Page 46 of The Charm Offensive
He sucks in his cheeks. “Charlie is ourstar.”
“Okay,” Jules says with a casual shrug, as if they both didn’t sign contracts forbidding fraternization with the talent. As if the entire future of their franchise isn’t hanging in the balance, depending on Dev helping Charlie fall in lovewith a woman. “But if it makes a difference, I think he’s into you, too.”
Dev can’t afford to think about that. “I’m going to head back to the hotel.”
“Dev, wait!” Jules calls after him as he turns toward the exit, but he doesn’t stop until he’s outside. And air… air is what he needs. He takes greedy gulps of it as he stumbles past the bouncers and a line of clubgoers and a twenty-one-year-old puking her guts out on the curb. Dev makes it a good twenty feet before he collapses against a brick wall.
He’s too drunk and too hot inside the jean jacket to process all of this. He searches for an emotion and lands on anger. HowdareJules accuse him of having feelings for Charlie?
He cares about Charlie, of course. Because Charlie is their Prince Charming, and it’s Dev’s job to care. And because Charlie isCharlie. Sure, he might beattractedto Charlie, but only because Charlie is objectively attractive, and Dev is objectively lonely.
And then he’s thinking about what Charlie said about him in the club.He’s so fucking beautiful.
No one has ever told him he’s beautiful before. High school boyfriends and college boyfriends and Ryan, and how is Charlie Winshaw the first person to ever say that to him, blackout drunk in a dance club surrounded by Lady Gagas?
But he already knows the answer. Hell, Charlie Winshaw somehow knows the answer.
I’m worried you don’t know what you deserve.
Charlie
Dev was here. Dev is now not here.
Charlie’s fairly certain he has an exceptional brain—he’s maybe even won awards for it—but right now, it doesn’t seem capable of understanding where he is or what he’s doing. He thinks there are hands on him. He thinks he’s dancing. He thinks someone gave him another drink. HeknowsDev is gone.
His legs feel numb as he moves through the crowd like a puppet on bad strings, weaving in and out. Bodies and arms and low voices in his ear and hands that glide across his chest. Where’s Dev?
Jules. He catches his fingers on Jules’s tiny shoulders, sharp like Dev’s. “Dev?”
“He went back to the hotel.”
Charlie stumbles toward the door. “Wait!” Jules shouts over the music. “I’ll find Skylar, and we’ll all go!”
He keeps walking. Beyond the door, the air is warm, muggy. Charlie swims in it. “Dev?”
“Charlie?”
Dev. He’s leaning against a brick wall up ahead, his long legs spilling into the sidewalk. Dev is ten feet tall, and his face is wet. “You’re crying,” Charlie yells. “Hey, you’re crying.”
“Shit.” Dev pushes tears around his face. “Sorry. It’s nothing. I’m just… I’m really drunk.”
“You’re crying,” he says again, quieter now. The music is gone, and Dev is right here, two feet in front of him. He probably doesn’t need to yell. “Why are you crying?”
Charlie reaches up and catches a tear on his thumb. He blows on it.Make a wish. Or is that eyelashes? Charlie’s so drunk, he doesn’t know anymore. Dev pushes past him and starts walking up the busy sidewalk.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to the hotel.”
“Dev.” Charlie reaches out for Dev’s jacket—his jacket—to hold him in place. “Did I do something wrong?”
Dev laughs and looks down at his sneakers, the same ones Charlie barfed on—was that just three weeks ago? “No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then tell me.”
“Ican’t.” Dev’s voice breaks. Charlie wants to put it back together.
Dev tries to walk away again, and Charlie doesn’t let him. He had Dev. He had Dev in his hands and in his arms on the dance floor. He had Devright there, and he’s far away again.
