Page 14 of Devil's Advocate
The man smelled of soap and sweat and something darker—clove, maybe?
Was this how temptation worked?My daddy always said Satan never showed up wearing horns.He came looking like the thing you wanted most.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Lucien shifted beside me, his thigh pressing firmer against mine as he turned toward Sean to talk about something—routes, maybe, or what they’d do once we got to the kitchen.I couldn’t follow.Every word blurred under the pounding of my pulse.I was aware of the curve of his knee, the warm press of his arm against mine, the faint rasp of his breathing.
And God help me, I liked it.
I’d gone to The Hill Café because I was hungry, that’s all.It was two blocks from my Airbnb.How was I supposed to know Lucien would be there?
Or was that the point?
Was this the trick Daddy warned me about—the master deceiver placing temptation right in my path, wearing kind eyes and a mouth that said dangerous things?
The truck lurched as I fumbled with the clutch.“Sorry,” I muttered.
Sean laughed.“She’s an old beast.You gotta sweet-talk her a little.”
Lucien chuckled low in his throat.“I think Jimmy’s doing just fine.”
My ears burned.
Traffic downtown was brutal, stop-and-go chaos.I kept both hands locked on the wheel, eyes on the road, praying for green lights and distance.But the streets were narrow and the trucks in front of us were slow, and I could feel every jolt of the road through Lucien’s leg against mine.
We hit a red light, and Lucien leaned forward, scanning the intersection.“You’ll want to downshift here,” he murmured.
I nodded, reaching for the gear stick—and my hand landed square on his thigh.
“Jesus,” I hissed.My fingers jerked back like I’d touched a live wire.“Sorry—I didn’t—”
Lucien turned his head, a small smile playing on his lips.“Better shift, Jimmy,” he murmured.“Unless you plan on stalling out right here.”
I swallowed hard and shoved the stick into gear.The truck groaned, then lurched forward as the light turned green.My heart felt like it might punch a hole through my ribs.
Sean glanced over, oblivious.“You good, man?”
“Fine,” I managed.My voice didn’t sound fine.
The rest of the drive blurred into a haze of horns, stoplights, and Lucien’s quiet laughter.By the time we pulled up to the farmer’s market, I was sweating like I’d run a marathon.
“Park next to the blue tent,” Sean said, pointing.“That’s Stuart’s spot.”
I eased the truck into reverse, palms slick against the steering wheel.The rearview mirror shook, reflecting Lucien’s profile—sharp, unreadable.I swallowed, trying to focus.
“Easy,” Sean said.“Yeah, just like that.Keep coming… and stop.”
The truck thudded gently into park.I turned off the ignition and exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for miles.
The heat hit us as soon as we opened the doors.The morning sun had turned the blacktop into a skillet.Farmers called to each other over stacks of crates.Somewhere, a radio played old country music, too twangy to ignore.
An older man waved from beside a table piled high with boxes.He wore a straw hat, denim overalls, and a grin that belonged on a billboard for sweet tea.
“Well, I’ll be,” he called out.“If it ain’t Reverend Reason himself!”
Lucien laughed, shaking his head.“Morning, Stuart.”
Stuart stuck out his hand.“Brought a friend, I see.”
