Page 39 of Devotion

“I left my partying days behind when I graduated college, but when I do get out to… stretch my legs, it just so happens this is the place I do it.”

My eyes are drawn to where he presses the glass to his lips while he takes another quick drink.

“Then… maybe I’ll have to stretch my legs here more often, too.”

His quiet laugh makes me realize I actually said that out loud. It’s too late to take it back, but when he passes this loaded stare my way, I’m not sure Iwantto take it back.

I tense when my phone vibrates in my clutch, and I set my drink down.

“One second.” I partially dismiss myself from the conversation when I face away from the bar, shielding my phone screen from Damien. The last thing I want him to see is me and Martinez going at it like we’re a couple or something, giving him the wrong idea.

Det. D. Martinez: Sorry, babe. Couldn’t decide which shirt to wear. Be there as soon as I can.

Layla: At this point, don’t even fucking bother.

I drop my phone back inside my clutch, then Damien has my full attention again. Except, he’s just settled the bill with the bartender, and as he tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his slacks, I’m surprised by my disappointment when it becomes clear he’s leaving.

“Going so soon?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but who the fuck am I kidding?

His eyes land on me, and I wasn’t ready for their depth and focus.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” he says, flashing a subtle smirk that has my thighs clenching involuntarily. “While you were on the phone, I wrote my information down on the off chance that you’d like to keep in touch.”

He slides me a folded napkin, and I squeeze it tight in my palm.

He steps closer, towering over me. I know I should back away when he reaches toward my face to cup my chin, but I’m as still as a statue, letting him touch me.

“Just promise you won’t make me wait too long.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and manage to give a quick nod. “Noted.”

He gives another half-smile, then he’s gone.

I down the last of my drink, taking in a mouthful of ice to cool me off, because I’ll be damned if he doesn’t have me burning alive. From the inside out.

I wouldn’t have been bold enough to ask for his number, so having him offer it makes things so much simpler. And I have to laugh at his warning not to keep him waiting, because the harder task will be not reaching out too soon.

I smile a bit as I think about how this all fell into place, and then I open my palm, unfolding the small napkin he slipped me. Heat flashes to my cheeks, and I’m unashamedly giddy at the mere thought of seeing him after tonight. But then that excitement is immediately dashed by what my eyes land on next.

Not his name.

Not seven digits.

Not any of his social media handles to look him up later.

Instead, I’m staring at an array of ink that has my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach.

Ink drawn in the shape of a spider web.

15

Layla

In an instant, I’m aware of my mistake, aware of who I’ve just let slip through my fingers.

“Shit.”

I’m frantic as I turn in circles, looking for any trace of him, some clue to which exit he’s gone toward.

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