s hard to keep hating the guy who fed you gloriously fluffy eggs and paid for your mom’s medical expenses.
We’re not friends, but maybe we could be. If he can apologize for being the world’s biggest jerk for the last few years. I’ll even say I’m sorry for attempting to steal his car.
When we’re on the trail an hour later, the fresh air fills my lungs.
Stretching my legs and pumping my muscles as we jog through the mountain trail is amazing. It’s the most I’ve felt like myself in months.
My legs burn in a way I love as we push on.
Devlin keeps pace with me as I learn the unfamiliar path. His perfect running form is as precise as the rest of his cultivated habits, only giving the impression he’s loose and effortless while he cuts through the trail with amazing speed.
I find myself watching him more than the trail at some points. He’s a beautiful runner, his tousled black fringe pinned back from his face by an elastic band.
When we near the end and his house comes into view, he darts ahead.
“Hey!”
“Race you!” Devlin throws over his shoulder.
I follow, thriving on the burst of competition. I pull on my reserves to close the distance. Once I pass him, he lets out a grunt as he chases me. I look back, finding him in hot pursuit with a wicked gleam in his eye.
Our race ends with me beating him to the front step by a hair.
“Yes!” I gasp.
“You cheated,” Devlin snarks.