“Are you listening to me?” The man reaches a rough hand to wrap around my arm.
He never makes contact.
I feel him at my back half a breath before Devan grabs the stranger’s wrist. “The lady said she wasn’t interested.” His voice is low, but clear. He also sounds fucking furious.
Damn it.
“Who the fuck are—“ he curses as Devan tightens his grip, causing the man’s hand to splay out. “Fine. Fuck. She’s ugly, anyway.”
“Leave.” The quiet violence in Devan’s tone makes me shiver. If I were smarter, I wouldn’t find that so attractive. I certainly wouldn’t be quietly delighted by him defending me, even though it’s going to make accomplishing my goals for tonight that much more difficult.
He came.
Victory makes me lightheaded. So much so that I nearly miss his next words. “Get up. We’re leaving.”
Leaving. Because he’s not here for me, not really. He’s here to bundle me up and cart me to safety like he’s done for the last six years. I can’t let that happen, and him interceding just now is only going to make this look like it’s just another birthday.
I have one chance to get things back on track. I can’t yell or get dramatic or cause a scene. That will just confirm to Devan that he’s right and I’m in trouble. The only option is to not give him anything to work with. The bartender finally returns to the bar itself and I motion him over with a smile. “Another, please.”
“Hazel.” The warning in Devan’s tone makes my thighs clench together. “You’re going home.”
No. I am most certainly not going home. Not alone. “Can’t go home,” I say breezily. “Home is a few thousand miles away.” At least one of them.
“You have an apartment a few blocks from here.”
Of course he knows that. He’s the executor of the trust fund I inherited with my parents’ death. He’s been painfully responsible with it; from what my financial advisor tells me, I have even more money now than I did upon my parents’ death because of Devan’s careful investments. He never meets with me about money. All my requests go through the financial advisor. Not that Devan tells me no often. He doesn’t tell me anything at all.
That would require speaking to me.
I check the diamond watch on my wrist. Not much longer now.
“Hazel.”
“Have a drink with me, Devan.” I lift my glass. “For old time’s sake.”
“Hazel.” Something filters into his tone, something besides barely restrained irritation. Devan looks around, seems to clock how many people are watching us. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”
I smile, though my chest hurts a bit. “I’m told I’m always difficult.”
He turns back to me, that strange look still lingering in his dark eyes. Finally, he sighs. “One drink and then I’m putting you in a cab.”
Yeah, I don’t think so. I almost laugh, but he won’t appreciate it. I’ve only won the first encounter; it will take a lot of doing to win the war itself. The bartender chooses that moment to appear with the second drink. He sets it on the bar and moves off without a word.
I sip my scotch. “You know, it’s very stalkerish that you keep figuring out where I am on my birthday. Seems like a lot of work without much payoff.”
Devan glares at his drink as if it insulted his mother. “Don’t play innocent, Hazel. It doesn’t suit you. All I have to do is look you up on social media. You post your location for the entire world to see.”
“Oh. That.” I smile against my glass. I always, always post leading up to my birthday and tag my location. I have ever since that first birthday in Mallorca. “It makes sense for me to post so often. I make a lot of money on social media sponsorships. They like to send me places. Nothing strange about that.” It wasn’t something I was overly into in my teens, but there’s a certain high that only a perfectly curated social media feed can deliver. I’ve even started designing them for other people and making a good living at it. Not that I need the money, but I like the work.
“You’re a menace.” He says it so softly, I don’t think he means for me to hear it.
He has no idea.
We drink in silence for several long moments. Or, rather, I drink and Devan watches me. Now that the time is upon me, my courage wavers. Just because Devan has been such a huge, if contained, part of my life doesn’t mean he feels the same way. I very well could have imagined that spark that seems to sizzle between us whenever he gets too close. Just like I could have misinterpreted what happened on my last birthday…
I close my eyes and steel my nerves. No. I didn’t misinterpret. I’m nearly certain of it, but there’s really only one way to find out and it involves shooting my shot in a way he can’t ignore. “I’m not getting in a cab, Devan.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m actually not.” I twist on my barstool to face him, only stopping when my knees connect with his. The tiniest of touches, but it shoots through me like a bomb going off. “It’s almost my birthday.”
“I’m aware.” His thigh tenses, but he doesn’t otherwise move... Not even to shift away.
“You’re early. Normally you don’t show up until the day of, and you at least let me have some fun before you show up to act like the birthday Grinch.” Though I doubt what happened last year could be called fun by any definition of the word. Fun is light and fluffy and maybe a little chaotic. My last birthday was fiery and burrowed beneath my skin in a way I’m afraid I’ll never escape. I’ve certainly fantasized about it often enough.
Best not to think about that
