Page 57 of Devotion

Nervous, I clear my throat to speak.

“This is Damien,” I manage to say, widening my eyes at Dove, so she’ll snap out of it.

She blinks hard and remembers how to smile and use her words. “Shit, sorry. I’m Dove Jeong—soon to be Dove Alexander. This is Isha Patel, and Eliza Copeland. We’ve known Layla since college, but we may as well be sisters.”

My heart races as Damien dons that smooth-as-silk smile. “Lovely meeting you all. And congratulations to both of you,” he adds, reaching across the table to shake Chris’s hand.

Beside me, Eliza bumps me with her knee, and I know I’ll have atonof explaining to do after tonight. Seeing as how I hadn’t told anyone Damien would be joining us. Little do they know, I had no idea he’d be here either.

I haven’t checked to see if Martinez has noticed the new addition at our table, but the side of my face tingles, leading me to believe someone’s staring. Whether it’s him or not remains a mystery. That is, until my phone vibrates with a text, and I pull it out to read the message.

Det. D. Martinez: Still sticking to your story? The one where you lied through your fucking teeth about that being the first time you met this asshole?

I could engage, I could unload all the hateful words I’ve stored up for him in a text, but I’ve got a better idea. One that involves me tucking my phone back inside my purse, and pretending he isn’t even in the room. Instead, I lean into Damien’s side a little, knowing Martinez is over there stewing in his own anger at the sight of it.

“So, Damien, we hear you and Layla met under some pretty… naughty circumstances.” After putting Damien in the hot seat, Isha rests her chin on her fist and awaits his response.

“Wow, I suppose this means she, uh… she told you all the sordid details.” An almost shy, boyish grin curves his lips, and I’m focused there, hating how that kiss ignited a powerful craving inside me.

Isha nods, eating this up. “Oh, yeah. She told useverything.”

If I were still sitting beside her, I’d dig my nails into her thigh, silently telling her to shut the hell up, but now there’s a six-foot-four wall between us.

“What can I say?” he says, flashing another smile as he turns to stare down on me. “When I see something I want, I have a tendency to go after it.”

I swallow deeply, unable to break our gaze. It’s like I’m back there, back atThe Jungle,back under his spell.

“So, you just pop in and out of clubs all over the city, working your magic on all the ladies?” Isha teases with a laugh, wiggling her fingers in the air as a reminder of what went on underneath the table in VIP that night.

This time, Damien coughs a laugh, likely surprised by my friends’ forthrightness.

“No, I assure you that was quite out of character. I suppose you could say Layla just brings out a different side of me.”

My heart does this thing where it pitter-patters inside my chest, reminding me of how I’d get back in high school, when one of my crushes was around. Damn, I haven’t felt this way in years—like I could float right out of my seat.

“Well, any friend of Layla’s is a friend of ours, so it’s nice to meet you,” Eliza chimes in.

Damien turns toward her. “I appreciate the warm welcome.”

Much to my relief, after a few lingering looks, and Isha mouthing the words,“Oh, my God!”behind Damien’s back, we’re no longer the center of attention. Not at our table, at least. I’m willing to bet that Martinez is glancing over every few seconds, having an increasingly difficult time focusing on his date as his anger brews.

I finally work up the nerve to look up, locking eyes with Damien right before leaning in to whisper into his ear.

“How the hell did you know I’d be here?”

“I have my ways,” he answers, amusement in his tone.

Heat flashes through me when his thumb brushes the exposed skin of my shoulder, but I still manage to whisper the jab that’s more lighthearted than accusatory.

“Anyone ever told you you’re a stalker?”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “Notastalker,” he corrects. “Yours.”

I lean away again, feeling the smile fade as my eyes settle on hislips. Resisting the urge to taste them again is no small feat.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Dove says, volleying a look between me and my party-crashing date. “What do you do for a living, Damien? Layla hasn’t mentioned it.”

My interest is piqued as well, seeing as the only thing I really know about Damien is that he has this uncanny knack for knowing where I’ll be at all times, and that he has an unnatural affinity for death and carnage.

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