Page 13 of The Last Key
Devon steps out of the master, smiling. Or maybe smirking. Or dare I say smoldering?
“I put it in here.” He nods toward the master.
Be cool, Kennedy.
“Why?”
“Well, you know Justin is coming.”
“Yes.” Though he’s not a Brighton High alum, he’s a close friend to both of us, and since Devon and I are in the same place, he’s coming into town for a few days to see us both.
“Rather than have him sleep on that crappy futon, I figured I’d put him in the spare, and you can room with me. You like snuggling at night, anyway.” The grin on his face grows, and he gestures for me to follow him into the room.
Taking tiny penguin steps, I follow him, stopping just inside the doorway.
“This dresser,” he says, gesturing to one by the window on the far side of the room, “is empty except for the top drawer, so it’s all yours. I put your hanging bag in the closet,and if you have any toiletries, you can put them in this bathroom or the hall one, whichever you’d rather use.”
“Okay,” I choke out.What is happening?Devon and I have never even lived together. Not in college or after in New York. Now we’re sharing a room? A bed? I’m going to share a freaking bed with my best friend who I have feelings for while trying to pretend everything is normal?
He tilts his head to the side. “Unless, of course, you have a problem sharing a room. Or a bed.” Why did that word sound seductive?
Oh my god.
Is he flirting with me?
That grin. Sharing a room. Dancing in the kitchen. He is. He’s flirting. Does he want this? Me?
I don’t know. And I’m not ready to show my hand until I have a better idea ofwhathe wants. But two can play at this game.
Smiling—maybe a little mischievously—I say, “No. No problem. That sounds great.” My eyes lock on his and we stare at each other for a moment, heat seeping into the room as we do.
“Perfect,” he says. Then he inhales deeply and steps back. “I’ll let you get ready.”
“Thanks.”
He walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.
Holy shit, that was intense.
I have no idea what’s going on, but I like it, and I’m going to have some fun with it.
Let’s play.
CHAPTER FOUR
DEVON
“Wasit weird seeing your old house but not going inside?” I ask Kennedy as we drive up the road to the inn. Instead of stopping at my parents’ apartment this morning, we’ll be going there for dinner tonight. Mom was set on cooking. Thankfully, her hands and back don’t bother her as much as her hips, knees, and feet, so she can still cook—from a chair—and knit, crochet, and do her crossword puzzles. Still, I didn’t want her to do too much, so I figured Kennedy and I would show up early to help. Mom would never turn down Kennedy’s help in the kitchen. Cooking is something the two often did together.
“Not really. I thought it would be, but something about your house feels more like home. Maybe it’s because I spent so much time there, but I think it’s partly when I think of my home, I still think of the duplex in Manhattan where I grew up. Where my parents live again now. My house here was a place I lived. Your house was a home. That probably sounds silly.”
She tucks a hair behind her ear and looks out the window.
I rest my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze. “Not at all.”
She looks back at me, lips parted in surprise, but only for a second, then she smiles.
I fucking love that my house feels like home to her. I’ve always wanted her to feel at home there. Maybe now more than ever. When I put her bags in the master, I wasn’t sure how she’d react, but I wasn’t expecting the playful look in her eyes, the way she stared me down, or that she seems to be playing my game right along with me.
