Page 11 of Inseparable
He takes my hands in his, looking down. “We were kids then, Lina. We’re not anymore. You can’t expect things to stay the same.” He lifts his chin, and I can’t bear the pitiful look on his face.
“I knew things would change, but I thought we’d always be friends.” My heart aches. This all sounds so final.Was I naïve to believe we’d be friends forever?AmI the only one who felt like that? Did either of them even mean it when they were promising we would always be in each other’s lives?
“Me too.” His words go some way toward comforting me. Pulling me in to his chest, he wraps his burly arms around me. “I’ll always be your friend, Lina. I’ll always be here for you.”
I place my hands on his shoulders as I peer into his eyes. “Promise?”
He presses his lips to my forehead. “I promise.”
“Night, Mom,” I say, yawning as I wander into the living room in my sleep shorts and tank top.
She rises from the couch, enveloping me in her warm embrace. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. We’ll have dinner together before I leave for the hospital.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie.” She kisses the top of my head, and I walk to the stairs, yawning again.
I’m tucked up in bed, reading, when a loud oomph sounds from outside. My heart starts hammering in my chest, and butterflies are running rampant in my gut as adrenaline courses through my body. “Ange,” Devin whisper-yells. “Let me in.”
I hop out of bed like there’s a rocket up my ass, racing to the double doors and flinging them open with a dramatic flourish. Devin saunters into the room with that cocky swagger of his, sending me a saucy wink, and accelerating my blood pressure with that one casual look. He drops onto the edge of my bed. Rolling up the left side of his jeans, he rubs a raised red mark on his shin.
“What happened?” I sink to my knees in front of him.
“Whacked it off the tree as I was jumping over.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t expect any sympathy from me. I told you not to do that.”
He looks at me through hooded lashes, slowly perusing my body, his eyes lingering in that uber-intensive way of his, and it’s as if he’s stripped me bare. He continues staring at me, and I’ve lost the ability to breathe. I gulp, and he lowers his voice an octave as he speaks. “It’s not your sympathy I’m after.”
My cheeks flood with heat, and he chuckles. Flirtatious Devin is a beast I can’t tame or one-up, so I don’t even try. In desperate need of distraction, I scurry to my bedside table, rummaging through the drawer like I can’t find what I need. Anything to deflect from my reddening cheeks. He says nothing, just watching me acting like a crazy person. When I’m confident my cheeks are less embarrassing, I snatch the tube of arnica cream up and turn to face him. “Here, this will stop it bruising.”
His lips twitch, and I know he wants to tease me further, but, for whatever reason, he stays quiet while I massage the ointment into his skin. He tenses slightly at my touch, and I try not to feel hurt by that.
When I’m done, I screw the cap back on and toss it on top of my bedside table. Air flees his mouth in a loud gush as I flop down beside him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He smiles, and it’s like being trapped in a laser beam of hypnotic hotness. His sea-green eyes twinkle mischievously, and his long lashes appear even longer, blacker, and thicker. Strands of his inky-black hair brush the edge of his forehead, and I long to run my fingers through it. His strong jaw is peppered with stubble, and I imagine the feel of it against my fingertips. His gorgeous mouth is slightly parted, and I long to run my tongue across his lips.
His face is perfection. I could stare at him all day long and never grow tired of it.
“I’m sorry about last night, Ange.”
I snap out of it, blinking the haze away. “I know. It’s okay.” I can never stay mad at either of them for long.
“No, it’s not.” He reaches out, taking hold of one of my hands. Little fiery shivers zip up and down my arm as he starts tracing small circles on my palm. My mouth is dry and butterflies are dancing a jig in my chest. “You’re too easy on us, Ange. You forgive too quickly.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” My voice comes out breathless and I hope he doesn’t notice.
“It’s okay to get mad, you know. You can tell me you hate me, and it won’t send me away.”
What the hell? This again?I barely even notice when he laces his fingers through mine, too busy trying to work out what’s going on in that confusing, beautiful head of his. “Devin, I couldn’t hate you if I tried. And hate consumes too much energy. Hatinganyoneis a waste of time.”
He lifts our conjoined hands, bringing it to his mouth. I almost fall off the bed when he brushes his lips across my fingers. Heat floods my cheeks and pools down low. “You have the purest heart, Ange. You’re good, through and through. I don’t know how you haven’t kicked me to the curb by now.”
“Stop it. Why are you saying this? Do you want me to hate you? Is that it?”
He pulls our linked hands to his chest, right over the spot where his heart beats—steady and sturdy, vibrating under the tips of my fingers. His response startles me. “Sometimes I do.” Waves of hurt lash me, and instinctively I try to wrench my hand away, but he holds on to it, placing it flat over his heart. “But not for the reasons you think, and don’t worry, I’m far too selfish to ever let you go.” He scoots over beside me, until there is barely any space between us. All the air seems to get sucked out of the room. He continues to hold my hand over his chest, and, with his other hand, he cups my face. “I want you to know something, but I don’t want you to react. I just want you to take these words and hold them close to your heart, because, if anything should happen to me, I would hate for you to not know this.”
“Dev—”
