Page 19 of Inseparable
“I am sure, Devin. I’ve been sure basically my whole life.”
His eyes pop wide, and he leans in, kissing me sweetly. I wrap my arms around his neck, and the sheet drifts down my body. I press into him, trying to deepen the kiss and put things back on the right path, but he breaks the kiss and removes my wrists carefully. “You deserve better than me,” he whispers.
“No.” My voice radiates with conviction. “Don’t tell me what I want or what I deserve.” Another thought occurs to me, a hideously horrific one. “If you don’t want this with me, just say it, Dev. If this was a mistake, I need to hear those words.” My mind frantically scans over the last half hour, wondering if I’ve somehow coerced him into this, but he wanted this as much as I did. I saw it in his eyes.
“Of course, I want you. I’m about to fucking explode in my pants. This is not about me not wanting you.”
My eyes flit to his straining erection and that goes some way toward reassuring me. “I don’t understand.”
He kisses me softly, before rising. Bending down, he grabs his shirt and pulls it on. Tears well in my eyes again, and I curse myself for saying anything about the bruise. That flicked some switch in him, and now he’s leaving. He kneels in front of me, taking my hands. “Don’t cry, Ange.” His thumb brushes across my cheek, gathering moisture, and a pained look appears on his face. “I want you to be sure, and I want to make it special. Your first time should be magical.”
“With you, it would be.” I choke over a sob, and I hate that I’m so pathetic.
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Think about it, and if it’s still what you want, we’ll make some plans.”
“I don’t need to think about it.” Or make stupid plans. This was spontaneous, and it felt so right. I’ve spent years thinking about this night, but in all my dreams it never ended with him leaving just as we were getting started. My heart aches.
“Then do it for me. I need to be worthy of you.”
I don’t understand. I really don’t, but Dev is a stubborn ass once he’s made his mind up on something. There is nothing I can say that will change his mind, and I’m not going to beg. I still have some modicum of self-respect.
He stands up, cupping my face, staring at me tenderly. “I care about you so much, Ange. Too much to let you make a mistake.” He kisses me one last time. “We’ll talk tomorrow or Sunday. Sleep tight, beautiful.”
And with those parting words, he walks away, leaving the shattered pieces of my heart in tatters on the floor.
CHAPTER EIGHT
We don’t talk about it the next day or Sunday or at any stage over the next two weeks, because Devin is avoiding me. He only returns to his house late at night, and during school—when he shows—he shuns me like I’m contaminated. Hurt and my stupid pride stops me from confronting him. Ayden knows something’s wrong, but he doesn’t pry. Mariah is furious with Devin, and she wastes no opportunity to glare at him in passing, although she’s glad he didn’t go through with it. Her view is I should only give him my virginity if we’re officially together, and if he’s not ready to make a commitment, then I shouldn’t sleep with him.
Her reasoning is sound, and if it was any other guy, I wouldn’t need convincing, but this is Devin we’re talking about. Everything is always different when it comes to him.
It’s obvious he regrets it, and for a guy who hardly ever turns a girl down, his rejection stabs deep, poking at hidden sores and festering wounds, leaving my self-confidence in shreds.
I’ve gone over the events of that night a thousand times in my head, and, at no stage, did he give me any inclination he wasn’t into it as much as I was.
My comment about his bruised ribs changed the atmosphere, and ruined the moment, and I’d like to know why.
Dev trains hard at the local boxing club, and it’s not uncommon for him to have a black eye or be covered in bruises and cuts from fight nights. And he’s gotten mixed up in plenty of fights outside the boxing ring, too, always quick and eager to lash out with his fists. So, I don’t understand what it was about that bruise that triggered his mood swing. Or why he’s felt the need to ignore me ever since.
Yanking myself out of my depressive inner monologue, I slick some pink lip gloss over my lips and survey my reflection in the mirror. I don’t usually wear this much makeup, but I need an additional confidence boost as I’m determined to have it out with Devin, and I want to look my absolute best. My cheeks are painted in a fine coat of wispy pink blush, and my eyes look wider and bluer under the frame of thick mascara and sultry brown eye shadow. My hair is freshly washed and falling in soft waves down my back. My gaze stares back at me, glinting with righteous indignation.
Today, Dev will have no choice but to speak to me, and I’m not leaving without some answers. I’ve gone beyond hurt and shame and ventured into a new phase: I’m just plain ol’ mad. Even if he doesn’t want to have sex with me, he doesn’t get to treat me like this. I’m one of his oldest friends, and he spouts crap about respect all the time. It’s about time he started practicing what he preaches. He can man up and own his actions. I’m done being treated like a piece of worthless garbage.
Ayden’s parents always invite Mom, me, Devin, and his brothers to their house for Thanksgiving dinner. It’s become our annual tradition, and I know Devin will be there, because he won’t let Lucas down.
Taking one last look in the mirror, I tug my black lacy peplum top down a little, flashing more cleavage. My skinny, dark-pink jeans are close-fitting and sculpted to my ass. Grabbing the soft cashmere cardigan, I slip my feet into my high-heeled black boots. Bending over, I shake my head and loosen my hair. Satisfied, I head downstairs to grab the pumpkin pie from the kitchen.
“Honey!” Mom exclaims when I step into the kitchen. “You look gorgeous. Trying out a new look?”
I shrug casually. “It’s Thanksgiving. I thought I should make more of an effort.”
Her wise eyes miss nothing. “Uh-huh.” She smiles.
“What?” My voice is gruff. “I’ll change if it’s that big of a deal.”
Her hands land on my shoulders. “Sweetheart. Stop. You look beautiful, and there’s no need to change. I’m just wondering if there’s any ulterior motive? Like any boy you might be trying to impress?” Her lips fight a twitch.
Goddamn it, that woman misses nothing. “Nope,” I lie. “Can’t a girl just look nice without there being an ulterior motive?”
