Devlin gives me a skeptical look. “Your father tells you what to wear.”
“Exactly,” I say. “That’s hardly in the same realm as picking your wife.”
The word makes a funny feeling settle in my chest.
As we make our way through town, I can’t help but marvel at how empty the streets are. And it’s not just because this is some nothing town in the south, not New York. It’s because there’s a game going on.
“Devlin,” I say, turning to him. “Thank you.”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye but doesn’t speak.
“Really,” I say. “You didn’t have to do this for me. You were here for me tonight, and you didn’t have to be. Not to mention you’re missing your own game for me. And judging by the last game you missed, you could really use a better second-string QB.”
“Some things are more important than football.”
“Like what?” I ask. I know it’s stupid of me to want this, to want him to say something to show he gives a shit. He’s already done so much. I shouldn’t need more. But the emotional trial of the evening has me needing some reassurance.
“Family,” he says flatly.
“Even my family?” I ask, a bit of teasing entering my voice as I try to get him to show a peek of the real Devlin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a heart in there somewhere.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go thinking that,” he says, his voice gruff.
“Why not?” I ask, biting my lip as I reach over, inching my hand onto his thigh.
For a long moment, he doesn’t react. Then he slides down in his seat, spreading his knees and angling his pelvis so I have no control over my gaze moving to his crotch. Even through his jeans, I can see what he’s packing. I swallow hard, my cheeks warming. When I tear my eyes away, a knowing smirk twists Devlin’s lips.
“You wanna thank me by putting that mouth to good use?”
I marvel at how fast he can deflect when my questions get too personal. In some ways, I know Devlin Darling better than I know anyone else in the world. But I barely know a thing about him. At least, not anything he’s told me. What I know about him comes from gossip and secondhand sources, and it’s as much about his family as it is about him. But I know how he changes the conversation, makes crude jokes that are meant to shock or distract me from the topic at hand.
“Okay,” I say. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. Your business is your business. I can respect that.”
He glances at me for a beat too long, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m fucking with him, using reverse psychology.
“You need to go home and change?” he asks at last, moving on to safer topics.
I shrug. “I’m getting used to wearing your clothes.”
“Good,” he says.
I’m dying to ask what that means, but I guess I’ve gotten as much of the real Devlin as I’m getting tonight. I’ll take it. It’s sure as hell more than I’ve gotten before. It seems greedy to ask for more.
Besides, I’m distracted by the fact that he just passed the road that leads to our neighborhood. “Oh, so we’re really not going home,” I say. “Okay, then. Might have been nice to have some shoes, but I suppose I’ll manage.”
“Shit,” he mutters, glancing at the clock on the dash. “Need me to turn around?”
“Would it really matter if I did?” I ask.
He scowls and checks the time again. “No.”
Sighing, I cross my arms and stare out the windshield. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you’re not going to tell me where we’re going, either.”
Devlin doesn’t answer for a minute, long enough that I start to get a little nervous.
“Crystal,” he says slowly, adjusting his hands on the wheel and glancing sideways at me. “I think… I think you were right.”
Warring urges spring to life inside me—whether to ask what he’s talking about and ignore the fact that he just admitted he was wrong for maybe the first time in his life, or make a big deal out it. Deciding I don’t know him well enough to tease him yet, at least not right now when his voice is so low and intense that it makes my heart skip a beat and my fingers tremble, I choose the first option.