Page 103 of Dirty Devil

While it may be the day my mom gave birth to me, it is not a happy day. Not by a long shot.

It’s been almost three days—sixty-four long hours—since Foster told me he was pretending to have feelings for me. I know it all sounds terribly confusing, and most of my days have been spent dissecting every interaction we’ve had in the past several weeks to see if I missed something, if I was reading too much into his actions.

The answer—probably.

“You might as well come in.” I hold open the door and make a sweeping gesture with my arm, even though I want to do nothing of the sort.

I’d love nothing more than to spend my birthday face down on the couch, drowning in my despair, while Mason happily plays on his gym mat. It’s times like this where I wish I was a drinker, but then I quickly push that thought away because I never want to go down that road. Not like my dad did. No matter how bad life seems, it could always be worse.

Lucy thrusts the cake at me, her smile staying steady. “I got this for you. Thought you might want to see a friendly face and have some chocolate.”

Nope. “Thanks.”

I use the cake as an excuse, taking it to the kitchen and arranging it on the bare island to stall. It doesn’t really work though because Lucy follows me into the kitchen, and after studying me with an arched brow, pushes me out of the way to cut us two giant pieces.

“Do you want me to sing to you?” she asks as she hands me a slice and a fork.

I grimace, shaking my head. “I’d rather you didn’t. You also don’t need to stay out here with me. I’m sure my brother sent you over to babysit me, and I promise, I’m fine.”

“Actually fine, or sitting in a room on fire kinda fine?”

The fire. “Seriously, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“We’re family. We’re supposed to worry about each other.”

Well, I was sort of fine, but now I’m really not. There’s a tightness in my chest, like someone is pushing all the air out of my lungs, and I struggle to breathe. My eyes water, and even though I thought I’d cried all the liquid from my body already, the tears slip down my cheeks.

Family used to have a much different meaning. It was at their hands that you suffered. They brought pain and devastation. My brothers were the only light in the darkness that was my childhood, but even then, they were more my protectors than my brothers.

But this?

Lucy being here and supporting me even though we have no actual blood ties to each other hits me hard. Harder than I ever expected. It could be directly related to the fact that the man I’ve been in love with for a year broke my heart into teeny, tiny pieces.

“Shit.” She grabs our cake, puts it on the ottoman, and then wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s inevitable,” I mumble into her shoulder, letting her hold me, and for just a minute, I don’t feel so lonely.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I pull myself away, pick up the cake so I’ll have something in my hands, and retreat into the corner of the couch. “Not really. You don’t actually think it helps, do you?”

“Depends.” Lucy grabs her piece, stretches her legs out on the ottoman, and takes a bite. “If you’re the one that needs to have some sense knocked into you, yes. I can be quite effective if need be. But I don’t think you qualify.”

“No. I’m not the one who needs the advice chapter.” I shake my head and then realize what I said, how close it is to book stuff, so I shove some cake in my mouth. Turns out, that’s both good and bad. The cake is delicious, and now I want to inhale the entire thing.How did she make it so good? Can this replace sex?

“Advice chapter, huh?” Lucy’s gaze flicks to my bookshelf and back to me. “You know I read a lot of romance novels.”

“That’s nice.” I shovel another bite in my mouth.

Lucy arches that damn eyebrow at me again, and I know she knows. I mean, I don’t think she specifically knows what I’m doing, but it’s like she can see that I have secrets. I take a deep breath—and a little more cake. If I can trust a liar and a fake with my secrets, I guess I can trust Lucy.

“I’m working on my own romance novel,” I admit quietly, and put the cake down as far away from me as I can get it.

“What?” She sits straight up, her eyes wide in amazement. “That’s amazing. How far along are you? How dirty is your romance going to be? What’s it about?”

I blow out a breath, feeling lighter than I have in days as I tell Lucy all about my book, my book friend, and my publishing plan. I probably tell her way more than she needs to know, but she takes it all in, her smile only growing the more in-depth I get.

She squeals, swatting my leg. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell any of us.”

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