Page 26 of Devil's Advocate
My voice cracked on his name.For a beat I thought he might stop, that the rope between us would pull taut and hold—but the only answer I got was the thuds of his feet pounding down the stairs.
“Jimmy!”I called again, and I heard the front door wrenched open, then the door hit the jamb with a brutal, shaking slam that rattled the picture frames along the hallway and set a high, shocked ring twanging in my ears.
Silence rushed in on the tail of it.
I ran downstairs, taking the steps two at a time.A heartbeat later his engine coughed to life, and then tires squealed against the street.
“Fuck!”
I stood there until the sound of his truck faded away.
I climbed back up the stairs slowly and drifted to my bed.The sheets were still neat except for the shape we’d made in them, barely an impression but I could feel it with my eyes—the idea of what could have happened there.I sat on the edge and stared at my hands until they came into focus.They were shaking.
I wiped at my cheek and scowled at the wetness on my fingers.
This wasn’t just a crush.I knew that even if I wanted to lie to myself.I’d felt something shift when I put my arms around him in the kitchen, the way you feel the air change right before a summer storm—pressure dropping, sky going that off-color that means power’s about to go out.When he’d shuddered, I’d felt it like it was happening inside my own body.Gratitude first, bright and raw as a scraped knee.Then heat, rolling through both of us like a tide.
I lay back, the mattress sighing under me, and stared at the ceiling.I could see the scene replaying in the slats of shadow: the way his mouth fit against mine—hungry, honest—the way he’d looked at me right before, like he was choosing a cliff and making peace with the drop.
“Christ,” I whispered to the air.I wanted to go back and do it over with the kind of gentleness that would thread him back together.And, yeah, underneath all that, I wanted him.I’d been with lots of men, and I’d been obsessed with a couple of them.But I’d never felt the clean, terrifying rightness of how Tanner felt in my arms.
“Did I push him too hard?”
I’d told him it was his choice.I’d meant that—every word.But I also knew what my body does when I’m sure a man wants me the same way I want him.I went for it boldly, without a second thought.
I scrubbed both hands over my face and swore again, softer.“You fucking idiot.”
The need to fix something—anything—kicked me upright so fast the room tilted.Call Tanner.Text him.Tell him he did nothing wrong.Tell him you’ll wait as long as it takes.
My hands went to my pockets out of habit, patting for my phone.Nothing.My phone was downstairs, probably on the counter next to the knife block and the lemons I kept pretending I’d use for something more domestic than whiskey sours.
I stood, the floor cool under my feet now that the adrenaline had burned off, and crossed to the door.When I got to the kitchen, the overhead light was still on.My phone lay face down by the cutting board.I picked it up, thumb already swiping to Messages, the muscle memory stronger than sense.
“Damn it,” I hissed.I didn’t have his number.
I stood there with the phone heavy in my palm, staring at the empty screen.The clock over the pantry door ticked too loudly, a smug little metronome for an evening coming apart at the seams.Then I remembered.
Sarah had his contact info.
The thought cut through the static.She’d gotten an email from him before the ceremony.Something about the University of Richmond, and studying alternative faiths.
“That’s it,” I muttered.
My thumbs were already moving, tapping out a quick message to Sarah:
Do you have that guy’s email—the one from U of R?Jimmy Harper.I need
I stopped with the cursor blinking after “need.”Need what, exactly?To fix it?Perhaps drag him back into the moment he’d barely escaped?To make myself feel better by saying the correct string of words?
I hit backspace until the message was gone, then locked the screen like I was afraid of my own hands.
Jimmy’d run out because something inside him had ripped open.Whatever he was carrying, it wasn’t new.I’d felt it the way you feel a storm through the bones of a house—sudden, yet old.He needed space.Not the kind where people vanish and call it kindness, but the kind where nobody is reaching, where your body can learn that nothing bad happens if you just… breathe.
I set the phone down and stared at my fingers splayed on the countertop.They were still trembling.My hands—these hands—had been on his face, at his back.They’d felt him yield and then harden like a door slamming.
I needed a friend and a drink.Maybe Sarah would meet me and keep me from setting my soul on fire.
I unlocked the phone again and opened a new text.
